#use it on himself so it would just be a total loss for everyone

[notiddygxthgf]

❛ Talk to me, baby. I'm goin' blind from this sweet, sweet craving, whoa-oh. Let's lose our minds and go fucking crazy. I-I-I-I-I-I keep on hoping we'll eat cake by the ocean. ❜

★ pairings: choso kamo x f!reader

★ synopsis: you and choso find a way to beat the heat.

★ c.w.: sexual tension, PWP, porn without plot, happy ending! au?, idk everyone's happy lol, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, cowgirl in the backseat, creampie, blowjobs, choso has mommy issues lowkey, and the reader caters to them lowkey. dom/sub undertones, choso doesnt know how to deal with his horniness lol, old fashioned, nasty ass sex, just read it you'll love it.

★ a/n: hi baby girls!! I have been holding onto this one for a MINUTE bc I wanted to make sure it's perfect. im doin a lil bit of a kinktober, so send those requests in! I hope u all love it as much as I do. bitchz w mommy issues wya???🗣️🗣️

★ w.c.; 8.6k

masterlist

CHOSO LOVED THE BEACH. Not for the reason one might normally proclaim such affection for an otherwise family-friendly pastime, but it was a valid reason nevertheless. He used to hate it, actually, especially when Getou and Mahito would drag him out there on the hottest day of the summer for their stupid villain conventions. He was quite comfortable at home in all of his layers. But there was something about the beach these days, something that had him reconsidering his bias. 

Call him classless, call him perverted. Whatever it was, there was this strange pull towards the beach that had him in a chokehold. He just couldn’t quite place it.

“You’re staring,” Megumi remarked.

Choso’s brow quirked. Letting his head loll to the side, teetering just off the edge of his beach chair, he offered the following words to his brother’s friend. “No, I wasn’t.”

He totally was. The way his sun glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as you walked past the two was a dead giveaway. But, shit, you looked too good to be true. You were this pretty little thing, strutting around in a pretty pink bikini, soaking in the rays of sunlight, and you were bringing a drink to your friend, Maki. Looked like a lemonade. Also looked like booze. It could have been anything, in all honesty, he wasn’t looking there. 

If there was a god out there, he hoped they would forgive him for his ravenous gaze. He had always had a little thing for you, if you will, but the moment you had walked onto the beach today he found himself completely enamored by you.

As you bent down to set the drink in the sand, the bottom of your small pink bikini slipped inward, revealing the smooth, sand-dusted skin of your plump little butt. Then you plopped down on the beach towel next to your friend and popped open the bottle of sunscreen.

Choso watched – rather shamelessly – as you sprayed some of it onto you arm, rubbing it in. You held the canister towards your chest at arms length and released some more of the sheer spray onto the skin there. It trickled down, catching the light of the sun, dripping down between your breasts–

A pair of hairy, pale legs obstructed the view. 

“Found a sand dollar,” Spoke none other than the world’s quirkiest little brother, Yuuji Itadori. In a rather fitting slow-pan up to his face, Choso took note of the dorky goggles that he had popped over his eyes. He was shirtless. You would think that the man would have learned that you don’t need to go deep sea diving at the beach by now. “You guys coming?”

Megumi took the words right out of Choso’s mouth. Or, actually, ‘word’ might be more fitting. 

“No.”

“I’ll pass,” Choso sighed, repositioning his sunglasses over his eyes. Silently, of course, he cursed his brother for putting on such a show in front of – what was he talking about? Choso Kamo… letting his desires cloud his love for his brother? He usually wasn’t this bad. “I thought I threw those out on you?”

“I bought new ones,” Yuuji muttered. He practically tore the goggles from his face, sending locks of pink hair standing up in the air. Tossing them to the side, he plopped between Megumi and Choso on the picnic blanket.

“Of course you did,” Megumi, who had, for a brief – but beautiful – moment been alluded into believing his friend had decided to keep his remarkable lack of social awareness to himself, reached into the cooler they had filled earlier that day and produced a much needed refreshment. 

“Hi!”

Choso, Yuuji and Megumi all turned their heads toward the sound.

It was you. His ‘crush’, as Yuuji had embarrassingly called it. And, shit, you looked even prettier up close. Your hair looked so soft. So did your–

He shook the thoughts away. 

“Sorry to bother ‘ya,” You lowered your head apologetically. You extended your arm out towards the three men. Clutched in your small hand was the bottle of sunscreen you had been using before Yuuji had caught Choso’s attention. “My friend is out cold. Could you just get my back for me?”

Choso felt his face grow red at the mere prospect of being so close to you. He had never had the courage to actually reach out and touch you. He felt as if, for some odd reason he didn’t quite understand, his touch would have killed you. You had always been so sweet to him, offering him small talk, refreshments, and friendly jokes when it was just the two of you away from the group.

“Not a problem, Sensei,” Yuuji replied rather quickly. 

He reached for the bottle. Before he could grab it, Megumi jabbed his elbow harshly into the back of Yuuji’s neck.

“Bitch, ow,” He hissed.

The glare Megumi shot him could have been heard from ten miles away. Choso sighed, refraining from shaking his head.

“I think he’s sick. I’ll bring him to the infirmary,” Megumi added quietly, standing up rather abruptly and taking Yuuji with him. 

Yuuji babbled mindlessly the whole way back.

Highschoolers.

Choso looked back to you. Just you. Alone. He felt his hands get all clammy again. He blamed it on the sun. You were holding the bottle expectantly. 

“Uh… I can… I can help, if you’re okay with that,” He looked away, internally kicking himself for fumbling so hard. 

You only tilted your head at him. Your eyes were so pretty, wide open as they lingered over his body, his eyes, his nose. Your gaze was a wildfire spreading over the expanse of his face.

It was then that he realized he was very, very shirtless.

“‘Kay, thanks,” you smiled softly.

As you laid down on the beach blanket, Choso felt his heart race even faster. He could hardly believe this was all happening – hell, part of him wondered if he had overstepped by offering his services to you. The sun beat down on your skin, his head, the sand – he blamed the warmth flooding his face on the weather. 

You were laid on your stomach only a few inches away, completely oblivious to his moral dilemma. 

He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself while he reached for the bottle of sunscreen you had set onto the blanket beside you. With hands that trembled ever-so-slightly, he uncapped the bottle and squeezed a small amount onto his palm. The sunscreen was cool to the touch – so, not wanting to cause you even the slightest bit of discomfort, he warmed it up between his hands.

He then hesitantly placed his hands on the smooth valley of your upper back. 

You gasped, twitching beneath his palms. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asked quickly, withdrawing his hands.

“No, sorry,” You sighed, shifting on the blanket and then relaxing once more. “Your hands are cold ‘s all.”

Choso felt the blush coming on all over again. He hoped you wouldn’t turn your head back around and see him like this. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, averting his gaze. 

“You’re all good, hot stuff,” You offered. “You can keep going.”

His face burned like hell at your compliment. He knew you were that way with everyone, dropping little ‘babe’s and ‘honey’s to your friends and fellow sorcerers. He wasn’t anything special, anyway. Surely, you weren’t talking to him.

He replaced his hands on your back, touch delicate like your skin would crack if he pressed too hard. He started with broad strokes, making sure to spread the sunscreen across your skin evenly. His fingers splayed out over your warm, soft skin, moving in circles. He massaged the sunscreen into your back with a tenderness that surprised even himself.

He wasn’t sure what this stuff actually did. He had seen some of Yuuji’s Jujutsu friends slather some on earlier. Judging by the name, he assumed it protected them from the sun. From what, though? Could the sun hurt some humans? He didn’t really understand.

“You’re wondering something,” You asked, seemingly sensing his pensiveness by the way his hands slowed. “Ask away.”

Choso bit the skin on the inside of his lip, “This lotion…” he asked, “What does it do?”

“Sunscreen?” You hummed. “It forms a layer over your skin so you don’t get sunburnt.”

“Sunburnt…” He reiterated. 

“Yeah, that shit hurts,” You added. “I’m guessing Itadori never gave you the run-up on beach necessities…?”

“I guess not,” He remarked quietly.

“I can show you how to apply yours if you want,” You said.

Choso’s heart felt like it would burst. “Okay,” he said, pausing slightly. “I’d like that, thanks.”

Then he was back to his job. His hands smoothed over your back, dipping down a little lower until his thumb brushed against the strap of your bikini. He felt suddenly aware of how soft and warm you felt beneath his touch. 

He was dangerously close to the knot in the string that held your whole getup together. He worried for a moment that the dainty bow would come undone – by some strange, supernatural turn of events – despite him making a great effort to move around it. 

Choso’s breath hitched when his finger caught on the string, making the knot snap against your skin. He froze up, heart pounding in his chest, perfectly still over your body. The string felt like a fragile barrier between your warm skin and his cold touch, between your body and the thoughts that raced through his mind.

He wondered if you found him weird and off-putting. His gaze flickered up to your face, leaning over slightly, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. 

But when he looked into your eyes, he found you were looking at him with the same curiosity. You smiled at him, pretty lips forming a reassuring expression, wordlessly encouraging him to keep going. 

Slowly, unsurely, Choso continued his ministrations. He trailed two digits down your spine, stopping at the string. He felt a knot beneath the skin there. He knew sorcerers put themselves through rigorous training. He didn’t doubt that you were feeling sore from the mission you had just come back from a few days ago.

“You’re tense here,” He said quietly.

You turned your head to look at him, “Yeah?” 

“Right here,” He pinpointed the exact area with his knuckles, pressing deep into the tissue. 

In response, you moaned quietly, back shifting beneath his touch. His shorts seemed to get just a little bit tighter. 

Calm down.

“You got magic hands, Choso,” You quipped, though your voice was strained as he passed over the knot a second time. “You could be a masseuse.”

He felt his nerves subside only slightly, though he felt flustered by your words.

You got magic hands.

You could be a masseuse.

Unbeknownst to him, the sensation of his touch created a pleasant tingling beneath your skin. You closed your eyes, letting him take the reins.

Choso continued to work his fingers over your back, feeling the tension slowly melt away beneath his touch. He had used up the last of the sunscreen to cover your lower back, the skin just above your bottom, and he realized his job was done.

“I think that should do it,” He said softly, voice tinged with reluctance as he removed his hands from your back.

You sat up, stretching, turning towards him, eyes sparkling, “Thanks, Cho, you’re a lifesaver.”

You’re a lifesaver.

A shy smile tugged at his lips, “Of course.”

Then, to his surprise, you asked. “You’re sweet. Mind if I sit with you?”

Choso felt his heart skip more than one beat. His eyes widened. He looked at the sand, the shoreline, anything but you. “Sure,” he said.

Smooth, dumbass.

You grinned and pushed yourself up, saying, “I’ll be right back.”

Choso took a moment to collect his thoughts as you left. He was getting ahead of himself. Way ahead of himself. Stll, you had chosen to spend more time with him. You wanted to sit with him. 

Conveniently, only a brief moment after you had stepped away, Megumi returned with Yuuji in tow. Choso quirked a brow at the speed of their return.

“That was quick,” he remarked.

Megumi shrugged, “Took him to get ice cream on the boardwalk instead.”

“You get her number?” Yuuji asked.

“I was doing her a favor,” Choso’s calm facade broke. With wide eyes, he hissed, “Pervert.”

“Dumbass,” Yuuji sucked his teeth.. “Look, tonight’s the night to make a move. When else would you find yourself alone with her like this?”

And before Choso could respond, you came back, holding a speaker in one hand. “I brought snacks!” You smiled.

Some time around sundown, sometime after Getou had summoned up one of his low-grade curses to start a fire, the beach day transformed itself into a fireside chat. It was a picturesque scene. The sky was a canvas of blue, with hues of pink and orange painted over the horizon. It was mostly empty there, now. The waves lapped calmly at the shore, a quiet noise that seemed to accompany the quiet chatter of friends gathered around a fire.

There was laughter, groups of people indulged in conversations. Everyone seemed so calm, so happy, it almost seemed to good to be true.

Megumi and Itadori were caught in a cock-off with Maki. Nobara stargazing on her and Maki’s beach blanket. Gojo and Getou were talking in his direction, but not necessarily at him.

“I just think you have an unfair drinking advantage because you’re a man,” You were saying just off to Choso’s side.

The mood was light. Everyone seemed to be content. 

Choso, however, couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. The warm, fading sunlight seemed to caress your features from the side, highlighting your pretty smile and making your eyes shimmer. He found himself completely and utterly enamored by you.

You and Getou had cracked open a bottle of Tequila about an hour ago. Getou’s boyfriend long-term-long-distance-low-commitment-casual-boyfriend, Satoru Gojo was red in the face, slouched against the bare chest revealed by Getou’s unbuttoned floral shirt. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Gojo chuckled, letting Getou top off his fourth shot of the night.

Getou denied any relationship with Gojo. Their eyes betrayed them, though. The connection was evident in the loving glances they exchanged. 

You had a faint flush of your own, though you had only taken two shots so far.

He tried two of his own, only because you didn’t want to do them alone. He had never been big on drinking. He just didn’t want to seem like a pussy.

“Why don’t you pour me one so we can test that theory?” Nobara nudged you in the side.

Choso watched the scene unfold with mild interest.

“Because you’re a minor,” You said.

Nobara pouted, leaning back onto her blanket. “Not like I’ve never drank before.”

Maki chimed in over her shoulder, “Got vomit stains on my carpet to prove it.”

“Shut up,” She bit back. 

You handled the situation effortlessly. “I don’t condone teen drinking,” You began, your voice softening as you continued, “But. I know the four you will probably go hit up one of those beachside bars tonight with your fake IDs anyway.”

“Fake IDs?” Gojo looked at Megumi out of the corner of his eye. Megumi did not look back.

You clapped. Choso’s ears perked up at the sound.

“That being said!” You raised your voice a bit. “I would rather you drink something less potent. Under adult supervision.”

You turned to Getou and Gojo, who exchanged knowing glances before nodding their approval. Choso couldn’t help but be impressed.

“So who wants a Malibu rum spritzer?” You clasped your hands together.

Excitement rippled through the group, and all of the kids, yes all of the kids, Including Yuuji, eagerly raised their hands. 

Choso shot his brother a disapproving glare, one that dissipated the moment you leaned in, laying your head on his shoulder. Your voice, soft and smooth like your skin, enticed him as you sing-songed, “Let the kid live a little.”

It was rather remarkable, actually, how quickly his defenses melted at your gentle persuasion. He sighed in resignation. “Alright.”

You grinned up at him, effortlessly stealing his breath away. 

“Great,” you said, getting up from your spot without another word. “I’ll go get them from my car. Don’t wait up for me, I walk real slow.”

Turning your attention back to Choso, you looked at him with a warmth behind your gaze he couldn’t quite place. “Choso, sweetie, could you help me carry the cooler?”

His heart soared at your request – at the prospect of you wanting his assistance. He got to his feet quickly, eager to help. 

The sand felt cool beneath his feet as he followed your lead. 

The moon hung low in the sky as you and Choso strolled through the parking lot, searching for your jeep. The temperature had dropped quite a few notches from earlier, cold breeze rustling through Choso’s hair. 

When you spotted your ride, you said, “There it is!”

Choso followed wordlessly behind you. He was still quite nervous that – for the second time today – it was just you and him… alone. Yuuji’s words echoed through his mind.

“When else would you find yourself alone with her like this?”

You popped the door to the backseat open, sitting on the floor – your truck was raised a bit off the ground, so it didn’t put you too far below him. 

“My legs are so fucking sore,” You sighed. You dusted your leg off with the backside of your bare foot. When you peered up at him through those long, dense lashes of yours, he felt himself fall for you a second time. 

You asked him, “Mind if we take a little break?”

Choso nodded along like the dumb little dog he was for you.

You pushed yourself up and away from the truck, gesturing for him to get inside. It didn’t take much at all for him to step into it and take a seat. You settled in right next to him – perhaps a little closer to Choso than was strictly necessary. He couldn’nt help the pleasant shiver that went down his spine at the feeling of you sitting next to him; so warm, so soft, so perfect.

You let out a contented sigh and leaned your head on his shoulder once more. “I got tired of bein’ social,” You confessed.

He tried hard not to quirk a brow at the admission. Am I an exception?

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” He asked sincerely. He tried even harder to ignore the warm weight of your small head on his shoulder.

So close.

“No,” You hummed quietly. The interior light faded away, gently submerging the two of you in darkness. He could still see your face, your eyes – the way they seemed to sparkle as they looked up at him. “You’re different.”

Choso’s heart took the liberty of skipping one, two, three beats. 

You continued without allowing him time to come up with an adequate response. “Can I be honest with you, Choso?”

His cheeks flushed. Still, curiosity piqued, he muttered, “Of course.”

Your voice was soft and vulnerable when you replied, “I think you’re really hot.”

If his face wasn’t hot, it sure was now. He turned away even though he knew you couldn’t see him blushing. 

She thinks I’m hot?

Does that mean she likes me?

You had nothing but sincerity in your eyes while you gazed up at him. “You feel the same way, don’t you?”

He bit his tongue, answering honestly, “I do.”

He hated how calm and collected he sounded. On the outside, he was the image of composure. On the inside, he was dying a hundred times over. 

You grinned at his admission. “Can I ask you something else, then?”

His lips suddenly felt very dry. He tried his best to focus on the street outside, counting landmarks and objects like his life depended on it – two seagulls, five wooden posts, two dim street lights.

“Sure,” he said.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

And, dammit, when you asked him like that – he could practically feel the last of his resolve crumble beneath your gaze, beneath the weight of your head on his shoulder, beneath your gentle touch on his knee that he hadn’t noticed until now.

You were so close. So close that if he turned his head, angled it down just slightly, your noses would touch. He felt your breath, warm and steady against his neck – a calming symphony that contrasted the trembling mess he had become,

Yuuji’s words played on repeat again. Tonight’s the night to make a move.

He was such a fool for you. Still, he considered himself to be a man of restraint.

His voice was small and scarce, hardly above a whisper when he breathed out, “Yeah.”

Time seemed to slow down as your request hung out in the air. He could feel the anticipation building, buzzing. His heart pounded against his ribcage like a mallet to a gong. He had spent months wondering what would happen if you – by some odd, small chance – returned his affections, and now, with your vulnerability laid bare, he couldn’t resist any longer.

He considered himself to be a man of restraint, that was, until he peered into your wide, longingful eyes. 

With a barely noticeable nod, Choso turned his head just slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. Just as he had anticipated, your noses brushed together – he could feel the warmth of your breath on his lips. 

You were magnetic.

And in that final, heart-pounding moment, your lips met in the middle – in a gentle, tender union. Choso’s hand seemed to find its own way to your cheek, touch soft as he cupped your cheek. He felt for some odd reason that you might vanish altogether if he let you go.

He wasn’t entirely sure if it had been you or him who deepened the kiss. Either way, he felt himself melt into the seat. The world outside seemed to fade away, ceasing to exist in your presence. None of it mattered – not the empty, public street, not the group of friends waiting on the beach for his return.

Yuuji. 

Choso pulled away with a shuddering gasp, pressing his forehead against yours. He licked his lips, panting, “The drinks… We– we should probably– uh… get those.”

He feared that if his heart beat any faster he would explode.

You made no effort to put any distance between you and him. In fact, you put your hands on his shoulders, moving yourself so that you were situated comfortably in his lap. 

“There’s no rush,” You hummed. “Getou and Gojo are probably off sucking face somewhere, and those kids have been keeping themselves entertained just fine. Who would notice?”

His eyes were everywhere but your face. For a half-curse, he found himself to be no better than a man, hungry eyes wandering over your body – your eyes, your lips, the subtle curve of your waist, the fabric of your bikini that seemed like it was hugging you just right.

You seemed to have caught him in the act. 

“Do you wanna touch me, Choso?” You asked, and it sounded like an invitation.

Still, he worried he was reading too deeply into things. Doing his best to refrain from making you feel any sort of discomfort, he swallowed, “I…”

He was about to fucking explode – both metaphorically and physically, judging by the way his shorts began to tighten again at your words.

“You think I didn’t see you staring today?” You continued, letting your fingers slip into his hair. 

He wanted to freeze up, wanted to feel some form of remorse, but when you were massaging his scalp so gently, so lovingly…

“I’m  sorry,” he lied.

“Don’t be,” You giggled, and he felt his stomach do a fucking flip at the sound of it. You leaned in close to him, close to his ear, and whispered into it, “I was staring, too.”

He felt like such a virgin, thighs tensing up at your admission. He thought of you on the beach again – sneaking sideways glances at him, at his body, at him…

He felt his resolve break when you pressed a soft kiss to the shell of his ear. 

“Kiss– Kiss me again,” he breathed, feeling slightly lightheaded from all of the attention you were giving him. You placed another kiss to the corner of his jaw. “Please… kiss me again.”

You pulled away, pressing your nose right up against his again. Your breaths were shallow and ragged now – strange. “You want me, baby boy?”

Baby boy. Baby boy, fuck.

He licked his lips, “Please.”

And then your lips were on his without so much as another word. You ate him up like a starved woman, teeth nipping at his lower lip for entry.

The last of his restraint flew out the window.

The kiss was electrifying, sent sparks shooting through his veins, fingertips tingling as they found their way to your hips. It was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He could taste you – the sweetness of your lipgloss as it smeared messily over the lower half of his face, the beat of your heart thrumming beneath his touch, the scent of sunscreen that lingered on your skin.

He found himself getting lost in the moment.

He deepened the kiss further, gripping your hips, your lower back with a bit more confidence. For a moment, he could forget about his responsibilities, his past. It didn’t matter; not now, not when he could feel your body pressed up against him, hot and soft and compliant.

His face burned when he felt that familiar tingling feeling – he knew he was getting hard beneath you, he could feel the way your hips lifted when you adjusted yourself over the tent in his shorts. 

However, to his surprise, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you pressed into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing yourself even closer. He felt dizzy, sliding his tongue across your wet lips, exploring your mouth. You tangled your fingers in his touseled black locks, rolling your hips against his slowly, hesitantly, like you were testing the waters. 

The jolt of electricity he felt from that small movement had him pulling away. Even in the midst of the fervor, Choso was acutely aware of his own impulses. He feared he was getting too far ahead of himself; if you kept rubbing yourself against him like that, he was gonna cream his fucking pants like a middle schooler.

“Wait, wait– ah–” He grunted, leaning back against the seat.

“Hmm?” You hummed – still, you only slowed down a little bit.

His mouth hung open. It felt so good, the friction, the feeling of your warmth rolling up and down the thin layer of fabric separating the two of you. Fuck — why did he tell you to stop, again?

He fought hard to regain his composure. “I– I’ve never done this before,” he stammered.

“Really?” You asked, teasingly, almost, like you knew the effect you had on him. You rutted up against him again, a little harder. “You’re a natural.”

He could feel you – the thin cloth covering your nether regions left little to the imagination. You felt so warm, so welcoming. He ached to pull the thin fabric to the side and sink into you.

Fuck. Stop. He turned his head away, at war with his impulses.

Again, for a half-curse, he felt like nothing more than a man. A weak man, and it was all your fault.

The whine that left his mouth felt anything but natural. “Won’t– What if someone sees us?”

You said nothing. When he looked back at you, you were undoing the knot behind your head – the one holding your bikini together.

His eyes went wide. If his attraction to you were any more obvious, his jaw would have been on the floor. 

“Let them watch,” You grinned. Then you let your top fall over, breasts spilling out like something out of a porno. 

He was in awe. You were perfect. There were little bits of sand stuck to the skin where your bikini lay only seconds prior, faint tanlines already forming over your skin. He felt his mouth water.

“You can touch them, if you want,” You answered his unasked question.

And he wasted no time, gently cupping one of your tits with his large, warm palm. He gave it an experimental squeeze. Then another. Then his thumb wandered down to your nipple, giving the bud a gentle flick.

You whind, hand sliding up the back of his head. 

She likes that, he noted.

So, deciding to take his experiment a step further – and for the sake of conserving time, he began peppering kisses to your hot skin, to the valley between your soft, plush mounds. He held both in his hands, rolling his thumb over the hardened buds to compensate for the lack of attention.

He wanted nothing more than to take his sweet, precious time with you – committing every curve and valley of your body to memory. But, alas, he knew you were on a time crunch. Any minute now, someone could find the two of you here, like this.

He kissed his way back over to his hands. Then, finally, he wrapped his lips around that place he knew made you feel good. 

Sure enough, you arched into him, pink, swollen lips parting to release a pant of his name, “Choso, baby.”

He flattened his tongue over the tip of your nipple, rolling over it in slow circles – then quicker ones, until he felt the spit gathering between his lips and your skin. You responded in kind by rutting against him a little faster. He had never felt a burn quite so delightful in his life.

He can’t quite help himself from letting out a little whine when you tug on his hair. The flavor of sunscreen and salt lingered on your skin. He felt hot– you were hot, oh so hot.

Before he could return the favor on the other nipple, you pushed him away. You looked disheveled, pupils blown wide, hair frizzed up.

“Y’feel so big,” You gasped, still humping his hard cock like a dog in heat. You stopped, but only to sink into the space between his legs and the back of the driver’s seat. Splaying your fingers over his thighs, his shorts, you panted, “Wanna taste. Can I?”

He could only blink up at you. This isn’t real.

“Of course, baby,” He replied, throwing the nickname from earlier back at you, already reaching for the strings of his swim trunks when you batted his hands away. Your enthusiasm made his head spin.

He let you take the reigns – watching with hungry, lustful eyes as you undid the bow yourself. You reached for the waistband of his shorts, tugging them down and letting his dick spring free. 

It nearly hit you in the face, how big the thing was. He had never actually thought about it that way, at least, not until now, when you were gazing up at it with wide eyes and wet, parted lips. 

Your eyes were on his tip, glistening with a bead of precum, then wandering down the shaft as the two of you watched it drip.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

You didn’t bother pulling his pants the rest of the way down, or even acknowledging his comment. No, the moment the waistband was out of the way, you were swallowing him whole.

Choso exhaled sharply, nearly doubling over at the sensation of your warm mouth closing in around him. He felt the muscles in his abdomen tense with the strain of it – he thought he could cum like this, with your lips stretched around him, and he didn’t really think he would mind testing that theory.

His skin was hot. He burned for you.

You pulled up. Sucking him back into your mouth, you hollowed your cheeks. Then you throated him again, right up until your nose brushed his navel. He felt himself throb in your mouth.

“Fuck, ‘s good,” He heard himself whimper weakly, tangling a trembling hand in your hair while you picked up the pace.

And you went at it like you were made for it. Up and down, up and down, fitting him all the way in until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat. Over and over again, until his vision blurred a bit at the edges, mind a little hazy with lust.

You were sucking and slurping on him so lewdly – fuck, he could die like this. 

You didn’t show any signs of stopping, either.

He moaned – much to his embarrassment – actually moaned. You were working him rather quickly up to what he knew would be an earth shattering (albeit poorly timed) orgasm. 

You made a noise in response, though it was broken up by the nasty, dirty sound you made every time you gagged on his dick. You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes, through long, wispy lashes, leaving a trail of saliva running down his thighs that he didn’t even mind.

Choso caressed the side of your face, biting his lip. “Mmh,” he panted, “You do it so well.”

In response, you put a hand over his. You directed his gentle touch to the top of your head, instructing him to push down. Hesitantly, gently, he began to guide your head, bobbing you back and forth on his length while you sat back and let him use you. 

He noticed that you were struggling to fit the whole thing in your mouth. He saw that there were tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but he knew you were determined. He used his thumb to wipe your tears away, tucking your hair behind your ears to keep it out of your face.

With a shudder and a whine, he pushed your head down a little further. You gagged on it again, swallowing him down, tightening your throat around him like you were made to suck dick.

If this was to be his last night alive, he would die a happy man.

His legs felt weak, as did his arms. You took over, gently assisting him in fucking your mouth. 

“Ah– nnh, you’re–” He licked his lips, guiding your head while allowing you to continue setting your own pace. You were making him feel so good, so hot.

You pulled back for a moment to slurp unceremoniously on his tip, letting spit drip down his shaft. You wrapped your hands around him, working what you couldn’t fit into your mouth while your tongue did tricks on his tip – circles, shapes, letters, he didn’t even know anymore.

He felt like he was going dumb.

Just as he leaned his head back into the seat, you pulled off, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Got carried away,” You giggled breathlessly. “Sorry.”

Then you were climbing right back into his lap, bracing your hands on his shoulders, kissing him with a ravenous hunger. 

“I’m not gonna blue ball you, don’t worry,” You licked your lips. Reaching down, you slipped the fabric of your bikini thong to the side. “I want you.”

“H–...” He trailed off, fighting to catch his breath – better yet, to regain his surroundings. “How do you want me?”

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to feel you sink down onto him, to feel your warmth envelop him entirely. He wanted you to ride him past the point of hypersensitivity. He wanted you to use him until you were satisfied – like some sort of fuck toy.

He didn’t care anymore. He had left his inhibitions at the door. 

“Wanna fuck you right here, like this,” You muttered against his lips, licking a stripe from his chin all the way to his cupid’s bow. You guided the head of his dick between your folds, smearing your slick all over him in a way that made him arch up. “Wanna drain that pretty cock of yours, wanna cum all over it– can you do that for me?”

You were so nasty… so dirty that he found himself a red, blushing mess at your words. But, still…

For you?

Anything.

“Yes,” he groaned. He felt like he was going to melt if he waited another moment longer. “Fuck, please, use me until you’re satisfied.”

He hadn’t even thought about saying it. It had slipped out.

You paused, blinking down at him with wide, lustful eyes. Finally, you said, “you’re such a good puppy, you know that?”

He would be whatever the hell you wanted him to be.

“G’nna let me ride you, pretty boy?” You cooed, sliding your hands up his torso, up his bare chest, up his shoulders while you hovered over him. 

This was moving quickly. Not like he had any objections to that, of course. Clearly, you didn’t either. As you positioned the tip in line with your dripping cunt, sinking down onto him, he felt his eyes roll back into his head.

He gasped, letting his eyelids fall shut. He didn’t even care that he was losing his virginity in the backseat of his coworker’s truck like some cheap whore. He would let you take it, take more, take everything you wanted from him.

You lifted your hips and then sank down on him again, eliciting a strangled grunt of your name from him. The filthy squelching sound your cunt made as it squeezed him in threw him for a loop.

He leaned forward, shivering, burning his head in your neck. “S’too tight,” he panted, though he let you continue working on him with a remarkable amount of ease – sliding back and forth in a way that had the both of you panting for more. “Fucking– shit, ah–”

“Chosooo– ‘S so big,” You moaned his name like it was made of honey, fucking yourself down onto his dick, letting all of the sinful noises flow from your lips. “Fuck, feel it in my guts.”

He would have thought you were lying to him if it weren’t for your spectacle earlier.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathed. When he looked up at you again, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. You were the image of pornographic beauty – sinful, beautiful, sultry. Your brows were scrunched together with concentration, legs trembling around him as you slowed down to savor the way he worked you open.

“Pretty baby,” He mused, running his hands over your stomach, your hips. “You keep goin’ like that ‘n– fuck– I won’t– Last long.”

“Mmh,” you giggled.

Then you picked up the speed a bit, like you hadn’t even heard what he had just said. You were rising and sinking on his dick with newfound purpose, chasing after the promise of paradise like a wild animal.

“Look at me,” he begged, eyes half-lidded and desperate, tongue running across his lower lip. “Fu-uck– please, ‘M...”

You obeyed, meeting his gaze with such a fiery passion that he almost wished he hadn’t asked you – feeling that coil in his gut grow a little tighter when your hazy eyes were on him. You bounced obediently on his cock, up and down, up and down until you were a grunting, groaning mess. 

“Mm… fuckkk,” You sighed, hips faltering a bit. “Feels good, Choso.”

Choso felt his hips twitch beneath you, hands tensing on your backside. Then, slowly, he began to meet your thrusts midway. His ass lifted off of the seat, legs spreading a bit further apart while he used his strength to continue fucking you senseless.

He was mesmerized by you, by the way you clenched and squeezed him, by the way your mouth lolled open to make way for broken cries of his name, by the way your tits bounced in his face whenever he thrusted up into you.

He worried for a moment that he was being too harsh with you. 

“Harder– please!” You gasped, clawing at his shoulders, at his chest.

Still, he obeyed. He fucked you dumb, hips snapping up against your ass with such strength that the whole car lurched forward. Your head came dangerously close to the ceiling.

But he didn’t have the guts to stop. Not when you were screaming for him, repeating his name like some sort of mantra. He was as weak for you as he had always been.

“Choso– Choso–”

The feeling of your warm, wet walls massaging the head of his cock had him whimpering into the crook of your neck. It was a hot, gummy abyss he wouldn’t mind getting sucked into for the remainder of his life. 

“You like that?” He asked you, spare hand sliding up from your hips, past your breasts, to your neck. 

He knew now that you liked it rough. He could provide that. 

So, with no further warning, he gripped your hip roughly, sliding into you at full force. You cried out his name again, fingernails digging into his skin. 

The car bounced every time he pounded up into you. Faster, faster. 

It felt like you were squeezing him for dear life. 

Choso cried out, a broken whine as he slowed his thrusts for a minute to a much slower pace. Feeling your perfect pussy clenching around him, he nearly doubled over from the sudden pleasure. “Please,” he gasped, laying his head back. “Fuck, that’s good.”

You bit your lip, sliding up until it was just the tip left inside of you, and then slamming back down onto him at full force. You repeated this action a few more times, lips parted to make way for the sinful… sultry moans that passed from between them. Clearly, you were relishing in the way he squirmed and gasped beneath you.

He couldn’t blame you. He knew that he, too was doing everything he could to commit this scene to memory, wild eyes raking over your body, over the junction where you met him. The way you were riding him… shit, he didn’t know he would be able to make the walk back. 

You looked so obscene like this, all fucked out, dumb on his dick.

Throwing your head back, you groaned.

He was gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. Fuck, he knew that– cursed strength and all. But he couldn’t bring himself to slow down.

“So f-fucking good,” he stammered. He sought out your lips again, snapping his hips up against your ass mercilessly. For someone who had been so concerned about being discovered a little while ago, his quiet grunts and gasps turned into moans and whimpers against your sore lips. Louder and louder.

Admittedly, though, he was more focused on the noises coming out of your own mouth. You were practically screaming for him.

He had no idea that sex could even feel so mind-numbingly good. For him, especially, but for you…?

You froze up rather suddenly, hips spasming wildly, toes curling up on either side of his thighs while you gasped brokenly. 

“FUCK!”

There it was.

He felt his face burn. You cried his name again, bouncing up and down on it, wildly chasing after that high. “Choso– m’close–”

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?” He hummed, once again throwing your nickname back at you. He grinned, knowing full and well that he had cracked the code. So he kept that same speed, same pace, same everything while his fingers dropped from your neck to the mess you had made between the two of you.

He knew what to do now – surprisingly enough. He had done some… internet research after his brother had broken the meaning of his feelings down to him (along with what Choso was to do when his crush came to fruition). 

What? Curses didn’t make love. Sex was transactional.

He was curious about how sex was on the human side of things.

He ran his tongue over his thumb, reaching between the steamy, sweaty union of your bodies to find your clit. He pressed down, rolling over the nub in quick, expert circles. 

One look up at you, and he knew you were close to your breaking point. You looked like you were about to pass out, letting yourself be thrown around on his wild hips like a ragdoll. You were too weak to move, so you sat there and took his dick like a good girl, eyes glazed over with pleasure while he fucked you dumb.

You looked like you were in love.

Choso sped his ministrations over your clit up a little faster, feeling the knot in his own stomach begin to grow faster than he wanted. He was in another world, out of this plane, hypnotized. 

All he could see in that moment was your angelic face above him, face scrunched up in pleasure – and partially in pain, as he bullied his cock into your cervix – sweat rolling down your neck, your breasts, your voluptuous body.

“Mine–” You gasped out, clawing at his shoulder blades while your back arched. “Oh– fuck! Th’s dick ‘s mine, mmh?”

It was.

He nodded. But, clearly, that wasn’t good enough. Your hand shot out to grip him by the neck, painted fingernails digging into his throat. 

“‘S yours,” He gasped back into your mouth. “All yours, I swear– ah–”

You were so hot. It made him feel things– feel like he was dying over and over again in the best way possible.

That along with the way your hand gripped his throat – using your small thumb to cut off his blood supply for a few seconds too long before loosening your grip, letting him gasp for air as the blood came rushing back – he felt lightheaded.

The way your pussy was spasming around him certainly didn’t do anything to help. He knew you were close, shit, but could you hold on a minute?

You were gonna make him cum too fast.

“You’re mine, yeah?” You asked again, keeping your grip strong on his neck. “All mine?”

“M’yours,” The cursed womb grunted against your neck. His brows were furrowed in concentration. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin, careful not to leave marks. “All yours.”

He meant it. Even though he would have said anything you asked him to at this point, he really meant it. He hoped you knew that.

Judging by the way you came a moment later with a stutter of your hips and a strangled cry of, “Cho–”, he assumed you understood. 

Your cunt was a warm, wet, death trap, walls milking his cock for all it was worth. 

Shit, he thought. You really weren’t lying about that.

His dark eyes were burning into yours, burning with a desire so intense he felt he might burst at the seams if he kept looking a moment longer. 

“Want you to cum inside of me,” You commanded him, holding his head in your trembling hands. “Fill me up, please, I need it.”

His eyes widened, blinking down at the white ring you had made around the base of his dick. His eyes flitted back up to you, pleading with you to let him go. Pleading for you to give the soul that you stole from him back,

“I can’t–” he released a trembling breath.  

He thought of himself as a father raising a child. Right now, it didn’t seem so bad.

“Please, ‘m on the pill,” you begged him, gazing into his eyes like you knew he wasn’t strong enough to refuse. “Wanna feel it dripping out of me. Think about it– what– ah– what would they think? … If they knew–”

You gasped when he delivered a harsh smack to your ass, slowing his strokes so that he could savor the way you sucked him in. “If they knew we snuck off to fuck? That– that I had your cum dripping out of me while they ask what took us so long?”

“Fuckk,” Choso groaned, hips trembling beneath you. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, cheeks burning. His breaths – and yours – had fogged the windows up.

You squeezed around him one more time, placing a tender kiss to his lips. You muttered into his mouth, “Do it f’me… please, Choso.”

“Mmh–!” And that was all it took. Choso rolled his hips up into you one more time, twitching, whining, feeling your warmth spasm around him as he spilled into you. He drove as deep up into you as he could – holding onto you for dear life while the coil snap, and he came so hard that his legs gave out. Lots of it. 

So much that he felt it drip out.

You sought another kiss from him, sealing your lips together. When you pulled away, you giggled, “Good boy. Good puppy.”

“God,” he shuddered, falling back against the headrest once his orgasm subsided. You fell against his chest, snuggling up to him.

And Choso, not knowing what else to do, pressed a kiss to the top of your head. To his surprise, you didn’t immediately leave him in the dust. Instead, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, basking in the warmth of your post-coital bliss. 

You broke the silence after a minute or two. 

“So…” You began, trailing a finger up his bare chest. “Help me carry that cooler back to the beach?”

And Choso, breathless, felt himself begin to laugh.

The two of you came back onto the beach. Choso was carting the cooler behind while you walked ahead, waving your friends down. 

As you approached, Itadori remarked with crossed arms, “The hell have you guys been?” His hair was done up into two, pink, little pigtails. It was clear as day that Nobara had a hand in his current hairstyle.

“Oh!” You had grinned rather awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “We– Well, we realized we didn’t have as many spritzers as I thought. Had to make a run to the liquor store.”

Itadori raised a brow. Still, if he noticed something, he didn’t say anything about it. “Uh huh.”

Choso bent down to set the cooler onto the ground, back turned to the group.

Getou peeped up from his paperback novel, lips twitching at the sight of Choso’s back. He nudged his counterpart, Gojo.

Who nearly spat out his drink.

You sat on the beach blanket nearest to Gojo and Getou. The moment your butt hit the sand, you practically collapsed into the ground. 

You could feel eyes on you. So, begrudgingly, you rolled over, throwing Satoru a weak glare. “What?”

He only nodded towards Choso.

You turned around, following his gaze. It settled over his back. He bent down, picking a few spritzers out of the ice. It was then that you noticed the harsh red claw marks on his shoulderblades. 

Subconsciously, your gaze drifted down to your hips, to the skin where purple imprints of Choso’s fingertips stood out as clear as day.

You gasped, then, clamping a hand over your mouth.

“So,” Gojo began casually, handing you a shot. He leaned in, ocean blue eyes twinkling as he teased you, “Was he gentle? He seems like he would give it rough.”

You turned to his not-boyfriend, brows furrowed. “Suguruuu…”

It was with no great amount of satisfaction that Getou looked up from his novel. “Satoru,” he sighed languidly. “Not in front of ths kids.”

Gojo ignored his not-boyfriend’s remark. “Was it big?”

You sank back into the blanket, feeling the heat of your embarrassment burn your cheeks as your words from earlier came back to bite you in the ass.

Who would notice?

a/n: hello there my precious little sugarplums! I hope u enjoyed the first installment of my kinktober writings ( which will prob continue throughout the fall bc I started hella late ). send in requests! there's no part two to this, but I would write one if enough ppl requested it. yk the drill though, comment ur thoughts/wishes below! I love reading them. reblogs are alway always always appreciated bc my reach is ass on Tumblr...

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

credits: cover artist(s) unknown??, dividers: @bpdier, @cafekitsune

taglist: @missphanosaur18 , @bontensbabygirl, @megumissunshine, @chocoyanchan, @littlelovebug98, @lucisimpongod, @xochyw, @jaegerstan222 , @electro-supremacy, @mellytheteddy, @clover0310 , @soraya-daydreams, @priussy, @insanehumantinker, @staygoldsquatchling02, @nonksity, @hinata7346, @chososwhoresblog, @mindurownbussines , @hearts4sid , @simplefools , @ynjimenez

wanna join the taglist? | like this story? read more! | requests open!

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ #choso kamo #choso kamo x reader #kamo choso #kamo choso x reader #choso #choso jjk #choso x reader #choso fluff #choso smut #choso kamo smut #yuuji itadori #suguru getou #getou suguru #gojo satoru #nobara kugisaki #maki zenin #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader

[meatonfork]

I wonder how platonic task force 141 would react to reader sealing a wound with a heated knife or just a heated piece of metal like a total badass.

Total Badass

————————————————————————————————————————

pairing: platonic 141 x grim

warnings: usual cod violence, description of wound, vomit

summary: grim gets injured, and instead of asking for help, they fix it themselves

————————————————————————————————————————

you didn’t think you’d ever be in this position, honestly. your arm had a pretty deep gash wound in it, and you could thank a knife for that.

you had been caught up with the enemy. them catching you off guard, and slicing your arm open before you got the final blow on them.

you and the rest of the task force were holed up in a warehouse while hiding. unable to get to the safe house without being spotted in the daylight. you had to wait til it was dark to move.

you sat with your back against the wall, clutching your arm. the wound stung something awful, and you were getting lightheaded from the blood loss. it was deep, and you didn’t have time to stitch it back up.

blood trickled from beneath your fingers and hit the ground in a steady stream. a large puddle surrounded your boots, staining the leather. your shirt was ruined now, and you didn’t bother rolling the sleeve up. tearing it off instead.

“shhhit.” your teeth were clenched as you put more pressure on the wound. brows furrowing in pain as you did.

you released your arm and stuck your hand in your pocket, pulling out a lighter before reaching for your knife.

“grim, you okay? what are ya doin’?” soap cut himself off as he watched you pull out the weapon.

with gritted teeth, you answered your fellow sergeant, “don’ have time to stitch- gotta cauterize it.”

this bought the attention of the others, their heads whipping in your direction.

“what?” price stalked over.

“i don’t have time! i’ll bleed out, it’s too deep.” you panted out between grunts of pain.

“do you want one of us to do it?” ghost stepped into your vision. the only giveaway of his concern was his unconcealed eyes going soft.

“no, go keep watch. i’ll be fine.”

“alright..” he walked off, but not too far. he wanted to be there if you needed him.

with your injured arm, you held up the knife. using your good hand to flick the lighter on, heating up the blade.

the smell of blood and lighter fluid flooded your nostrils as the blade turned red.

“ah shit. okay, okay. here we go.”

you made sure the blade was the right color before asking soap for his belt.

he tore it off, no hesitation, and stuffed it between your teeth when you opened your mouth.

“i need to bite on it, or everyone within a five mile radius is going to hear me.”

you didn’t waste another second before setting the blade in your good hand and against your skin.

the pain was a blinding white as your screams were muffled against the belt.

burning flesh filled the room along with your noises of discomfort. your vision went blurry and your body was rigid in pain. nausea overtook your body as you held the blade against your burning flesh.

“holy shit!” soap reached forward to steady you with a hand on your shoulder.

“fuck!” you spit the belt out, panting. “god damn, that fucking hurts.” tears sprung to your eyes, slowly dropping down your cheeks.

you turned your body from soap before you retched up all your contents. his hand falling to your back.

you took a few deep breaths as your vision started to come back, leaning against the wall again.

a hand on your face made your eyes shoot up.

“yer not gonna pass out are ya?” soap’s voice was distant.

“mmmm no promises.” your eyes fluttered a bit.

“shit! price! get o’er here.” he all but shouted to your captain in panic.

price darted forward, placing a hand on your other shoulder.

“grim, hey.” he snapped his fingers in your face. “gotta look at me, kid. alright? you’re good.”

his kind eyes were filled with panic. you tried. you tried so hard to keep your eyes open. the ringing in your ears became louder, and your vision went blurry again. you tried to say something, but eventually it all faded to black.

———

your body being jostled around woke you quickly. a pressure was against your face and under your thighs.

slowly opening your eyes, you see you’re outside. the forest dark and the moon offered little light.

you let out a small groan, looking left and right. your head felt heavy, and your stomach rolled from the movement of being carried on uneven ground.

the first person to come into view was gaz. he held a soft smile while his brows furrowed in concern.

“hey! you’re up. how you feelin’?” his voice was soft. you didn’t know if it was because you just woke up, or if it was because you were still running from the enemy.

“like shit.” you all but groaned out.

“figures. that was some tough shit, grim.” a voice from beneath you grunted out. ghost turned his head to look back at you.

“yeah, that didn’t feel too great, not gonna lie.”

“let’s just get to the safe house, and we’ll look over it, yeah?”

“yeah. wake me when we’re there.”

“deal.”

————————————————————————————————————————

a/n: i hope you enjoyed :] <3

#grim au #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #soap cod #ghost #john soap mactavish #john price x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 imagine #cod x reader #cod mw22 #call of duty #cod #141 x reader #task force 141

[cozage]

Hi it's me again 👀 I absolutely love your writing of my request last time ❤❤❤❤❤ I'd like to send another request to you !!! You can continue writing my last request with other OP characters that you like or you can take this angst request: OP characters react to being forgotten (permanently or not) by their s/o after a brutal battle with the enemies?

A/N: You have once again cursed my ability to sleep. Oh, the ANGST!!! I LIVEEEEEE for it. I only did three characters,but I will DEFINITELY do this again with other characters, so if there was someone in particular you want to see, let me know friend (or anyone else!) :) 

Characters: GN! reader x Zoro, Luffy, Law

Cw: angst, blood, fighting, memory loss

Total word count: 2.5k

Forgotten

Zoro

You grip your weapon as he approaches, cautious of the stranger approaching you. You’re in a vulnerable position, sitting back against the rocks you just crashed into, and your ears are ringing.

“You okay?” he calls out, looking at you in a concerned manner. You pull your weapon out and take as much of a defensive stance as you can. 

“Stay back!” You scream at him. He looks strong, but with some luck you’ll be able to overpower him. 

Zoro pauses for a moment, full of confusion at your sudden hostility. At first he thinks you see something he’s missing, and he scans the vicinity for any kind of trap. He draws his weapon as he approaches you, and you stand to your feet to try and get a better attack point. 

“Hey, what are you-Sit down woman!” The moss-haired man screams at you, voice full of irritation.

You stand, leaning against the rocks for support. “What? So it’s easier for you to kill me? Like hell!”

“Why the hell would I kill you?!? Sit DOWN!” He’s closed the distance between you two, and you stab at him. You almost catch him off guard, but he dodges and easily disarms you. “Would you cut it out?! I know you don’t like help, but you need it right now!”

“Get off of me, you brute!” You’re kicking and punching him, but he just throws you over his shoulder and starts carrying you away, ignoring your punches, desperate to find Chopper. 

--

Chopper delivers the news. Memory loss. It’s not complete, you remember the Strawhats, the Sunny, a few crew members. But you’ve forgotten Zoro. Not just the two of you being together, but you’ve forgotten him completely. 

Zoro handles suffering silently. He locks himself in the crows nest, training all day. If he had been stronger, faster, this wouldn’t have happened. He blames himself a lot.

He tells everyone not to mention your all's history to you. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and he doesn’t expect you to feel that way about him again. He knew it was a miracle for you to fall in love with him once, he knows he won’t be so lucky a second time. 

It's painful for him to even look at you. Everyone has explained to you that he’s a member of the Sunny, so you trust him now. But everytime he sees you, all he can see is the hatred in your eyes on that day in the battlefield. Even when he gets past that, your eyes look at him with no emotion, vacant where they used to be full of love. 

You thought he hated you based on his behavior. When you asked Nami about it, she finally caved and told you about your past with Zoro. Everyone hates to see the two of you so distant, and Nami knows he won’t ever make the first move. 

You take him up some tangerine water one day while he's working out. You’re not sure why, but you do. 

His mouth drops open when he sees your delivery, and he runs to you and grabs you without thinking. “You remember?”

You don’t, and your face tells him. He lets go of you immediately, and his cheeks turn pink. He mutters an apology, turning away from you quickly. 

“I’ll remember one day,” you tell him quietly as you exit. “Or we’ll just have to make new memories.”

Luffy

The rescue mission to retrieve you had been a little too easy. Everyone was skeptical, but Luffy was over the moon with joy. The universe just wanted the two of you together. That's why you were here now, back with your family. You were unconscious, but Chopper reported that you should wake up soon.

Nami, Ussop, and Franky had wanted to strap you down as you woke up, just to make sure everyone remained safe, but Luffy refused. 

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you saw was Monkey D. Luffy’s stupid grin. Your arm pulled back and sprang forward to punch him, but steel swords blocked your path before you could connect with the pirate’s face. 

Luffy pushed Zoro out of the way, not realizing what you had attempted to do. “Hey, Zoro! Don’t hurt her!” You took the opportunity to swing again, this time making contact with the captain’s face. 

Ussop and Franky were on you in an instant, vines and cords wrapping around your body to restrain you. “You scum pirate!” You shrieked, eyes wide with rage. “Let me go!”

Chopper sedated you, and ran tests to see what was happening. You were perfectly healthy, besides obvious memory loss/alteration. The crew was happy you were physically okay, at least.

Luffy sat by your side while you slept, combing your hair with his fingers. He whispered all the adventures you went on, hoping they would jog your memory unconsciously. But when you woke up, you tried to attack him again, and this time the crew had to put restraints on you to keep you tied to the bed. Luffy just stood back in horror, watching everyone else take action. He was frozen in disbelief, and he wanted to desperately wake up from this nightmare scenario. 

You had to be heavily sedated for several days before you finally stayed calm enough for a conversation. You would talk to anyone but Luffy, who stood in the corner of the room, just staring at the ground. He couldn’t bring himself to leave, but it hurt his heart so much to stay. It was one of the longest times the crew went without seeing him smile. 

The Strawhat crew deduced that the Marines had used some kind of devil fruit power to alter your memory. It seemed love was replaced with hate; the more you loved a person, the more you hated them now. All of your adventures were replaced with Marine ideology. You didn’t want to believe them, but there was a small portion of your mind that could see they were telling the truth. 

--

Luffy is a man of action, and he immediately wants to solve this problem. He’s already trying to get Nami to reroute to the Navy headquarters, ready to smash any person who gets in the way. 

The crew talks some sense into him, at least a little bit. They don’t know who did this to you or where that person is now. Time for smashing can come later, but they need information before they go on a blind rampage and someone else ends up getting hurt. 

After everyone leaves the room, he’s the only one that remains in the room. His face is darkened, full of pain. 

“You really don’t remember us?” He refuses to look at you while he asks the question. His hands are balled into fists, and his body is rigid and tight. “You don’t remember me?”

Oh I know you. I despise you. But you can't bring yourself to tell him what you’re thinking. He looks so broken over your reactions to him, and you know in your gut that he’s important to you. “Tell me the stories.”

And he does. He sits by your bedside and he tells you every story he can think of. He starts with the first time you two met, and he talks for hours. You’re not entirely sure you believe all his stories, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would lie for no reason. 

He tells you stories of the Sunny, and the stories of your alls relationship. He talks about the first time he held your hand, when he kissed you, when he realized he loved you. Your cheeks burned whenever those stories came up, refusing to believe you could love a pirate like him. But he talked about it all without shame, he either didn’t notice your embarrassment or didn’t care.

Halfway through his stories, he realized you’re still restrained. He bends over to take them off, continuing his stories as he works. You’re baffled by this decision, especially since he’s in here alone with you, but you hold back your urge to attack him for now.

When he’s done, you rub your wrists and flex them. They’re sore from being strapped down so long. He sees you doing that and takes one of your wrists in his hands to massage it as if it’s second nature. 

You pull away from him, and you can see the hurt in his eyes as he mutters an apology and continues his story of your alls adventures. There’s significantly less pep in his voice after you reject him, but he still keeps the story going.

Dinner is called during his story, so he pauses and he invites you to come with him. His stomach growls as you all walk to dinner, and he realizes this has probably been the longest time he’s gone between meals. He was so caught up in talking to you, he forgot to eat. 

You go with him to dinner, and the strawhats all eye you, but nobody says anything. They talk over plans and ideas on how to get your memory back. You say nothing, you just listen to them try to plan something. 

After dinner he continues telling you their story, finishing at the point where they lost you to the navy. 

He keeps finding things to talk about though, his nervous energy spilling out into the room. He doesn’t want you to kick him out, and he doesn’t want to leave you to another Strawhat to watch over. He knows they’ll restrain you, and that’s the last thing he wants for you to go through.

He finally falls asleep in the chair, his head resting on your bed beside you. You know your orders are to execute the Strawhats, and this is the best moment you’ll ever get to take out the captain. But you can’t bring yourself to harm him, and you know deep down, there’s at least some truth in the stories he told you. 

Law

Law hated these moments. These moments when he was reminded just how fragile a human body was. How fragile you were. 

An explosion had caught you off guard and sent you flying, and you were just outside of his Room perimeter. He had tried to expand it to catch you, but he hadn’t made it in time. And now you were paying for it. He had rushed you back to the ship, and performed a full scan to find a major head injury and internal trauma. The internal trauma was easy enough to fix, but brains were such fickle things. 

He hoped -prayed even- that you would wake up. After three days, he sat by your side, waiting for your eyes to open. He longed for that sweet smile to grace your lips again, to see that look in your eyes that always made his stomach knot into a ball of butterflies. 

On the fourth day, your eyes flicked open, and he rushed over to meet you. He wanted to be the first thing you saw. 

Fear. That's what he saw in your eyes. “Y/N-ya,” he whispered, moving towards you. “You’re safe.”

You scrambled away from him, almost falling off the bed in the process. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“It’s okay.” Law’s voice was steady, but he stopped moving towards you. Amnesia was common amongst patients when they came out of a coma. He had prepared for this possibility, and he knew it was better to stick to the basic facts. “You’re on a ship, you’ve been traveling with us for a while. I’m Trafalgar Law, the ship’s doctor. You had an accident, but you’re safe now.”

“No, no.” You shake your head, confused. “I was just at home, in the North Blue. I don’t know you. I don’t know where I am.”

His heart constricts, and he tries not to let his disappointment and fear show. Over two years of your memory was just…gone? Slight amnesia before an accident was common, but long term like this was not a good sign.

--

First he asks you to recall what you remember. He lets you ask questions, and he fills you in on how you got to join the Heart Pirates. 

You were super opposed to pirates when you first met Law, and that personality has returned. He tries not to be too upset over it, but it feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest. 

He doesn’t tell you about your relationship, and he forbids his crew to tell you about it as well. He knows how confusing everything is for you right now, and he knows it would be selfish to add a relationship to the mix. 

You request to depart the crew at the next island. You don’t want to be a pirate, and honestly you’re not even sure how you became one in the first place. You can see the pain on his face, and he starts to argue with you, but he stops himself. “Leave if you want to. I’m not going to hold you against your will.” He can’t look you in the eye after that, though.

He still brings you your favorite food, gives you your favorite books to reread while you’re sailing. He doesn’t speak to you much, or even stick around in your space for long, but he brings you something at least once a day. You can't help but note how well the captain knows you. 

You mention this to a few crewmates, and note how nice it must be to have a captain who’s so attentive to everyone’s likes and dislikes. They all exchange glances, trying to weigh if they should say something or not. 

Finally Penguin speaks up. “Well, he’s not quite as attentive to us as he is to you.” You give him a nervous laugh and ask him to explain. Nobody really speaks up, and you get irritated with all the secrecy.

You storm into Law’s office. “Why do you know so much about me?” Your question takes him by surprise, and you can see he's taken aback by your question.

“I’m a good captain,” he finally stutters out. “Bullshit,” you shoot back. But he insists that's all there is to it, and you know the conversation is over. 

You seek out Penguin again, and corner him into telling you what everyone else already knows. You and the captain have a history. And a long, complicated one at that. 

You return to your captain’s office, but stop yourself before you barge in. You stand outside his door for a long time, debating on what to do with this new information from Penguin. 

You’re about to leave when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man that you apparently love. Both of you stare at each other for a few seconds, saying nothing. You realize it’s the first time you’ve looked him in his eyes since that first day you woke up on the ship. His eyes are a soft amber color, and the light dances across them, making his pupils seem alive, flowing with movement. 

Law finally breaks the silence. “Is there something you need?” He hasn’t said your name since that first day, and you miss hearing it for some reason. 

“I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. On the crew, I mean.” You didn’t know those words were going to come out of your mouth, but you’re happy they do. Though he tries to hide it, Law’s eyes light up, and you catch a brief smile on his lips. 

Internally, Law’s heart soars. He spent so many days sick with worry thinking he was going to lose you, but you’re still the same person you were deep down. He’s holding back tears of relief knowing you aren’t going to leave him. “Of course, Y/N-ya. You are always welcome here.”

You don’t know if your memory will ever come back, but you find yourself hoping it does.

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x you #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #zoro x reader #monkey d. luffy #luffy #luffy x you #luffy x y/n #luffy x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #law x y/n #✧˚zoro✧˚ #✧˚ luffy✧˚ #✧˚law✧˚

[ninetailedfoxmanchi]

What is Simon 'Ghost' Riley actually like in a relationship (according to me)

A/N: I know this isn't anything like the things I usually write fics about but if I don't get this out of my system, I will spontaneously combust into flames from thought overload. There is a lot of great fics about him out there, 100%, but there is a steamy pile of garbage as well which makes Simon "an abusive asshole" to quote a TikTok I recently saw - and I couldn't agree more. So, here is my soft take on this tough guy and I hope you can enjoy reading this despite it being pretty far away from everything else on this blog.

Warnings: mentions of torture, violence, weapons, PTSD, profanity, explicit sexual themes but also so much fluff and softness

A/N pt. 2: I base this on Ghost's backstory according to the comic books as well as the video games but this is just my take so if you imagined him differently, that is totally valid!

* * *

Firstly and most importantly, Simon is a very different in his private life compared to his work; meaning he is good at separating the violent side of his work life from the life he has with you.

He must be the softest, the most gentle person there is when he is with you. I think he is very shy in the beginning as well as in early relationship given how his father treated him growing up. It is not that Simon wouldn't trust you, it's more that he would not trust himself. After all, after the Manuel Roba operation, he was tortured for months and came out with severe anger issues.

However, he was able to resolve this when he re-joined the military and engaged therapy but the scars remained: both mental as well as physical.

The reason why Ghost never takes off his mask is because of the scars Vernon and the lot left on his face (and the rest of his body). They are healed now but whenever he sees them in the mirror, he is reminded of everything he has been through, especially the loss of his family.

After Simon had told you why he keeps his mask on even in private life, at least the bottom part, you would not mind it as much but you would also reassure him that the way you feel about him could never be changed by some scars.

Needless to say, Simon would be very, very protective of you. He has lost everyone he has ever loved and cared about and he would never allow the same happen with you. It must be said though that Simon is not possessive. He above all knows the importance of freedom, especially when it comes to making choices about yourself and your comfort.

Still, Simon would face some control issues when you'd go out on your own. At work, he is used to being in charge of everybody, making sure everyone is safe and manning their positions. But with you, he needs to remind himself you are not going to war but just out with your friends, out grocery shopping, out to the library or somewhere. The thought of losing you drives him insane. He could never forgive himself if it happened when he could be by your side instead.

It goes without saying though that Simon prefers the comfort of his home to just about any other place. Clubs give him anxiety and the loud music triggers his PTSD, bars and restaurants are okay here and there but there is no place like home.

He does enjoy hiking and walking with you though.

Simon is romantic by heart so picnics in the nature would be his go-to dates. A bottle of wine, cheese and olives, a blanket in a spot with a view... You'd trace his features gently with the tip of your finger; the curve of his nose, his lips where he'd take your hand in his and kissed it softly as you would lay together in a secluded spot somewhere.

Bonus: when you decide to go home, Simon would never let you help carry any of the things he'd brought. Maybe the blanket but everything else, he'd pile up in his massive arms and carry them all the way home while barely seeing over the heap.

When it comes to sex, Simon would be just as reserved as with taking off his mask in the beginning. He would need much assurance from you that you really wanted to be with him intimately before trying anything.

Contrary to popular belief, Simon would never do anything that could even remotely hurt you when you had sex (or otherwise). On the one hand, he is well aware of his size and strength, and on the other, it is his childhood trauma that keeps him from trying anything that could potentially hurt you (even choking, spanking, etc. is not something he is comfortable with) even if you'd ask him to experiment.

Simon has seen, felt and inflicted too much violence in his life to have it included in his love life as well. All he wants to do is make you feel safe and loved especially when you have sex because this is one of the ways he expresses his love to you.

His sex drive is not that high but when you do have sex, he likes to make it special and intimate. Simon is very serious about it and wants you to enjoy yourself more than anything. To be honest, just seeing you climax causes him do the same.

He enjoys going down on your very much; the intimacy, the softness of your moans, his arms locked around your thighs when his fingers are not intertwined with yours.

Simon's favourite part though is the aftercare. He loves cuddling with you. Physical touch is yet another of his love languages although he was very reserved in the beginning of the relationship.

He is the big spoon the majority of time but sometimes (his favourite) Simon lays his head on your chest, wraps his arms around your waist and lets you play with his hair. He can fall asleep almost instantly.

It cannot be stressed enough that Simon never ever EVER raises his voice at you. Even when you are having an argument (which is not often), he never yells much less gets violent in any way.

He is a great listener and despite not saying much a lot of the time, Simon communicates well although he struggles very much to word his feelings.

After an argument or just for no particular occasion at all, Simon gets you flowers (a lot) - and different kinds every time. Another way for Simon to apologize is to cook for you. He is not very good at it but it is the effort that counts.

When he is away on a mission, Simon calls you a lot just to hear your voice, especially when he is too stressed to fall asleep. Your voice calms him down and help him get some rest but also reassures him you are alright whilst he is not there to keep you safe.

Simon likes to listen about your day, your feelings and your ideas. It keeps his mind far away from dark places. But every now and again, he would trust you with a fragment of his memories when his thoughts are just too loud. You know how precious and how rare it is that Simon opens up to you.

You don't say anything when he talks about his memories and his family but you always hold his hand, brushing your thumb across his calloused knuckles or drawing gentle shapes against his broad back.

You pepper his skin with soft kisses when his voice quietens and lead his head to rest against your chest as you pet his hair.

He likes to listen to you sing too, even if your voice is not the greatest. Even just humming a random melody and feeling your chest vibrate softly beneath his cheek will ease his heart.

Random bonus: Simon drinks English breakfast, no cream and one cube of sugar and has an occasional cigarette with it (Marlboro).

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley imagine #simon riley imagine #modern warefare 2 x reader #modern warfare 2

[cuubism]

literally just smut, dreamling, prince/knight dynamic, uh. lowkey virginity kink. lowkey degradation kink. yeah.

--

The war camp is dark, the tent only barely lit by a few scant candles, but Hob is wide awake.

It had been a fantastically successful battle, that day. Much needed after a string of losses. They’d absolutely destroyed the enemy, Hob’s only just managed to clean most of the blood off himself—and he’s still riding that high hours later, blood pumping, restless energy racing as he occupies himself cleaning his armor and his sword.

Technically, he could get someone else to do these menial tasks. He’s a knight, he’s of high enough rank to request it. But Hob’s always believed a man should tend to his own weapons, should know every piece of them. It’s the same reason he takes care of his own horse, and his own tack.

Besides, the repetitive motion of the cleaning is taking the edge off.

There’s another thing that can cut the edge of the battle high.

Sex.

How fortunate, then, that Hob is on good terms with so many of the working ladies of the camp.

Not that it’s really so hard to be on good terms. The bar is so low that simply not behaving like a total dick seems to do the trick—but the fact remains that when Hob calls for one of the messenger boys who hang around outside to send for whoever’s working that night, he knows someone will come by. He pays them well, he gets along with most everyone, and it’s really not that hard to get one’s prick wet under those circumstances.

He’s just finished oiling the final leather straps on his armor, is hanging it up to await the next fight, when he hears the entrance flap of the tent, to his back, swish open and shut again. The rush of cool night air into the warm, close space.

“Be right with you, luv,” he calls, tying off the last strap, and a deep, sonorous voice responds—

“Please, take your time, Ser Gadling.”

Hob whirls around, nearly falls over like a buffoon he goes so fast. Standing there is not one of the working girls he’s come to know. It is, in fact, Prince fucking Morpheus, dark hair tousled by the wind, wrapped in a long velvet cloak that sparkles like stardust where the light catches it.

“My prince,” Hob stammers, trying to decide whether he’s meant to bow and managing only a dip of the head. It’s Prince Morpheus’s fault, this awkwardness, Hob would have managed with perfect politeness the sudden arrival of one of his siblings, or even the King himself. It’s only Morpheus that fells him so. “I—”

“—called for a whore?” Morpheus finishes, quirking a brow. Hob can only describe the look in his eyes as mischievous.

Anything Hob might have possibly managed to say is derailed by the rush of interest to his dick. That look, that phrase in Morpheus’s pretty, proper mouth— and what is he implying—?

“That’s… not the word I’d use,” Hob finally manages, throat tight. “Did. Did you need something, my prince?”

“As I’ve said,” repeats Morpheus, taking a fluid step closer to him. And he’s— he’s fucking barefoot in the grass. Lord have mercy. “You called for a whore.”

Hob should step back. Instead he’s rooted to the spot. Paralyzed by a swirling mix of fear and arousal. “That’s not— you’re not—”

Morpheus keeps advancing on him, liquid and predatory. The deep vee of his robe suggests he’s wearing nothing underneath. He’s got some kind of glitter under his eyes. And he’s— he’s so beautiful. Hob has always thought so, especially on that one blessed night when—

“Do you think me not a whore?” says Morpheus. He says it with allure, almost pride, not shame. “Do you think, my knight, that I have never slunk into some lord’s bed to steal secrets? That I have never used my body to seal an alliance, when my words were not sufficient?”

Hob should be horrified at the thought of his prince debased so. Instead, the image of Morpheus on his knees flashes through his mind, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from whining. “That’s not— the same,” he manages.

“Is it not?” Hob’s ankles hit his bedroll and he trips back, falling on his ass and bracing himself on his elbows, and Morpheus follows him, crawling up Hob’s body in a long, sinuous movement, the velvet of his robe soft wherever it touches his skin. “People can make sex their trade for coin, but it is different when I offer myself up in exchange for goods or laws or partnerships?”

If that’s all the case, Hob should find out what Morpheus wants with him now. Instead he asks, breathless, taken in by Morpheus’s eyes, “What did you trade for, then, my prince?” Maybe Hob doesn’t care what Morpheus wants with him. Maybe he only cares that Morpheus wants him. “When you let a foreign king bed you, did you use your mouth?” He touches Morpheus’s lips with his fingertips, and Morpheus smiles, sharp and pleased. “Or did you let him fuck you?”

The thought is as jealousy-inducing as it is arousing. Hob has no right to be jealous about his prince. But.

“What I needed to,” says Morpheus. “I have learned how to bait my lures. Many kings, I have learned, like to ruin pretty young men. Do you know—” he taps a fingertip along Hob’s lips “—how many times I have ‘sold’ my virginity? Played the hapless youth desperate for an older man to teach him, to use him?”

Fuck. Fucking hell.

“And did you learn?” Hob asks, hyperfocused on every point where their bodies are touching.

Morpheus tilts his head at him, suddenly all innocence. “Learn what?”

And, well. He does know how to bait his lures, it turns out. Even knowing he’s sinking his mouth onto a hook, Hob growls and flips them, pushing Morpheus down into the sheets. Morpheus lets out a startled breath that Hob’s pretty sure is affected but still succeeds in sending a thrill through him, and a powerful sense—careful, delicate, don’t hurt him. Even though the small part of Hob’s brain that’s still checked in to reason knows well that Morpheus is the one truly in control of whatever’s going on here.

“Should I teach you, then?” he asks, dragging a hand through Morpheus’s hair— so soft. “Show you how good I can make you feel?”

“Please,” Morpheus breathes, wrapping a delicate hand around the back of his neck. Hob really hopes he isn’t going to get drawn and quartered for this. Might be worth it, though. He doesn’t want to die, but if there were a way to go… “Hob, please.”

Fuck, his name in that wanting mouth.

“Got my mouth on you last time,” he muses, the sense memory of Morpheus’s prick on his tongue rushing through him, the hard press of the palace flagstones on his knees, “think I can show you something new, now.”

“I defer to your experience,” Morpheus breathes, as Hob pulls open his heavy velvet robe. As he’d thought, Morpheus isn’t wearing anything under it, and the thought of him walking through the camp like that to get here makes Hob want to bite something. Morpheus makes him so base and irrational.

Hob hadn’t gotten nearly this far last time. Had simply pulled open the ties on Morpheus’s breeches, let his prince tug on his hair as Hob took him in his mouth. Now, he has Morpheus fully unveiled to him, like a gift, like an offering, and, just like an offering, Morpheus stretches, arches his back, long limbs in relief and his cock laying hard against the crease of his thigh. He’s so pristine, always tucked away in his palace, where Hob has been out in the trenches—literally—getting sun-tanned and rough and dirty.

Although. Not so pristine as Hob might have thought. Apparently.

“You’re beautiful,” Hob tells him. “Your body is beautiful. I can’t wait to show you what I can do with it.”

Morpheus shudders, keeps playing along with their little facade of inexperience. “Will you ruin me for other men, Robert Gadling? Defile me, destroy my reputation so no respectable lord or lady will ever dare take me as their spouse?”

“You came crawling to my bed, pretty thing,” Hob says. Nips at Morpheus’s belly, which makes him cry out, such a pretty, keening sound, and then soothes where he’d bitten with lips and tongue. “You’ve been wanting it, I think. Someone to take you down, someone to fuck you.”

“Perhaps I simply wanted to reward my favorite knight,” Morpheus says, trailing off into a groan as Hob leaves another mark low on his pelvis.

“Should have told me you were the prize for valor,” Hob says. “I’d have killed twice as many men. Come to your bedroom still covered in the blood I spilled in your name.”

Morpheus actually moans at the image. “I’d have had you that way. My knight.”

“You can have me now.” It’s tempting, to do as he did last time, and take Morpheus into his mouth. But Hob wants to do something different to him. And he has the sense that Morpheus wants something different done. “Go on. On your belly.”

Morpheus’s breath leaves him in a shuddering rush, but he does as Hob says. Hob runs his hands down over his smooth back, his ass, his wiry thighs, kneeling between them and pushing them further apart. Morpheus whines, moving his hips in little circles to get the barest amount of friction on the sheets.

“You need it so badly.” Hob parts Morpheus’s cheeks with his thumbs, rubs over his hole, and Morpheus keens. “Don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, Hob, show me—”

Hob swipes the oil from the bag beside the bed—because yes, he is prepared for these sorts of things, if not specifically for his prince showing up—and dips his fingers in. Rubs them together to warm it, then slides one finger into Morpheus, without pause, straight to the first knuckle.

Morpheus lets out a choked gasp, fingers clenching in the sheets. The sound makes Hob’s cock twitch where it’s already straining in his breeches. “Hob—” he moans, strangled, “Hob, I—”

He starts to lift himself up, and Hob pushes him down with a hand on the back of his neck. Morpheus struggles for a moment and then goes boneless under him. Hob releases him and strokes his hair. “Good boy. You want it, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Morpheus says shakily, pushing back on Hob’s hand when he starts working that finger inside him. “Please. Please.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Hob promises. Having Morpheus, his prince, his beautiful prince, splayed out under him like this is heady. If he weren���t so focused on Morpheus’s reactions, he might have lost his grip on his own arousal already. “But you’re mine.”

He slides another finger in, and Morpheus moans raggedly. Hob doesn’t know if he’s truly getting overwhelmed or if he’s still trying to play the clueless virgin, but either way it’s burning through Hob’s veins. He gets Morpheus writhing on his fingers, achingly hard in his own pants, taking each of Morpheus’s pleasured, crying moans as its own prize.

Morpheus is shaking, panting, as Hob pulls his hips up, undoes the laces on his own breeches to pull out his cock, lines himself up. Morpheus presses his face into the bed, fingers tight in the sheets. Hob touches his lips to the base of his spine, tastes the sweat there. “My prince?”

Morpheus swallows hard and it still doesn’t seem to clear his throat. “I am ready.”

So Hob braces his hips and pushes in, one long slow slide. He groans at the same time as Morpheus moans, so ragged it’s almost pained. “Fuck you’re tight.”

“Well,” says Morpheus, “you are the first to have me so.”

Even aware that Morpheus is only playing at it, the words make Hob feel like he’s clinging to sanity by a thread. “You’ve been waiting so long, haven’t you?” he manages, as he starts to move, still holding Morpheus by the hips. Morpheus sighs at the slide, thighs trembling. It’s enough to make Hob obsessed. Morpheus is so tight and hot, Hob really doesn’t know how long he’s going to last, but he’s determined to give Morpheus just a bit of that ruination first. “Waiting for the right cock to fill you?”

Morpheus pushes back on him with a whine. “Yes.”

“Kept yourself as a prize for me?”

“Yes. Hob.”

Hob reaches around to take him in hand, and Morpheus cries out, bucking into his touch, pinned in place. Hob moves faster, each thrust pushing Morpheus into his grip, his breeches scraping roughly over Morpheus’s bare thighs, and it feels so base to have him like this, still clothed, taking him like a casual whore when he’s a prince. It feels wrong. But so good.

“How’s it feel?” he asks, voice gratifyingly steady. “For your first time?”

Morpheus lets out a wordless groan. Then, “Good. So much. I—” he trails off again, losing his breath. And this, too, is gratifying, reducing Morpheus, usually so eloquent, to broken sentences and simple words.

“Good, love.” Hob soothes a hand over his hip. “That’s good.”

But before Morpheus can settle, Hob increases his pace, pounding into him so hard and fast that Morpheus loses what remains of his balance and is held in place only by Hob’s hand on his hip, his arm wrapped around his belly. Each thrust pulls a sharp gasp from him, his face pushed into the sheets— and Hob’s nearly insensate with how good it is, but still he manages to pull Morpheus off in time with each thrust.

“Hob—” Morpheus chokes, “Hob, I’m—”

“You can come, love. I want to see you.”

Morpheus comes with a bitten-off cry, spilling over Hob’s hand. He’s so beautiful like that, Hob’s formal, perfect prince—crumpled in pleasure, eyes screwed shut, hair damp with sweat. It’s a collision of every illicit thought Hob’s swallowed down when he’s looked at him. In the palace, on campaign, at times when he was meant to be guarding Morpheus and when he wasn’t. He can’t last long thinking about that, seeing that, so he bends low over Morpheus’s back and kisses the back of his neck. One small, tender touch in this game of roughness and transaction, one touch before Morpheus inevitably swans back out of his tent, back to his writing and his diplomacy and his other diplomacy, and— fuck—

Hob holds Morpheus to him as he comes, wishing he could say, don’t go back to anyone else. You’re mine now, come to me. But those aren’t his words to say.

Morpheus slumps down to the bed, boneless and satisfied. Hob follows him, breathing hard against the back of his neck, finally releasing him from under his weight. Morpheus only winces a little when he pulls out, and Hob yanks off his own shirt and uses it to wipe off Morpheus’s stomach, between his thighs. Morpheus sighs, tipping his head back, a tiny smile on his face, then turns to face Hob, leaning on his arm.

Hob’s swiftly learning how weak he is for that smile on the face of the usually unreadable prince. He trails an exploratory finger along Morpheus’s jaw, up his temple, into his hair. Morpheus closes his eyes at the touch, slow and sleepy.

“Was that better than your many transactional trysts?” Hob asks. “Or do I have work to do?”

“I would not know,” says Morpheus, a self-satisfied little smile now curling on his lips. “Considering those did not occur.”

Hob blinks hard, mind going blank. “What.”

“I spun you a story, Robert,” Morpheus says. His voice is sex-rough, his hair a mess, his gaze drags over Hob’s body with a proprietary touch. “And it is a fun story, is it not? Plying secrets from between the sheets, returning home victorious when one was thought to be had. And,” he drags a fingertip down the center of Hob’s chest, “coming back to the bed of a lover. One whom one wants to be with. To be made his again.”

Hob is still stuck on this. “Wait, are you telling me you made all that up?”

Morpheus smirks. “Do you truly think that my words would ever be insufficient to obtain what this kingdom needs? Do you think I need to use my mouth other ways to get treaties signed?”

Well, when he puts it like that.

“It was a compelling story, though,” Morpheus muses as Hob continues gaping at him. “You seemed compelled.”

“Morpheus, why?”

“I wanted to see how my favorite knight would respond to knowing other men had had me,” he says, and keeps dragging his fingers through Hob’s chest hair in self-soothing patterns. Then his expression shifts from clever to almost shy. “And. I thought that if you knew the truth, you might defer too much to me. Treat me only like your prince.”

Hob’s stomach swoops. “And… what’s the truth, then?”

“That evening at the state dinner, when someone meant me harm and you saved me…” his voice holds a note of wonder now. “That. Was the first time that I had ever.”

“What?” He can’t lie to himself, the thought of being Morpheus’s first, for real, does spark something in him. But also. Morpheus is a prince. And Hob had been…

“I had never before had cause,” Morpheus explains. “I was uninterested in marriage. And I never found anyone worth threatening my reputation over. Until…” His lips purse, stressed now. “And I wanted you so. And. You wanted me.”

Hob is speechless, running through every second of that night in his mind. Sweeping Morpheus into his arms and out of the way of a blade. Morpheus’s wide eyes staring at the slice in Hob’s arm, the blood welling there. Blinking and finding himself crowded into a side hall, Morpheus panting into his mouth, the hunger of his pretty lips, heat and adrenaline running through Hob’s body, pushing Morpheus against the wall and sinking to his knees in front of his charge, his dear, his prince to worship. The tears that had pricked at Morpheus’s eyes as Hob had taken him all the way down.

Christ.

“Does that bother you?” Morpheus asks, uncertain now.

“I’d have shown you a better time then if I’d known,” Hob says, because doesn’t he deserve to be properly taken care of? “In an actual bed.”

Morpheus lets out a little huff of a laugh, expression easing. “I enjoyed it.”

“And then…” he lets his hand come to rest low on Morpheus’s waist. “You came back for more.” He kisses Morpheus and swallows his pleased sigh. “Hungry little thing.”

Morpheus’s breath shudders, and he clings to Hob’s hair, his shoulders. Hob’s about to roll on top of him again and kiss him properly, maybe more once they’ve recovered themselves, but pauses as a realization sinks in. “Wait. Does that mean—”

“Yes, Hob. You were the first man to fuck me.” He sighs. “Use that information against me if you wish. It is out of my hands, now.”

Hob is reeling with shock, and even more so with arousal, heat flashing through his body at the mere thought that all Morpheus had pretended at, newness and learning and raw, unpracticed want, had been, at least somewhat, real. And he had let Hob have that. Catch it. Had trusted him.

“Never,” Hob swears, kissing his cheek. “I would never. You’ll be my secret. Besides. I don’t think anyone would ever believe me even if I said. Me, with you? A prince? And a gorgeous one at that?”

Morpheus runs his hands over Hob’s shoulders. “You are handsome. And very gallant. I do not see what you mean.”

“Well, that’s flattering. And I won’t tell you to take it back.”

Morpheus runs his tongue over his lower lip, eyes dark where they trace over Hob’s jaw, shoulders, chest. “I have. Wanted you from afar. For a very long time.”

Obligingly, Hob kisses him, and sweeps his hands over Morpheus’s lower back, drawing him close. “You’re a prince,” he says, breathless again with want for this wonderful being. “You can have whatever you want.”

“So,” Morpheus nuzzles at his jaw, “I may steal my way into your bed? You would not mind that, Ser Gadling?”

“Sneak in, or stay, I won’t mind. I’ll give you all my secrets.”

Morpheus hums. “And your loyalty?”

Hob thinks he means it playfully, a continuation of his ruse from before—but it comes out much more serious. His gaze finds Hob’s with a deeper wanting than when he’d swanned into Hob’s tent, all draped fabric and fluid lines of desire.

“You have it already,” Hob murmurs, and Morpheus’s pleased sigh as Hob kisses him is a balm to his soul. “My prince.”

#if i don't post this attempt at 'just smut' now i'll end up crawling into a hole and eating the crumpled paper of it instead #just doing smut outside of a plot is like so hard mad respect to the people who write smut oneshots damn #dreamling #nsft #dream of the endless #hob gadling #ye olde prince/knight dynamic #my writing #this fic is actually absurd i'm sorry. but if at least one (1) person thinks this is hot i'll consider it a success. it only takes 1 #im cringe but im free

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

The Light Behind Your Eyes

Simon "Ghost" Riley X F!Reader Task Force 141 X Platonic!F!Reader

“Gave us quite a scare, darling, try not to do that again, that’s an order.” Price’s laugh was thick and wet, clearing his throat to try and help stop the tears. “Not allowed to leave us just yet there sweetheart, not until you’re old and gray.” Gaz knew you could hear their jokes, even if they fell somewhat flat.

a/n:ahhhhh! this is thanks to my amazing friend @gaylemonshark fuel my angst filled heart, this was probably the angstiest thing I've written in a while! warnings:mentions of blood, wounds, near death experiences, blood loss, broken bones, it's a total angst fest

It was supposed to be an easy mission, get the intel and get it back to base so that Laswell can analyze it. None of you had been expecting the firefight that greeted you the moment the helicopter landed. Price had taken the lead, Ghost running alongside him as they did their best to take out any enemies that were within eyesight. They’d managed to get more than half, laying low to check ammo and make sure that everyone was alright. A sniper had nearly taken Soap out, you had tackled him to the ground when you noticed the little dot resting on his shirt.

He’d thanked you quickly before firing back his own shot, successfully taking out the sniper that had been firing at your group. Price had sent you, Ghost, and Soap into the building to retrieve any important information while he and Gaz scoured the area. It was unnervingly quiet as you scoured for any documents, or hard drives that you could snag.

“I don’t like this, it seems too easy.” Ghost was on edge, and that wasn’t something he felt often.

“It’ll be alright, we’ll get what we need and meet back up with Price.” You pushed open the door to your left, jaw dropped as you took in the amount of filing cabinets.

Shit, this was going to be a lot more difficult with the amount of information you’d be sorting through now. Shouldering your gun, you started pulling open different drawers to see if any of them held any important documents you needed. You pulled out any files with names that stuck out and laid them down on the table behind you. The stack stayed relatively small, which surprised you. Ghost and Soap were still in the main area, scoping every corner to look for any stragglers that might’ve been hanging around.

You’d been so in your head you hadn’t noticed the man slipping out of the closet closest to you, gun raised. The sound of the safety is what caught your attention, spinning around to face him.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Your body was thrown back against the filing cabinets, pain spreading throughout your body like a wildfire. Ghost slammed into the room, knife wedged into the kids throat before he could even react. You pressed your hands against your thigh, and abdomen, wincing at the blood seeping through your fingers.

“We need evac!” Soap threw himself down beside you, hoisting you into his arms as gently as he could.

“Get her outside, now.” Ghost wanted the man at his feet to suffer, but he’d already bled out in the few minutes it took them to gather the files and get you outside.

You couldn’t keep your eyes open, eyes half lidded as you struggled to take in your surroundings. Price was barking out orders, more concerned with keeping you safe and alive than getting the information back. How could they have let someone slip through their fingers and get to you? It wasn’t until they’d placed you in the heli that the pain seemed to really set in. Ghost’s hands were pressed against your thigh, Johnny cutting off your tac vest to get to the wound in your abdomen. 

“Make it stop!” Your throat felt raw with the guttural scream you let out.

The pain was unbearable, and this wasn’t the first time you’d been shot before. There would always be wounds, times where someone wasn’t quick enough to warn you. This? This was hell incarnated. Your body was turning cold, fingertips and lips turning blue as your heart rate plummeted. Soap and Ghost watched as the heart monitor flatlined, your body limp on the bed in front of them.

“Goddamnit! Open your eyes!” Price was screaming above the sound of the helicopter blades, frantic.

Price threw off his gloves, beginning CPR as they hooked up another blood transfusion. If they weren’t able to get your wounds to stop bleeding they wouldn’t be able to save you. Gaz’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking, pressing more gauze against the angry wound on your thigh.

“You better come back or so help me.” Price’s voice cracked with each press of his hand.

The subtle beep of the heart monitor relaxed him for only a second before he shifted to help get the bleeding to stop. They needed to get you somewhere where a doctor could help take care of you, now. Soap’s hands were shaking as he pressed another wad of gauze against your abdomen, they couldn’t lose you.

“Stay with us darling.” Gaz began to thread a needle, glad the bleeding had slowed for the few precious seconds he had.

You didn’t so much as flinch as the needle made contact with your skin, they only had so long before you bled out and lost the battle your body was fighting. Gaz worked as quickly as his hands, and your body, allowed him to. He glanced over to Ghost when he finished stitching the smaller of the two wounds. Ghost’s hands were covered in your blood, sinking into the cracks that adorned his flesh.

“Lift your hands, I need to close the wound.” Gaz wasn’t sure where the medic was, but right now he was downright pissed they hadn’t been nearby.

Ghost didn’t want to move, to watch you die in front of his eyes. It was all his fault anyway, he hadn’t noticed the man slip into the room and shoot you. He’d been too distracted checking the other rooms, checking each corridor carefully. Gaz worked quicker with the wound on your leg, knowing they’d need to cut the stitches to get the bullets out back at base. Right now all he cared about was making sure that you stayed alive.

“We’re almost there darling, just keep holding on.” Price grabbed your hand, noticing how limp your hand was in his own.

They all sat around you, watching your chest rise and fall slowly, keeping an eye on the heart monitor they’d hooked you up to. The hospital felt too far away, how could they have not arrived yet? 

“Landing now, brace yourselves.” Nikolai knew he had to be gentle, or at least as gentle as he could be while landing a helicopter.

Your body jostled for a brief moment as they finally landed, the doors sliding open as Ghost and Soap started to yank off the IV’s and heart monitor. It wasn’t the safest thing to do considering the state you were in, but goddamnit they needed you to get inside. Ghost slipped out of the helicopter first, grabbing the end of the gurney closest to him. Soap helped slide the gurney out before grabbing the opposite end. They ran into the hospital, screaming for any doctor or nurse that was willing to listen. No one seemed scared or phased by the two, rushing over to take the gurney you were lying on.

Ghost knew his mask was wet, tears streaking down his cheeks as he watched the doors to the operating room swing closed. Soap was no better, chest shuddering as he tried, and failed, to keep his composure. Gaz and Price made their way in slowly, they’d known where you were, and now it was a waiting game.

1 Hour

2 Hours

3 Hours

4 Hours

5 Hours

6 Hours

7 Hours

8 Hours

That’s how long you’d been in surgery, eight fucking torturous hours while the team waited to see if you would even make it out alive. The surgeon had walked out slowly, surgical gown covered in your blood. Soap’s heart sunk, they’d been too late, you were gone.

“We were able to stop the bleeding and get them stable. Unfortunately there’s going to be a long road of recovery ahead, they have five broken ribs on top of the gun wounds.” Price nearly burst into tears at that moment, thankful you’d survived, but horrified at how much worse things were.

“Thank you doctor, is there any chance we can see them?” He wouldn’t push if they said no, your health was number one priority right now.

“Yes, but be advised they probably won’t be awake just yet.” She gave them the room number before heading off to strip off the reminder of what she’d just had to do.

Price and Gaz took off like rockets, eager to prove to themselves that you did in fact make it out of surgery. Soap was much slower to follow, Ghost staying rooted to where he was until Soap had made it to your room. Price was sitting at your bedside, both hands gently cupping one of your own. No one would ever mention the tears that were sliding down the captain's face, soaking into the beard on his cheeks. No one would say anything about how these normally stoic and strong men were brought to their knees knowing you were only clinging to life.

“Gave us quite a scare, darling, try not to do that again, that’s an order.” Price’s laugh was thick and wet, clearing his throat to try and help stop the tears.

“Not allowed to leave us just yet there sweetheart, not until you’re old and gray.” Gaz knew you could hear their jokes, even if they fell somewhat flat.

Soap couldn’t go into your room, couldn’t see you knowing that he still had a chance of truly losing you. You two were thick as thieves, pulling pranks on everyone at base, except for Price of course. He’d welcomed you to the team with open arms, saying he was happy there was someone new he could talk to. Price had told him, in no other terms, that you would still need to befriend all of them. You’d done so within a week, getting to know everyone and seeing how they worked best. It gave you an idea of how they would be in the field, who to stick with for which missions, and who worked better alone.

Ghost was someone that was a little harder to crack, you didn’t want to pry into someone who was clearly trying to stay hidden. Everyone had a past, it came with the territory, but knowing that he was working so hard gave you the push to not push. It took him nearly six months before he opened up to you, telling you everything. It had shocked you, not only because Ghost didn’t trust anyone whatsoever, but that he told you everything about his past. His traumas that had sunk so deep they were embedded into his very being. His soul had been tainted by the actions of other people, something he would never be able to clean.

The first time he’d taken off his mask in front of you was also the first night you’d kissed him. He’d let slip that his body wasn’t the only thing that barred scars, that he had to keep his face hidden to hide the horrors. You had whispered that scars made a person who they were, that with or without them, that person was still beautiful. It was the scar extending from just next to his nose, through his lips, down to his chin. 

In a way it was beautiful, this man who had killed to keep himself alive had a constant reminder of what happened to him. He’d never let it win, never let the horrors of his past be what tore him apart until he succumbed to death. You cupped his cheeks gently, lips pressing softly against his. You could barely feel the scar beneath your own lips, hands sliding so they were gently cradling the back of his neck. Ghost had also told you his real name that night, Simon Riley. You giggled and told him both his callsign, and his real name suited him. Though you had been a little shocked to find out that he had been a blonde.

“I show you my face for the first time, and your biggest gripe is my hair?” It was a soft blonde, a ting of yellow running through the tips.

“I honestly thought you’d be a brunette, pretty brown eyes and all.” You oh so gently gripped the base of his hair, straddling his thighs carefully.

“Ma thought so too, unfortunately my daddy was a blonde.” Ah, of course, men tended to take after their dads.

“Well, I still think you’re very attractive, blonde hair and all.” You pressed another kiss to his lips, sighing into it as Simon’s hands squeezed your thighs.

“She’s gonna be alright, I swear on it.” Soap wasn’t going to lose his best friend, he’d sell his own soul to the devil to fight it if need be.

Ghost couldn’t bear to look at you, to see how lifeless you looked after everything you’d been put through. He turned and stormed off, boots echoing in the nearly empty halls. Anyone who knew him would know he could walk in even the loudest shoes silently. Even with you being so close to death Ghost was still being considerate of those around him. You would joke about how often he scared you, how someone of his size and stature shouldn’t be silent. It was a habit he’d picked up after promising not to scare you anymore

Gaz had thanked you immensely for it, saying how he’d nearly pissed himself on a few occasions because Ghost had slipped into the room unnoticed. You’d played a few pranks with him, mainly scaring Soap and Gaz, or even new recruits that got too cocky. Even if he hadn’t been their superior the man was still intimidating. He never did it to you again though, ignoring your chances to try and ask why he’d stopped. It wasn’t because you’d asked nicely, or that Soap had told him one day that it kind of bothered you. No. It was simply because he truly felt comfortable around you. It had been so long that he didn’t feel as if he had to have the impenetrable walls up, ready to let you in.

He was going to tell you he’d loved you, wanted to wait until you were safe back at the base, but then he’d be the exact fucking reason you were here. Ghost was a lot of things, but an idiot was not one of them. He could spot an enemy without so much as glancing at them at times, so how had this one slipped by? He would’ve heard their shoes stepping on the broken glass that was scattered around. Or had this person already been in the room, hoping you had been one of them instead?

The had chilled slightly as he stepped outside, reaching into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes he’d brought with him. You had jokingly teased him about how they would kill him before any enemy could. And well, he’d actually laughed at that, because he kind of hoped the cigarettes would kill him first, then he wouldn’t have to let you down. He would be by your side when he passed, but life had ulterior motives.

He hadn’t even realized the first stick was gone until he was halfway through smoking the second one. It was a horrible habit he couldn’t break, you didn’t mind that he smoked, but it was the chain smoking that seemed to get to you. It only happened when he was extremely overwhelmed, or was self destructing. Ghost didn’t want to let you down when it happened, but it was the only thing that ever seemed to truly calm him down. He’d wanted it to be you, to have you be the salve his soul desperately needed. Nearly half the pack was gone before he finally stopped, stubbing out the final cigarette in the small dish beside him. He wasn’t sure if that’s what it was meant for, but he wasn’t about to litter.

“She’s awake, asking for ya lt.” Soap was wringing his hands together, creased leather squeaking in the quiet night.

“Go ahead, I’ll be up later.” Ghost couldn’t see you yet, not when his mind was thinking of a million different ways he could still lose you.

“I’ll save you a chair.” Soap patted his shoulder gently, he knew the older man was too tense, but there wasn’t anything he could do.

The only thing they could hope for was that you would make it through these next few days with no issues. Gaz had told them right away he’d stitched you up, not wanting to waste any seconds until you were in safe hands. They told him you were lucky, that if he had waited even a moment too long you wouldn’t have survived. It was a reminder how fragile life truly was, that you could be gone at any second. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone that not seeing Ghost hurt more than you expected.

“Thank you, for everything.” You squeezed Gaz’s hand, smiling at the way his eyes teared up.

“Just wanted to keep my favorite sergeant alive and well.” Gaz patted the back of your hand, laying it down gently in your lap.

“We all know that’s Soap.” Your grin widened as Gaz scoffed, you couldn’t laugh lest you suffer in more pain.

Price couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped through his lips, he would laugh for you since you couldn’t do much besides lay in your bed. The three of you were unaware of Soap and Ghost standing outside the door, watching you. Soap could feel his heart quicken, seeing your eyes truly open and shining with a light he was afraid would slip away. Ghost’s hands were shaking, he wanted to kiss you like it was the last thing he’d do. Price was trying to keep you smiling, to keep the worry from settling in.

Ghost pushed every rational thought from his mind as he pushed the door open, standing at the foot of your bed before he could stop himself. You looked over at him, eyes wide as if you had forgotten he was on the mission with you as well.

“I love you. I absolutely fucking love you Y/N, and watching you nearly die today reminded me that I could’ve lost you before I got the chance to tell you.” Ghost’s chest was rising and falling harshly. You opened your mouth to speak before he held a hand up, effectively cutting you off.

“I’d never gotten as close to someone the way I did with you, you brought out a side of me I haven’t seen since..since before everything.” Ghost swallowed harshly, reaching up to pull off his mask.

You could see the way his cheeks were streaked with tears, the eyeblack he wore underneath smudged and missing in spots. This was someone who hadn’t even told his captain about his past for over two years, hiding away the darkness that sat within him. Here you were, an angel sent from heaven to watch over him. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you today, I will never forgive myself for letting you get hurt.” He dropped the mask onto the bed, hands wrapping around your ankles.

The room fell silent, the only sound being the heart monitor you had been hooked up to. Your heart hadn’t spiked at all, your breathing calm.

“I love you too Simon.” You wiggled your toes beneath the blanket, the tips of your toes pressing into his forearms.

The other three men would deny that they teared up at Ghost’s declaration of love, that they had all watched how much Ghost truly loved you. How he had slowly, oh so slowly, slipped out of his shell to show you who he was. He smiled down at you, the right side of his lip drooping ever so slightly due to his scar.

“‘M gonna go to bed now.” You carefully pulled the blanket higher up onto your chest, snuggling with the soft material.

Ghost let go of your ankles slowly, watching the way you slipped into slumber so effortlessly. Though he was positive it was also the pain meds being pumped into your body, easing away the burning ache that was surely running through you. Price led Gaz and Soap out of the room, telling the two men he’d get rooms close by so they could keep an eye on you. Ghost wouldn’t move, no matter what, not until you were allowed to leave with him.

_________

His dreams were plagued by your death, each one becoming more vivid than the last, your blood staining his skin. He could taste copper, the salty rusted tang that blood always seemed to have. Times where he was the one pulling the trigger, mistaking you for an enemy as he took your life. He couldn’t seem to wake up, no matter how loud he screamed for his unconscious mind to wake up. It wasn’t until your fingers slowly began to run through his hair that he awoke, chest shuddering and cracking as he broke down once more. His chest heaved with wracking painful sobs. How could you still want to be with him? How could you possibly love him after what he’d done to you?

“You know, I always thought you had a softer side to you, something that no one got to see because you kept it hidden away from the world. And I was right.” You curled your hand slightly, running your nails across his scalp.

“Better than you imagined?” It was how Ghost coped, with dry humor.

“It is, thank you for letting me see it.” You continued gently scratching his scalp, feeling the way he slowly relaxed.

You knew that Ghost kept himself closed off for a reason, it wasn’t your typical “I got hurt by an ex and now I’m afraid”. No, this was something that wouldn’t be brushed off with a few kind words and a long hug. He would never be able to live his life without a reminder of what happened to him. And instead of turning him away when he’d practically begged you to, you smiled at him, and pulled him close to you. It was that day that you knew you were in love with him, but it wasn’t the time to voice those thoughts.

“Do you ever think about what happens after we die? If there truly is a heaven or a hell? Or if we reincarnate into new people?” You’d never given it much thought growing up, but this right here? This was a reminder that you were only human, and that life could be gone in the blink of an eye.

“Sometimes, stopped believin’ in all ‘at when I was a kid.” Ghost wouldn’t admit it had been when he was barely five years old.

No one wanted to be with someone that struggled to look at themselves in a mirror, to be reminded of the man that had beaten him so badly as a child. He was angry he’d grown to look like his father, save for his eyes, those belonged to his mother. The only thing he ever had left of her were his eyes. 

“I hope they have your eye color.” You slid your fingers down, grazing the edge of his jaw.

He sat up slowly, brow furrowed as he stared at you in the bed, did he hear you correctly or was he finally losing it?

“Excuse me?” Ghost’s jaw dropped open, your face was clear, so you were actually serious.

“I hope that our kids have your eyes, they’re this gorgeous shade of brown, like trees during fall in Massachusetts.” You’d spent quite a long time there, reveling in the colors when fall came around each year.

Ghost didn’t think before surging forward, pressing his lips roughly against your own, hands sliding back and gripping onto the roots of your hair. You grabbed onto his forearms, putting every ounce of strength you had into the kiss. Simon was the only man you’d willingly spend the rest of your life with, no matter how long or short that time might be.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley angst #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #angst #cod mw2 #ghost cod #cod mwii #call of duty #ghost mw2 #mw2 #call of duty mw2 #blood #gore #cw gore

[sissa-arrows]

Albert Camus could not conceive of Algerian independence, nor could he conceive of himself as separate from French Algeria. It was his “red line in the sand,” the boundary which should not be crossed, the ultimate taboo. Algeria was the jewel in France’s colonial empire, so important that the French authorities considered it a region of France. It was not just a military conquest; it was an administrative one as well. Camus was defined and defined himself by colonial Algeria and could not live without it. Yet the paradox is that Camus persuasively uses the rhetoric of humanism while supporting French sovereignty over Algeria. Many of Albert Camus’ arguments are vastly identical to those trotted out today regarding Palestine.

“What is illegitimate in Arab demands ? The desire to regain a life of dignity and freedom, the total loss of confidence in any political solution backed by France, and the romanticism of some very young and politically unsophisticated insurgents have led certain Algerian fighters and their leaders to demand national independence. No matter how favourable one is to Arab demands, it must be recognized that to demand national independence for Algeria is a purely emotional response to the situation. There has never been an Algerian nation. The Jews, Turks, Greeks, Italians and Berbers all have a claim to lead this virtual nation. At the moment, the Arabs themselves are not the only constituent of that nation. In particular, the French population is large enough [c. 1/9], and it has been settled long enough [c. 150 years], to create a problem that has no historical precedent. The French of Algeria are themselves an indigenous population in the full sense of the word. Furthermore, a purely Arab Algeria would not be able to achieve economic independence, without which political independence is not real. French efforts in Algeria, however inadequate, have been sufficient that no other power is prepared to assume responsibility for the country at the present time.” — Algerian Chronicles

Camus is like the “Israeli left” and a part of the Western Left in general who cannot conceive the total liberation of Palestine. That’s why I said that if they actually cared they would have more “porteurs de valises” and less Albert Camus.

The porteurs de valises who were settlers totally conceived a free Algeria in their mind and they saw themselves living there as ALGERIANS and they did. They also acknowledged that as settlers they had bias and they worked on those bias (I made a post with the testimony of on of those men and how he realized that he had racist bias against Arabs and how he eventually realized that even if he was white his people were not French people but Algerians…) Most of those settlers who fought alongside our grandparents did not leave because they were kicked out at the independence. They left as refugees during the Black decade and had to fill the SAME paperwork as other Algerians. (I could talk about the 121’s Manifest but given that some of the people who signed it turned around and became Zionists I think the manifest was more about white people wanting a clear conscience they did put the right to not be an oppressor on the same level as the right to not be oppressed)

Camus on the other hand was racist he was a product of settler colonialism. You cannot steal, dispossess, oppress a people for over a century unless you don’t see them as fully human. He kept equating the resistance with the oppressor he kept pretending to condemn violence on “both sides” but when he was asked to sign the letter condemning the systematic use of torture by France against Algerians he refused to sign it. He also kept implying Algeria didn’t exist before France anyway. He also showed his lack of knowledge on history by claiming everyone had a right to Algeria anyway not just “Arabs” because Algeria had been part of the Roman Empire and the Ottoman Empire. Jews as a whole have zero rights over Algeria. Imazighen Jews had a right over Algeria because they were Imazighen not because they were Jews. If Turks, Italian, Greeks had a right over Algeria then we have a right over the south of France, over Spain, over Sicily, over Greece because some Roman leaders were Imazighen and because Al Andalus existed.

But what’s maybe one of my biggest issue with Camus, probably because that’s still happening to these days. Is how his position would require only Algerians to compromise. Settlers were simply asked to stop the killing and to pretend to see Algerians as equal humans that’s not a fucking compromise. Algerians on the other hand were asked to pretend that nothing had happened? Those white settlers who had killed your sons and nephews on May 8th 1945 in Setif and around? They never got punished for it. They never even expressed regrets they were proud of it. Algerians were asked to just forget about it to pretend it never happened. The guy who stole your father’s land and is making money from that land? In Camus’ Algeria he gets to keep that land in exchange he must pretend Algerians are equal. The Algerian has to pretend that land was never stolen that he doesn’t have a right to it. In Camus’ vision for Algeria only the Algerian is asked to actually make compromise so the white man gets to be cleaned of his sins.

To these days in the West, PoC are the one asked to make compromises all the fucking time (sometimes on a smaller scale sometimes not). “vote for the lesser of two evils it will be easier to fight and we will help”. Once the lesser of two evils is elected the people who told us to compromise don’t respect their part of the deal they actually call us out when we protest. Because those “deals” are not meant to save us all they are meant to save white people. Because the lesser of two evils doesn’t affect them and their lives so they will be able to afford staying comfortably at home and criticize us for still fighting.

That’s why what I resent the most about Camus is that “let’s make a compromise” attitude that actually only requires compromises from Algerians while settlers get to keep up with their lives the same exact way except they have to pretend they see us as humans. I would believe in the genuine intent behind these compromises (while still being against it) if reparation was mentioned for example but no, settlers get to live the exact same way as they did before they just get absolved of their crimes without ever getting justice. Meanwhile Algerians are asked to pretend nothing happened.

Just like I previously said that a settler colony cannot create settlers without racist bias and that they need to work on those bias, a settler colony also cannot create indigenous people who are not oppressed. Every single Algerian family has a fucked up story to tell about the horror of colonialism. Every single Palestinian family has a fucked up story to tell about the horror of colonialism. Every single Native of Turtle Island family has a fucked up story to tell about the horror of colonialism. I could go on, the point is you can’t ask people to just pretend it never happened because now the settlers are pretending to see you as a human.

#Albert Camus #settler colonialism #algeria #French racism #settler colonialism lead to genocide #racism #indigenous rights #ask

[juvenillia]

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 15: teasing

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: maybe I got a bit too carried away in this one but yeah, let me know what you think

CW/TW: mentions of loss, violence, jealousy, dubcon, touch/assault, use of petnames, guilt, regret

wordcount: 4.3k

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"So, you're doing it?", the female voice rang through the speaker. "It's a mission, of course I'm doing it.", your voice was determined but still a bit shaky. Maybe you were just too exhausted. The sleepless nights sapping on your energy. "We know it's a special operation, so we at least want you to choose your partner yourself.", Price’s voice was soft but still firm. "I'd recommend Riley." Laswell's words instantly let your stomach take a turn. You couldn't choose him for too many reasons. So many you totally wouldn't share with your literal boss. Still Laswell continued. "He would act on it with the most professional interests." - "But the mask." - "Even better. Nobody knows who he actually looks like and if it's an order he wouldn't even hesitate." You felt like throwing up. Price looked concerned at you but tried to keep his face clear.

"No, no way. I respect his boundaries. I'm going with MacTavish.", you answered bluntly and quick before the discussion could go anymore in a direction you didn't want to. "You sure about that?", Price’s voice was a bit surprised, but the situation was a special occasion. Such operations were never easy and never a thing because the 141 handled such situations differently. They had their own ways to get the insider information that was required. Mostly this way was harsh and bone crushing. But now they had an ace up their sleeve. They had you on the team, a woman. And therefore, a really beautiful one. That opened a new door of possibilities. "Alright. So, Sergeant MacTavish it is. I'll arrange everything." The line went dead, and you looked at Price. "You know how this op will go." - "I'm familiar with that kinda thing. Yeah. Gonna talk with him tomorrow." - "Thank you, Skadi." - "No need to thank me, sir. It's my job." Price knew that those missions were nerve-wracking for everyone included, and he swore to himself, that he would only sent you out on it if you were fine with it. "You know what I mean.", he simply added before following you to the common room to be reunited with the rest of the 141.

That was yesterday, and now you found yourself in the shared office, figuring the best way out to tell Johnny about his luck. Your mind was racing. Once for the situation that you again fell asleep in the common room and got carried back to your room by one of the boys. How Beth explained later it was Simon, again. Only the thought of the situation let your stomach ramble. No, we won't call it butterflies, we just don't. For the second reason it was definitely the whole situation you found yourself in. You didn't mind the operation itself nor the fact that Johnny was to be by your side. It was just the fact that you were never the type to enjoy social gatherings that much, especially such big and fancy ones. You hated it back then, the hand shaking, sweet talking and complimenting just to get approval and support from rich people which thought of themselves way too much. Back then you played already a role, but this time would be different and more difficult. Pretending to be a completely different person with a completely other life plus of course your beloved boyfriend, Johnny had to pretend to be. Invading enemy terrain to get intel in nothing more than a fancy dress which would reveal way too much skin. No gun in your hands, no knives strapped to your body. You would be served to them on a silver plate. Those missions were triggering your anxiety more than infiltrating an enemy base the offensive way.

"Slept well?", a deep teasing voice ripped you out of the haze your thoughts were. You blinked utterly confused at the Lieutenant who just placed a cup in front of you. Hot steam leaving it in dancing movements upwards till they vanished. You could see how his mask moved, and how he had to wear a smile beneath it. A deep blush made its way onto your cheeks. Since when was he so cocky with his comments? What did change in the last days? And worse did you do something embarrassing? Hells bells, did you speak during your sleep?

He let out a nearly inaudible chuckle while taking his place at his desk across from yours. Your reaction was enough answer for him, still he wanted to push it. It was only the two of you in the office by now, so he would take advantage of it. "Will ya keep fallin' asleep 'n me? Just out 'f curiosity." His voice was so cocky, so teasing. You wanted the ground to open and swallow you right now.

After Simon's anger about the intruder vanished, he saw a chance of being just a bit more offensive with you. Only jokingly teasing, only the way like you would do with Johnny or Kyle all the time. It wouldn’t change a thing he believed. He wanted to test the waters but seeing you all flustered and overwhelmed did something to him. And maybe there was a chance that you would call him 'darling', just the way you did with him. He didn't know how he would react; he didn't know what it would take you to grow this comfortable around Simon, but he would try to find out. Maybe it would be his doom, but maybe his elysium.

This was the moment Johnny walked through the door. "Good morning everyo..." - "MacTavish, just the guy I was looking for.", you yelled out and before he could react, you jumped up from your place, took the cup of tea Simon brought you in one hand and the other hand grabbed Johnny's wrist while dragging him outside. Shoving Kyle aside while he tried to enter the office and just looked dumbfounded after you two and then at Simon. The taller Brit just shrugged, usually the situation would kind of bug him, but right now, he was too satisfied with your morning encounter and started on the reports. A victorious smile well hidden behind the mask.

"So, yer gonna be my wifey, eh?", Johnny looked with raised brows at you, wearing a cocky smile. You dragged him into one of the empty briefing rooms where you explained everything to him. "Fiancée. And stop the teasing. Bloody hell.", you rolled your eyes while he nudged your foot with his. He stood in front of you, not too far away but also not really close, leaning against one of the tables. "Fiancée.", he repeated mockingly.

"We should talk about boundaries. Lines we shouldn’t cross, things we're fine with and things we're not.", you stated while crossing your arms in front of your chest. Johnny nodded, and suddenly some thoughts flashed his mind. Thoughts he pushed aside for now. Of course, Johnny knew how important that mission was, but he still was a teasing piece of shit. It took you a few to sort things out and to get him to take this talk serious, without any more teasing and jokes. You were professionals after all.

"That's only the emergency exit. Ya hear me?", you looked serious at him while taking the last few sips out of the cup and ending your talk. You did really go through any possibility that could happen. "Got it. And now we're talking about Lt making you, and only you, tea and why you didn't choose him for the fake dating mission. Eh?", he raised his brows once more at you, this cocky grin back at his lips. You felt the heat back on your cheeks and wished you could just throw the cup after him. Instead, you rolled your eyes and raised your hands in a warning gesture. "Already thinking about divorce now.", you laughed, and Johnny pouted jokingly before each of you went after the preparation for this special operation.

It was around six in the evening as Laswell helped you with your hair and makeup. She told you, that she always had to doll up her wife and you had to admit, she did an amazing job. You were standing in the bathroom of the fancy hotel just some blocks away from the benefits gala. Putting the jewelry and dress on, Kate had prepared for you. The jewelry was made to be your decent communication device for the night. It would keep you in contact with Price and Ghost who were arranged as guards for the gala. So, Johnny and you wouldn't be completely out in the open.

You slipped the dress on and cursed to yourself. It was tight just at the right places and hugged your curves perfect. It hadn't a huge cleavage, but a slit up to your leg, nearly too high for your liking. Somehow you were still glad that this fabric was divided there because otherwise you weren't even able to move properly. The silky fabric moved delightful as you took a turn in front of the mirror. It definitely wasn't something you despised wearing, you felt pretty of course, but you'd preferred your cargo pants and a turtleneck. You could say you felt too much like eye candy, but that was what you were supposed to be today. A decoy to attract the hopefully right persons to spill some intel.

You went with Kate to the room the boys were put to. Kyle was already on the computers to invade the security cameras, that you could be a step ahead. Just in case. Ghost seated next to him, wearing an all-black suit with a pair of unholy tight pants, and a completely black balaclava. Going through the process over and over again. Price was in the same suit, helping Johnny to adjust his bow tie. He wore a casual and elegant suit, that matched the color of your dress. Simon was the one to open the door for you and Kate as soon as she knocked and how happy he was to wear this god damn mask.

His breath hitched as soon as he laid his eyes on your figure. You just walked past him, trying to ignore the burning feeling inside of you. Your work brain needed to take over now. Kyle only whistled, looking astonished in your direction. You rolled your eyes while pushing your hands in your hips. "Zip it, Garrick!", you glared at him, and he only rose his hands in defense. "If yer saying something against my wifey I'm gonna end yer.", Soap said while slipping a hand around your shoulder. Maybe Johnny was already a bit to comfortable in his role.

Simon stood still in place, frozen, mesmerized by your presence. The only thing that brought him back was Johnny's hand on your shoulder. The shoulder that was stained with a fresh scar of your latest meeting with a bullet and guilt came up his chest. His eyes travelled down to your hips, the place where another nasty scar would stay forever now. Scars were part of the job, nothing special but thinking about how your beautiful body was stained with them.

Just then he realized how perfectly fitted the dress was. Literally nothings were left to the imagination, his imagination. His eyes lingered just there, hoping that his brain would be able to remind him of this picture as often as possible. He’d love to change the picture of your blood-stained body into this one. And he made sure to be as close to your side tonight as possible. "Fiancée. Johnny. Fiancée.", you corrected him annoyed. "Why is that even so important?" - "We need a good story with enough personal information to spill. Because only then people will spare theirs. We have to be convincing." Johnny playfully rolled his eyes at your correction. "Alright ladies. We must go!", Laswell clapped in her hands and Price pulled an identical balaclava, like Simon already wore, over his head.

The start of the evening went off smoother than expected. Johnny didn't leave your side, always having an arm around your waist or on your back. It was quite reassuring, and his constant presence made it easier for you to entertain the people. Johnny did most of the talking and you just had to look pretty. That wasn't hard at all. Plus, you always felt save feeling the intense glance of Ghost on you. No matter where you were, you knew he was close. Sometimes you couldn't even see him, like a real ghost hiding in the shadows. You wore an earpiece on the side that was covered by your hair. So that you could at least got some hints from the boys. No matter if it was from Kyle observing the whole place or your two guards. And it was somehow funny that wherever you looked all the waitresses and securities wore those masks. Of course, you were a bit disappointed when you found out that he gonna keep the mask on even now, still you didn't want to cross his boundaries, that’s why you didn’t choose him for the mission and that is the reason you told Johnny. From time to time, you heard Price's or Gaz' voice over the earpiece, commenting on stuff people said. Simon stayed silence most of the time. Johnny had no earpiece, because he simply had nothing that could hide it, so he had to promise to stay close. At least in the sight of Price.

It was in a moment when Soap and you weren't surrounded by anyone, just then you caught him. Simon standing afar, next to a pillar and staring continuously at you. But something in his glance was different. Was it a hint of jealousy? Your eyes met for a second before a genuine smile flashed over your face. Johnny stood close to you, still an arm around you his eyes searching for your next victim, and you couldn't prevent the words to slip over your lips. "Lieutenant.", you said calm averting your gaze to not make it too obvious. Leaning a bit further into your fake fiancé. He hummed in confirmation over the comms. Still staring at you, not daring to look away. Too scared that it would be a dream and the image in front of him would be gone as soon as he blinked. "You’re staring.", you said with the most teasing voice you could and just then you could see from the corner of your eyes that he abruptly looked away. "Just observing.", he cleared his throat. It led to a sweet and satisfied laugh. The game he started could be played by two.

"Says the lass that shamelessly checked his arse in those tight suit pants out.", Johnny's cocky voice was heard, and you instantly buried your face deeper in his shoulder. You hoped that nobody at the other end of the comms could hear him. He started to laugh and patted your back. "Yer secret's save with me. Dinnea yer worry, bonnie.", he smiled while your face was drowning in embarrassment and you just prayed to everything you hold dear, that Johnny would keep his promise.

The evening became a bit harder when you decided to split up, to get as many people to talk to you as possible. It was after an unpleasant talk with a way too drunken man, that you took a little break excusing yourself to the bathroom. He at least gave a few things away that could help you. Still, you felt a disgusting shadow creeping over your skin. Men were easy to manipulate, still you hated it. You just hoped the night would be over soon and that you could wash yourself clean with a cold shower.

As soon as you stepped out of the bathroom you couldn't help but felt another shiver run down your spine. Another guy seemed to have followed you, because just then you felt an unfamiliar hand creeping around your waist. You immediately tensed and needed to fight the urge to throw him over your shoulder. He lowered his head to your ear that wasn’t covered by your hair. "There is someone who wants to meet you, doll." It made your hair stand to an end, but you needed to suppress it. Whoever wanted to see you could be a very helpful informant. You were lucky that he couldn’t see your face that was coated in sheer disgust. He let his hand wander further down, and the feeling to just break his wrist became stronger and stronger.

But you weren't the only one that had this urge, just to the misery of the poor guy. Ghost snatched his shoulder and yanked him with full force away from you. He nearly growled at him before standing in front of you. Shielding you away. "Leave 'e lady alone. She's already expected.", he hissed through gritted teeth and the douchebag ran away as fast as possible.

You looked in disbelief at him as he turned around to face you properly. Making sure nobody else would watch, you glared at him. "What the hell?! He could have led to important information.", you crossed your arms. "That wasn't appropriate. I needed to intervene!", he only hissed, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. He would never raise his voice at you, still he needed to clarify his point. "I was completely okay... that's how those things work. It's the most efficient way.", you paused for a moment. You didn't want to scold him for something that would be the right thing to do, because indeed it wasn't okay how the man treated you. Still, he interrupted a chance of good information.

"You really need to let myself decide if I'm fine or not." Simon clenched his fist. He knew you were right, but watching how that guy touched you without your consent, without your approval that made him furious. Seeing the discomfort in your eyes. He wouldn't let anything like this happen, to no-one, but especially not to you. You could feel how tense he was; he didn't answer to your outburst. You sighed; one more look around before your arms dropped to your side. "You trust me?", your eyes searched for his and he nodded slowly, not averting his glance. "Let's agree on a sign.", you exhaled not braking eye contact either.

You went back in the main hall, still the burning gaze from Ghost on your back, you moved through the groups of people until you caught a word that completely caught your interest. "He changed since the incident." - "Well, Camilo was his brother." You took a place in the circle, greeting everyone with a sweet smile. Camilo had a brother. "He was his twin! You know how twins have this weird connection..." A twin, that made sense why you thought you saw Camilo running around that chem factory. Price and Simon assured you millions of times that Ghost took him out before he caught that bullet.

People started starring at you, so you took a sip out of the glass in your hand. "I heard from the tragic accident.", you chimed with fake sympathy. "Oh, my dear. That wasn't an accident.", an older man touched your shoulder and left his hand there. Squeezing it softly. "He was taking care of.", you looked faked bewildered at him. And another woman joined. "He even moved the plans back, you know, to grief properly. Even gave him a funeral after finding his body. So, he has a heart after all." You nodded in understanding. Just then you heard a static voice over the comms "We got visitors.", Price announced and soon you could sense a different group of armed men entering over the higher up floor. They also wore balaclavas, but they moved differently.

You looked with a worried face around, searching for Johnny. That's when the hand of the older man started rubbing circles on your shoulder. "Don't worry my dear. They're here to protect us. I believe there is an uninvited guest." He looked at you with those lust blown pupils and it made you sick. If he would call you 'my dear' one more time you needed to throw up. "Those uninvited guests are you. Maybe we should leave.", Kyle's voice rang over the earpiece while he tracked every enemy. "Those Italians are always so impudent, but family is their highest good."-"Aren't they Mexicans?" - "Mexicans, Italians, Brazilians, Spanish. Aren't they all the same?!", the old men next to you chimed and all around started to laugh. You forced a laugh out of your throat as you saw another bunch of armed and masked men approaching the lower level. Your eyes searched for Soap. Kyle was right, you had to leave now. "Excuse me. I'm missing my beloved fiancé. Will be back soon.", you stated before moving through the mass of people. Johnny didn't hear anything the boys said due to the missing earpiece. You needed to find him.

It was Price’s voice that helped. "He's at the west entry. Gonna make sure you leave save. Ghost take care of the car." You moved as fast as possible without drawing any suspicion to the place Price described and Johnny was there. Discussing eagerly with no one else then the man from your hallway encounter with Ghost. That wouldn't end good.

"Darling, I'm feeling unwell. You think we can go back to the hotel.", you chimed with a cooing tone while your hands searched his. He looked at you and gladly understood immediately. The man looked surprised at you and insisted of you staying a little while longer. Somehow you made your way to the hallway, the only thing that separated you and the SUV that brought you out of here. Price made sure the way was clear and Ghost sat in the car, engine already rumbling low waiting for you to enter the vehicle.

"He's still following you and it seems like he got friends", Kyle declared over the comms. "Shit.", you hissed out while walking in those fancy heels. "We aroused suspicion, especially with our sudden leave.", Johnny said while trailing close behind. A thousand thoughts were rushing through your mind. There was only thing that might help, you sighed. Your eyes found a little corner, and you turned, taking Johnny's wrist, dragging him with you around.

"Yo, Skadi, wrong direction.", you could hear Kyle over the comms. "Emergency exit.", is all you said before muting the earpiece and Johnny immediately understood. That was the first moment he felt uneasy tonight. You pressed yourself against the wall, wrapped your hands around Johnny's neck while bringing him closer to you. His face just a breath away from yours. You looked in his eyes and he nodded, giving silently permission and you closed the gap between you. Your lips brushing over his, a bit stern but still eager, the intense feeling couldn't be denied. His hands were frozen on your waist, till you took one of them and placed it over your thigh. The leg hooking behind his body drawing him impossible closer. It needed to be a good show for them to buy it. Johnny's grip on your bare skin was tight, as his lips moved over yours. It felt nothing like you remembered a kiss, but that wasn't even one of those lust filled actions. It was your emergency exit.

"Bloody hell.", Kyle breathed out in utterly shock, staring at the screen in front of him. "What's happening?!", Ghost nearly barked through the earpiece while the grip around the steering wheel tightened. "Even when I told you, you wouldn't believe me.", Kyle chuckled not daring to blink. Ghost stayed silent, but his heart was pounding.

The man went around the corner and abruptly stopped as soon as he saw the image in front of him. Every suspicion leaving him, as he felt uneasy to watch. To your luck, he had some respect for the privacy and intimacy you just shared. Well, that's at least what you thought. That was the second time tonight he should feel a misfortune. But you couldn’t care. He left you alone and that was all that mattered.

Johnny and you broke away and he looked weird down at you. Somehow his face was full of concern, and regret and at the same time his cheeks burned, and he smiled oddly.  “Keep it steady.”, you punched his chest while turning the earpiece on again and rolling your eyes at the Scot. "Just bought us some time. Sorry. On the way out now.", you said while walking back where you left your path. "Dinnea believe that this actually worked.", Johnny hissed a bit breathless next to you and you could hear Kyle joining with a "Same, you lucky bastard." You just rolled your eyes once more as you climbed into the back seat of the car next to Johnny while Ghost already navigated it to the hotel. You couldn't look at Johnny, so you simply stared out of the window. Johnny just stared into the distance in front of him. You agreed on it, you both did and still it left you in an awkward state of mind.

Simon's eyes trailed to the driving mirror, observant as always, he immediately noticed the stains of the red shade on Johnny's lips. His grip around the steering wheel tightened, letting his knuckles turn white when he had to force his eyes back onto the road.

"Good work!", Price said once more as he pulled off the mask, but all of you in the car stayed silent.

taglist: open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub @illuminwtesz @killergoddess97 @kaelaiscool @spiritndrain @anothersimpsblog

#cod mw x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #task force 141 #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost jealous #fake dating #death of peace of mind #cod fanfic #slow burn

[thedemonscrawler]

I'm just gonna do this to Ruin

LIKE. YES I KNOW HE DID EVERYTHING WRONG. BUT HAVE YOU CONSIDERED HOW SAD HE MIGHT BE ABOUT IT

Like aaaaa I'm cursed to only like characters when they're losing I guess, and a Pyrrhic victory counts as a loss. I didn't CARE about this guy when he was the main antagonist, and then Eclipse 3.0 chucked him in the back of a car and kidnapped him and I was suddenly interested. And NOW, when everyone is very much upset about Solar, I'm off to the side shaking this bastard around because we finally got some concrete answers to what's going on in his head.

Just! This whole thing-- this is an exceptionally Moon thing for him to have done. To go 'I'm going to completely and totally remove this possible threat from ever occurring, and I'm fine with being the bad guy to do it'? That's some Old Moon kind of thinking. This wasn't a plan he came up with in the past few months, this took him years.

And speaking of years! Fifty years of playing pretend! Of acting like you enjoy hurting people, that you don't care as your body literally falls apart around you. I'm not a fan of the idea that he was never infected, I like the perspective better that he was infected, it just wasn't as responsible for his behavior as he made it out to be-- but still. At some point he had to have gone numb to it for the sake of his own survival.

What does that do to your mentality? Your outlook? What's it like knowing that your whole world was brought to its knees by your creator? What's it like being the only semi-stable person you know for half a century? What's it like realizing that you're also changing, and not for the better?

He's just... so painfully isolated, in a way that Eclipse doesn't even come close to touching.

And! And even after being 'cured'! He's still isolated! Like it was a good thing he WAS up to something-- can you imagine how crushing it would be if he'd been genuinely not doing anything, and he was still treated with suspicion for a solid like 4 months? By probably the most consistent group of animatronics he's had to talk to that weren't infected with a weird virus?

Like, the man didn't get repaired until 3 months after being cured, after Solar made a blueprint in his spare time. He didn't get a bed until Moon felt guilty about rummaging around inside his head-- and tbh I don't know if he ever got to actually use that bed. He let them call him Ruin.

Ruin never had a home in 'our' dimension.

And hhhhngh like I'm not even sure he cares, because he's past the point of caring. He's got one of Sun's worst traits as well, "There's no point in sharing what I'm thinking because no one is listening". He could have approached Moon and Solar with like "Hey okay so I started on this plan to do this thing like 10 years ago, I would like some input" and maybe an alternative could have been found!

But he didn't, because he's alone. He came up with the best plan he could, weighed the risks, and acted on it, all by himself. A single weird Eclipse against 5,000 Creators, because he felt like that was the greatest threat.

And like, lets be real-- Solar's death was 100% a narrative necessity. Otherwise we the audience wouldn't really care that Ruin had wiped so many dimensions from existing, it'd just be a number. That thing of like, you gotta make it personal to have impact. Very good storytelling right there.

(Though from a in-universe perspective, man it must have been an unpleasant shock to learn that of course the only other dimensional refugee was from one of the worlds you had to destroy. Like, come on, what are the odds)

He did something horrible. A multi-dimensional catastrophe to prevent a multi-dimensional catastrophe. He probably accepted the ramifications of it ages ago. He just... utterly lacks any hope, you know? No hope of forgiveness, no hope of improvement. He survived his world long enough to do this thing, and he has nothing else going for him.

He's just waiting for them to finally kill off his body, because he already died years ago.

Anyway I'm desperately trying to find an angle that can be used to maybe pull him out of his coffin here and so far I'm not seeing one qq but maybe future eps will give me something to work off of.

#the sun and moon show #tsams #the sun and moon show spoilers #spoilers #i guess? #also i have no idea if i wanna make rants like this on this blog or my main #ruin eclipse apologist tm #maybe not apologist maybe defense lawyer #your honor have you considered that my client's actions were not malicious and also he's really not okay inside

[velvetures]

Can we please have a cute gaz fic where they are pining on each other and everyone on base is naturally done with their shit ;))

Take It Easy

A/N: This isn't exactly... "spicy", because I used a trope that shot myself in the foot. Anyway, I hope you're happy with how this turned out. If not, let me know. I really love writing for Gaz, and I'd like to get more practice in and feel his character out to where it's more accurate. :) HE'S SO DAMN CUTE IN THIS PIC!!!

Summary: You've always had a thing for Gaz... and he's felt the same way. Everyone else knows it, but it takes a little shock for you both to figure it out.

T/W: injury description, some heat but no spice, suggestive content, Price being a mood-killer, not proofread.

Kyle Garrick is well known as a man of few words, but immense power of action. He’s typically not going to have a handful of words on any topic at one time, and if he does, it’s definitely worth listening. Getting his point across isn’t hard though. Between his very expressive face and the far more interesting use of his hands and touch. Gaz very often employs the use of pats, nudges, hugs, and the occasional slap to ensure you’re on the same page with him.

The problem is, that it made your crush on Kyle that much harder to cope with. You spent so much time around him that it was almost impossible to go more than a couple of hours without touching him in some way or another. By it his knee up against yours sitting on a couch, a hand holding to the back of your parachute before a jump, or putting an arm around your waist to yank you out of harm's way. Rationalizing that he did it for nothing other than practical purposes helped take the edge off. Yet a small crack in your heart deepened when you had to remind yourself that he probably didn’t mean anything by it.

From the first week you met him, Gaz instantly had you wrapped around his finger without even trying. Just seeing him smile at one of Soap’s jokes or hearing him laugh practically melted you down into your boots. Even in his less-than-sweet moments, that little voice in the back of your head and the pulse between your thighs got heavier when you saw him coming out of a mission; dirty as fuck and panting, a hardened look in his eyes and sweat dripping off his face. Perfection, in your opinion, fell short when describing Kyle. Unbeknownst to you, there were plenty of reasons for him to be just as nervous around you.

Smart, skilled, and downright sexy… it was a total package for Gaz, and he always felt like attempting to make a hint or ask you out on a date just to see what your reaction would be. Talking wasn’t his best skill though, and when he was around you there wasn’t a single thought in his head that didn’t revolve around a subtle scream of frustration that he couldn’t just get you alone for more than a couple minutes. He loved how affectionate you could be after working in the same footsteps as himself and the other guys. Plenty of reasons and experiences to leave you jaded or downright pissed off with the world. Managing to keep himself from falling into that same trap got a lot easier after you came around. And maybe it was self-serving, but Kyle liked the idea of keeping you for himself so he’d never have to feel that way ever again. Admittedly, he thought about it a lot. Being a lot more than just a partner.

Through a few mistakes on paperwork and simple logistics, you’d been asked to stay behind for a mission. The 141 had not been expecting the loss of a teammate, but you’d been very quick to reassure them that before you’d come along, they managed just fine and this time would be no different. Besides, it wasn’t supposed to be more than a capture and kill of three terrorist organization leaders causing a bit too much trouble and making everyone nervous. All the intel was vetted multiple times, and you’d even been able to sit in on the briefings up until the last minute before they left. So it was a shock when they came back dirty as hell, half of them covered in blood -not their own- and Kyle hardly able to walk on his own two feet with a massive hole in his t-shirt soaked thoroughly in blood -of his own. You couldn’t have been out of your seat any faster, pushing right past Cap and Soap, shouldering Ghost’s massive body out of your way and staring up at Kyle with wide eyes and a worried look.

“What the hell happened to you, Gaz?” Instantly your hand was pressed softly against the hole in his shirt, feeling thick bandages taped up around the area just left of his abs and below his chest.

“Jesus... you got fucking shot?”

Your mind was already spinning, trying to figure out why he wasn’t in the hospital or at least in the medical wing of HQ getting professionally looked at, instead of standing here like a used gun range target. Kyle watched you with a bit of surprise, looking over your head to see the others staring with wide grins and Ghost shaking his head disappointedly. There was no denying that they all knew how he felt about her, but this was a lot more attention than he was used to getting. Not that he didn’t enjoy it. He huffed a little, putting his hand over yours and taking as deep of a breath as he could manage with bruised ribs and internals.

“Nothing awful, small round,” He attempted to soothe you, but apparently hearing what kind of round wasn’t what you wanted to hear. Your face twisted in anger and hurt, and you looked up at him like a kicked little puppy. It made his heart clench, and not because of his injury.

“Easy… my vest stopped the majority, okay?”

With that, he pulled up the hem of his shirt just enough for you to see that there was minimal blood soaking into the gauze and padded patch over him. It made your cheeks heat up, seeing him quite like that right in front of you. But you tried to swallow down your nervous energy and nod. Kyle just smiled, pulling you just a little closer to him with an arm wrapped around your shoulders, burying his face in the crown of your head with a stiff sigh. You were always so damn sweet… worrying about everyone but yourself. But this felt a little different than normal. He didn’t know why, but that feeling alone possessed him to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, lingering there just to make sure you knew exactly what he was doing before pulling back.

“No more missions without me,” You say quietly, hand fisting in his shirt. “I mean it, Kyle.”

You saying his name was new too.

You hardly ever called him that, and when you did there was a damn good reason for it. He’d always found it endearing realizing that you saved his actual name for occasions when a nickname didn’t feel personal or affectionate enough. Although you didn’t have a call sign like the rest of them, he just murmured your name back into your hair, rubbing one hand over your head softly. Gaz understood that even though he’d not meant to, him coming in without warning of what happened actually scared you quite a bit, and it made him feel really guilty for not thinking that it could affect you any more than it did him. Fuck. He was still alive, and walking… There wasn’t much else to be worried about in the grand scheme of things. Yet feeling you cling to his shirt helped him come to see that it might not only be him who had feelings deeper than two regular operators might share.

“I promise, love.” He squeezed you affectionately; Both of you knowing damn well he’d told a lie just to ease your upset. Yet that was exactly what you needed, and Kyle couldn’t think of anything more he wanted to give you. Well… maybe a couple of things crossed his mind. But that could wait for later. At least until he could actually sit down and stand up without his whole torso burning. He kissed the top of your head again, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo and feeling a touch of dampness like you’d not been out of the shower very long ago. It settled in his mind and bones, helping take the edge off of a long day and the remnants of adrenaline still rushing through his blood.

“Hate to interrupt the party,” The Captain’s dry and somewhat flat tone reminded the both of you that you weren’t in a private room. And that everything had been said under Price and Soap’s watchful eyes. Ghost was long gone, already knowing damn well what was going to happen. He’d already seen it long before either of you quite recognized it, and didn’t feel like staying for the re-run. “But if you don’t mind… finish that shit somewhere else. I’d like to drink my whiskey without all the extra… affection. If you don’t mind.”

Gaz stiffened, and you couldn’t help but blush. It’d been nothing short of instinct, seeing him visibly the worst off of the squad. And now that you were sure he was going to be okay, it had made a lot of little questions in the shape of missing pieces suddenly snap right into place. Unfortunately, it appeared everyone but you and Kyle were already more than finished with the topic and were honestly just hoping you’d figure it out. Price definitely didn’t think it would take Garrick getting shot for you two to stop running circles around each other, but now that was taken care of. So he didn’t have to be so subtle anymore. And neither did Soap, who gave a deep whistle and wink before shoving his hands in his pockets and disappearing down the hallways towards his own room.

“Come on,” Kyle nudged you gently. “Got a couple things I want to talk ya about.”

Walking sheepishly past Price, who’d already poured a few fingers of whiskey shot a somewhat dryly amused look in your direction before settling down in a chair with his feet propped up and a cigar pinched between two fingers. You expected Kyle to ease up a little once around the corner, but he was still hot on your heels with a hand lingering on your lower back, silently guiding you in the direction of his quarters. Patiently, he whispered the code to his door in your ear and waited for you to open it, holding it so he could go inside without having to put too much weight on his ribs or upper body.

He apparently, had different ideas though. The moment the door shut, you were up against it, and Kyle’s chest flush with yours.

“Question one,” His breath had gotten a little heavier, fanning against your mouth and a hand sliding down from your waist to the swell of your hip. “How long?” You couldn’t help the sensation of heat that wavered up through your body, knowing exactly what he wanted to know. It would be hard enough to lie and give a respectable answer, but telling the truth could be just as nerve-wracking to admit.

“Day Two,” You answered back quietly, looking up at him a little timid. “When you showed me around the base. Thought you were so damn hot… You were wearing that grey and white three-quarter-length t-shirt and jeans…” The image was fresh in your mind, and damn if you still didn’t get excited when he wore that same outfit. Gaz gave a breathy sigh of amusement, grunting a little when he leaned a little too hard against you.

“Fuck… wanted you since Somalia,” He panted, nose brushing against yours and his breathing getting a little more labored. “Couldn’t stand everyone staring at you walking down the street after the mission. Knew everything they were thinkin’… Cause I’d already thought it. Wanted to take you right then and there, show them you were mine.” His hand on your hip tightened, pulling you flush against him and the other arm putting a deep arch in your back. Needing every inch of your body against his despite the discomfort in his ribs rising. He tried lifting you, but quickly grunted lowly out of frustration, pausing your shared excitement as you held your hands against his sides protectively.

“I’m not going anywhere, Kyle…” You whisper, raising up on your toes to meet his height a little easier. “Let’s just take this slow… alright?”

You pressed your lips to his, smiling happily when he began trying to take over. Pushing, pulling, whining, and desperately wanting to handle you a bit more but is very restricted by his own injuries. It was hard balancing the desire you knew he had and keeping him from hurting himself even more than he already was. It was a tedious process, but one you utterly lavished in, and hoped would never end. He just felt like everything you’d dreamed of and more. Tasted like honey and brown sugar with a voice that got more whiney and soft with each kiss and gentle touch. You didn’t know how long you’d been wrapped up in his arms and exploring every inch of him you could when he finally pulled back with a raspy groan, pressing his thumb to your bottom lip with a rich chuckle and smile.

“M’not gonna be able to handle much more tonight, love,” He rolled from his uninjured side onto his back, pulling you along with him until tucked tightly against his side with your head resting on his shoulder. From this angle, you could see him staring up at the ceiling with a hardened, and somewhat embarrassed expression. No doubt upset that he couldn’t deliver at least a little bit more. But you couldn’t even begin to accept him pushing through any amount of pain for something that could wait even one more day. Carefully you rubbed your fingertips over his chest, tracing outlines of muscle and feeling little patches of hair on his chest and lower stomach. It felt like a fantasy, actually touching Kyle Garrick… You felt a little guilty for not paying more attention and limiting just how much you’d been physical. But for the most part, you’d been the more concerned with his pain tolerance while he just kept nonverbally complaining that everything he’d been wanting to do was being unfairly taken from him in a cruel stroke of bad timing and a lucky shot.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper, kissing his cheek and nuzzling the curve in his neck. “Should’ve stopped you sooner. I don’t want you hurting, Kyle. I care care about you too much.”

Kyle laughs, a little too hard for comfort, and holds his ribs with his free hand. “Love, you couldn’t have stopped me. I’ve waited too fucking long, and I don’t have much patience left. I just can’t even breathe hard… and nothing we could do wouldn’t make me… excited.”

Your cheeks went hot with embarrassment, hearing his voice lower at the thought. You hadn’t the slightest clue of exactly what he had in mind, but it was for sure that you wouldn’t be doing much of anything but getting your fill of Kyle Garrick anytime you could get your hands on him, and attempting to keep him from going back to the doctor again; having to explain how he re-injured himself. You giggled to yourself at the idea, and it caught his attention. His eyebrows raised in question and you bit your lip, trying to decide if it was worth telling him. You figured at this point, there was no use in not.

“I was just trying to imagine what you’d say if you needed to go back to the doctor… you know, if you hurt yourself with me.”

A devilish smirk plasters itself to his lips, and he shifts over just enough to have his lips brushing your ear. “You know I don’t talk much… I’ll let ‘em guess just what I was doing to you. I’m sure it’ll be more fun that way. Besides, you’ll have plenty of proof on you that I didn’t go easy.”

fuck i love gaz <3

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

#gaz #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #cod mwii #cod #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #velvetures #velvetures writes #velvetures answers #anon <3

[anxiousnerdwritings]

def not an request but i wnt ur thoughts on this. you answered an ask once about the batboys + bruce lovin bruce's adopted sibling bcuz of how affectionate they are. and while I have alot of thoughts, my main one is just wonderin how they'd react if they died.

it could be from the rogue of the week, them dying bcuz they were held ransom and one kidnapper was trigger happy, a hitman for some reason. point is they died but i know for a FACT that jason and damian wouldnt think twice about using the pits to bring them back. they wldnt even think,, theyd just share a glance and nod.

like can you imagine bruce spiraling (they all are tbh) cuz his sibling died. alfred is trying to console him while comforting dick as dick is sobbing buckets. tim is trying to fight tears as he scours for any images of his aunt/uncle's killer and jason's in the back like "damian get the shovel" and a shovel spawns in damian's hands magically

sorry for this being long btw i waa excited

Everyone would be completely distraught at the loss of the only thing they felt kept them grounded. Their only sense of outward love, affection, and warmth being ripped away from them like that would be detrimental to everyone of them. Especially if the Reader has been killed so senselessly, like their killer didn’t even know who they were or their ties to Batman and the Batfamily or to Bruce Wayne in general. They could all blame themselves for being the reason a rogue got to them but just some random mugger having been the one to take away their beloved sibling/aunt or uncle would tear at them even more. Especially for Bruce, having the Reader taken away from him like his parents had been would mess him up all over again.

Honestly, there’s no doubt that Bruce, Tim, and Dick would heavily contemplate using the Lazarus pit to bring the Reader back. But it’s definitely Jason and Damian who don’t think twice about it and go through with bringing their precious aunt/uncle back. I feel like Alfed would be the only one to not consider it, whether he just can’t bring himself to do so or he’s come to accept the loss of the Reader.

The only reason I could see him being accepting/tolerating of the idea of the Reader being brought back by means of the Lazarus pit would mainly be for the sake of Bruce and the boys. Of course he’s affected by their death and not being able to be in their company again or to have them fret over him like they did, but it’s how hard Bruce and the boys take it that really has him willing to turn a blind eye while Jason and Damian go through with their plan. Alfred would also low key give his reassurance and acceptance to Bruce for him to go through with his own thoughts of bringing the Reader back to life. It may even be Alfred who plants the seed of using the Lazarus pit to begin with, in his own desperate way to get the family back to the way it was.

Also, in the case of a rogue having taken the Reader and was using them to get to Batman and the boys, I could totally see one of the villains’ lackeys being the one who deals out the Reader’s demise. Whether they went too far with trying to get information from them/roughing them up to add to the vigilantes rush to meet with the respective rogues demands or they just really wanted to take it into their own hands to get back at the Dark Knight/prove their worth to their boss. Either way, I could see their boss even being like “👀 You done fucked up and now we’re all going to die😬”. Trust me, Jason and Damian would go on a bloody warpath killing and maiming everyone involved in the death of the Reader or even just for being there, and I don’t even think Bruce would be in the mindset to stop them. Or maybe he doesn’t want to stop them.

In the case that the Reader was pointlessly killed by a mugger or low grade criminal for no reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Bruce and the boys would work tirelessly to find the person who did it. It would especially be infuriating and defeating if the Reader’s killer was just gone in the wind. No trace of the assailant, no leads off what evidence they did have, nothing. If they aren’t able to hunt the Reader’s killer down before they bring the Reader back to life then they would all be extremely paranoid about something similar happening to the Reader again, whether it’s the same assailant or someone else. Not getting that closure of permanently getting rid of the person who tore away their darling from them would weigh and all of them. They’d become even more overprotective of the Reader once they have them back and wouldn’t allow them to leave the manor for anything out of fear of losing them all over again.

Similar to Alfred, Dick would be the one consoling and trying to keep everyone together knowing that the Reader wouldn’t want them to tear apart like they already are. He pushes down his own heartache and hurt over the loss of the Reader to try and be there for Bruce and the boys, especially Damian. Alfred knows exactly what Dick’s doing, focusing on the others so he doesn’t have to deal with his own trauma regarding the ordeal. But Alfred doesn’t let that fly and he confronts Dick about it only for Dick to breakdown and unleash everything he’s been keeping under wraps.

The death of the Reader would really affect Bruce and the boys severely, they all shut down in their own ways. Sick is the only one who still comes off as his normal self but behind closed doors in another thing. Jason becomes even more aggressive and rough when dealing with any criminals, no matter how high or low on the food chain they are. Whatever sleep and healthy habits the Reader had gotten Tim to do to take care of himself went away the day they died. If anything he’s only gotten so much worse, a husk of what he used to be running solely off of caffeine and the need to find the Reader’s killer. Damian shuts himself off completely from everyone, not even Alfred or Dick can get to him. He won’t let them. All the wonderful progress he made with the Reader regarding letting others in and being able to let go of being the child of an assassin and vigilante and just allowing himself to be a kid is destroyed. He doesn’t want anything to do with anyone unless it’s his beloved aunt/uncle.

Bruce is a mess, both physically and emotionally. He’s taken a backseat from things, mainly pertaining to the Justice League and Wayne Enterprises. He stops by every so often and does want he needs to but he isn’t involved unless he really, really needs to be. Even though he has Alfred, Damian, Dick, Jason, and Tim, Bruce can’t help but feel cold and alone after losing the Reader. He feels the exact same way he did when he first lost his parents, before he adopted the Reader and brought them home to be his family. He knows he’s not truly alone, at least not physically but there’s a hole in his chest and he finds himself completely lost. He know he needs to be there for the boys, that the Reader would scold him for not being there for them when they need him most but he just can’t. He tries but he can’t do it, he can’t give them what they desperately need, not like how the Reader could. And that makes him feel even worse.

Bruce would be overcome with the feeling of being useless and vulnerable and he hates it. It would especially be hard for him if Dick and Jason were moved out of the manor leaving the family to be apart in such a trying time. Although, having Jason and Bruce in the same place together might not be good given that that may cause strife between the two. Especially if Jason blamed Bruce for the Reader’s death, or at least used Bruce as a way to let out his own grievances about not being able to save the Reader himself and projecting his own guilt and self blame about the whole ordeal.

This would only push each of them further towards bringing the Reader back by any means necessary. And they don’t care what anyone else has to say about it, they need their darling back otherwise their family isn’t going to last much longer without them.

Also, the overwhelming guilt and self hatred of Bruce or any of the boys if they had inadvertently been the cause of the Reader’s death. Like, while trying to get to the Reader maybe a stray bullet or knife/batarang/wing-ding hit the Reader and led to the their demise.

#anxious answers #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere alfred pennyworth #yandere batman #yandere batboys #yandere dc #yandere dc concept #yandere batboys concept #yandere batfamily concept #yandere concept

[rosebudbl00d]

Insane Sylas ramble about Aiden, because he's my dude. I may be crazy when I say no one understands him but like:

This guy, goes from winning every building competition—probably feeling that he's going to get everything he wants, that everythings going to turn out right, that he'll make a name for himself—to losing his status to the people he use to torment. His best friend (and boyfriend if that's your thing) leaves him, he goes through a fuckin' apocalypse. And for once the eyes aren't on him. They're on Jesse.

He can't stand it- he can't stand the thought of Jesse having what he had, or more so getting better than what Aiden had. So he follows Jesse around looking for a moment to steal the spotlight from them; he tries to steal their treasure, he nearly attacks them many a time. He's getting so aggressive from his losses that he even becomes aggressive to Lukas and tantalizes him as well. And then he goes for Sky City. Maybe it's a fresh start in a way- he makes his way to the Founder's side- he infiltrates the system so easily, at this rate he'll reach back to where he was before. Everything feels like it may turn out right again. But then here comes Jesse.

Jesse Jesse Jesse. Threatening to steal everything from him again. Whether that be the status that he's trying to rebuild, the attention he's getting- or the Eversource. He has to get rid of the problem directly, or Jesse will just take and take and take from Aiden for the rest of his life.

So. He "kills" them. And while he's at it, why not kill Lukas too? Get rid of two problems at once, two birds with one stone. The person who's taken everything from him, and the person who's betrayed him. And now Sky City is his. (I feel that often the psyche of Aiden after he thinks he KILLED three people is overlooked. Up to this point Aiden hasn't killed anyone, he's just been an asshole. Personally I feel that once he gave way to that fact that there was no saving him, and that he's a murderer now- him believing that he killed Jesse directly led to the destruction of Sky City.)

But what now? That he's gotten rid of them?

Torment. He's totally lost it at this point, all eyes are on him, and now that they are he's going to show everyone what happens when you don't look at him. He's confronted by Reginald, and he doesn't even think before deciding he's going to murder him too. But in comes Jesse. Back from the dead.

His everlasting problem. Because nothing will ever work out for Aiden. Jesse will always be better, Jesse will always come back, Jesse will always get everything. And it makes him writhe at the fact that Jesse will always win.

"You just can't stand to see anyone else win. It just drives you crazy to see somebody else succeed, doesn't it?"

He's projecting this. AIDEN can't stand to see anyone else win. It drives AIDEN crazy to see somebody else succeed. Especially Jesse. Why otherwise would he do all this? He craves the attention he had, he craves having someone at his side (Lukas.) He craves being powerful, he craves everything that Jesse has. He wants so badly to be the hero, but not for goodness, no. For all the wonderful things he'll get out of being "the good guy." If Aiden is the hero, then everyone will love Aiden, and no one will love Jesse.

But Aiden isn't the hero. Aiden is Aiden. And Aiden only knows that getting rid of whatever's constricting him will get him what he wants. If he truly wants the attention, the fear love that Jesse has, he's just going to have to kill them again.

But he's alone now. Teetering on the edge of a platform with certain death below, a thunderstorm raging above, and the source of all his problems in front of him. And Aiden knows deep down that he's not good enough to beat Jesse. He's chaotic, there's no order to his strikes, it's just rage; rage and anger that has consumed him. And that's how he's defeated.

He's held accountable- and he becomes a sopping mess. "Oh Jesse please take me back, I promise I'll be good, I understand that I've been terrible, that I'm a horrible person. Maybe I'll write a book and settle down, please look at me. Please forgive me." It's just a tactic. Attention from anyone, even Jesse, it'll be enough. Aiden's story can't end with him rotting alone in a prison cell, he has to get something out of this. He's feared by everyone in Sky City/Ground Town now, locked away to prevent him from being a threat. But it's not enough. It'll never be enough.

Maybe he'll get a line in Lukas' book. Maybe he'll read it and think "I've made it." Maybe he'll think "This isn't enough, I need to be more than just a single chapter in the story of this world." Maybe he'll throw it away, and pray that it's not real.

He's consumed by the thought of anyone getting more than he has- attention, love, fame. Maybe just maybe, the thought of Jesse getting Lukas is what sent him completely over the edge. Because as long as he has Lukas' attention, at least he has someone's, right? Someone important's attention.

-

I wholeheartedly believe that Aiden can't change. Aiden's motivations have always been to be "the best" or to be something people will look at. He's envious to a fault, so much so that he attempts genocide and regicide on a city because he wants to be looked at. By the people of Sky City, by the world, by Lukas. All Aiden wants is attention. And he'll do anything to get it.

The letter he sends is just a way to get back into the story. "I'm sorry, I want redemption," maybe it's true, but why? Why does he want it? So he can do the same thing again, try to usurp Jesse.

He'll always be like this, because he's obsessed with Jesse- he's obsessed with Lukas. And he's obsessed with the idea that he can be better than them. That he can make Lukas regret leaving him for Jesse.

I'm absolutely fascinated by that thought. That Aiden's motivation for attention is brought to light by Lukas leaving the Ocelots for the Order. Aiden absolutely hates him for it, for abandoning him- him and Maya and Gill. Maybe in his own eyes he sees Lukas doing it for the same reason he'd do it—for the promise of attention. He hates Lukas for it, he hates hates hates him. But at the same time he's infatuated with the idea of Lukas coming back- of him apologizing for leaving, and everything going back to the way it was. Aiden on top, Jesse on the bottom, and Lukas right by Aiden's side.

This is also why I feel that post ep4 Aidkas is just completely rooted in toxicity, and also why I feel really any ship with Aiden is just destined to fail. He's clung onto Lukas so hard, and Lukas has moved on, but he hasn't. He's obsessed, and he wants to be loved by Lukas again- even though that's simply just not possible. Lukas hates Aiden as much as Aiden hates Lukas, but Lukas doesn't love Aiden as much as Aiden loves him. Maybe Aiden thinks that Lukas will fix him, change him and make him better, give him that opportunity to be great. But Lukas can't- nobody can.

No one can fix Aiden, not even himself. He's broken, and chaotic, and obsessive. He cannot let go, he can't move on, and he can't be changed.

His obsessions with attention and with Lukas and with being better than everyone else will always bring him down and ruin anything that he tries to have.

SORRY for the ramble, Aiden's my favorite MCSM character and has been my comfort character for a long-ass time and I just need to talk about him 😭 I'm sorry if it doesn't make much sense either-

I would go on but this thing is already long as shit and I don't want to kill anyone with the length of my insanity. But maybe sometime I'll get around to explaining how I think this plays into how I see Aidrose and post-canon interpretations of Aiden :3

#minecraft story mode #mcsm #aiden mcsm #rambles #character analysis #lukas mcsm #the way aiden is so loose so you can interpret him how u want.... #not canon #this is mostly just an opinion/how i view him #aidkas

[nose-nippin-fun]

Hazbin Hotel Episode 4 Discussion:

I’ve seen a lot of nasty posts floating around today criticizing Vivzie and the show. I’m not here to discredit your feelings, but I think that the darker tone of episode 4 merits some constructive discussion beyond a knee-jerk, pearl-clutching reaction.

From what I’ve seen, the biggest complaint from viewers, myself included, is that this emotional episode with some fairly intense depictions of SA/r*pe was not prefaced with a content warning aside from the usual small text in the top left corner. I truly do believe Amazon should correct this going forward so that viewers can feel better prepared for tone shifts between episodes. That being said, here are my defenses of the show.

Hazbin Hotel has had a huge fan following since the pilot release back in 2019, which set the tone of the show. Between the pilot and Addict music video, people had a pretty clear indication of the adult themes that would be present in the project moving forward. The show is set in Hell, the place where the world’s worst sinners are trapped in the afterlife. This is not an excuse, this is an explanation. There are going to be several characters with tainted morality, some of whom are irredeemable. That’s why they’re in Hell. This show is not meant to glorify sins, but to shine a light on flawed, relatable characters who will grapple with ethics and other struggles and come out changed in the end.

“I can’t believe Angel doesn’t leave his situation and stays stagnant.” Have you ever lived through/witnessed abuse? It is never this easy to sever ties with an abuser. They position themselves in power to control and manipulate, and many times, it’s not physically safe to get away from them. Also, this has been ONE EPISODE, you cannot expect a character with deep trauma to be totally different after a 20-30 minute episode. Angel’s character arc will take time, but his interaction with Husk at the end is an important first step in that direction.

“So Angel is supposed to just get over his trauma because he and Husk sang a song about it?” No. If that was your takeaway, I’m truly sorry you missed the point. Husk is the only person who’s been raw and blunt with Angel (on screen) about dropping the Angel Dust persona and being Anthony. Angel is used to having to put on a flawless, sexy act at all times, so much so that that’s how people really believe he is at all times. Husk sees through this mask Angel developed to protect himself and tell him through their song that imperfect and broken as he feels, Angel isn’t alone in struggling with feelings of powerlessness and addiction. He’s not comparing his loss of overlord status to Angel’s horrible SA, he’s finding common ground and empathizing (the best way a Hellbound soul can). This song wasn’t a solution, it was a gateway to vulnerability and the beginning of change for both characters.

“We’re expected to just ship Huskerdust after Angel has done nothing but sexually harass and push Husk’s boundaries?” No. That’s absolutely the wrong reason to ship anything. While it’s true that in the first three episodes, Angel sees Husk as eye candy who might be able to distract him from his suffering, episode 4 brings a necessary shift in their dynamic. Angel is used to everyone around him wanting Angel Dust, the pornstar. But for the first time, someone doesn’t want that coveted persona, and he can’t comprehend this. Angel has no control over anything except the act he keeps up, so he clings to it as a false sense of power. It’s only after Husk tells him that he likes Angel for everything he is off camera that Angel starts to treat Husk with respect, which will pave the way for any future Huskerdust shipping.

You don’t have to agree with what I’ve written, and I absolutely don’t blame you if you’ve realized this show is not content you can comfortably consume, but please understand that depicting difficult material is not the same as glorifying or excusing it. This episode was hard for me too, because I care about Angel Dust, and I am so eager to watch his growth as the show continues. My heart goes out to anyone struggling from triggering this episode caused. I hope you’re able to safely navigate away from this show while respecting the viewers who continue to watch.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel discourse #hazbin hotel discussion #tw: sa #tw: abuse #tw: long post #spoilers #hazbin hotel spoilers

[elioslover]

Grapejuice (fic) Part Three

Premise: To your dismay, an Italian reunion with Harry seems impossible to avoid, and it's time to start facing the music- after all, it seems you are the one who can't stay away.

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: Alcohol use, mind-blowing banter. Use of She/Her.

Part One Part Two

Fashion Board - Fic Playlist - Other Writing

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You were still at a loss for words, soul sucked out of your throat - straight into his hands. Perhaps if you said nothing, this would remain a figment of your imagination. 

But he was as real as he had been between your thighs, as he had been when you were beaming up at him, eyes doey and desiring to please. 

You suddenly felt insecure – thrust onto a stage, the spotlight so terribly blinding. Harry was politely keeping his eyes trained on yours, awaiting a response he would never receive. 

Savina, who could clearly sense you had just been sent straight into a torture chamber, quickly sits up, tossing her hat to the side and extending a warm introduction. You hadn’t noticed the man standing beside him but Savina recognised him from the first encounter outside the café, so she extended her welcome his way. 

He introduced himself as Jeff, and before you could even think to protest, Savina invited both men to set up and join your little beach session. A kindness you hardly ever saw her express, and Harry accepted far too quickly for your liking. 

Naturally, he chose to set his towel next to yours; and to make matters worse, he sat directly facing your side, legs bent forward, almost touching your hip. You slightly shifted away, aware that he would notice but not address it. 

Savina took the liberty of keeping the light conversation flowing, prying on how Jeff knew Harry, what they were doing here, where they were staying and for how long. You heard not a thing; head thumping, chest burning. 

Harry was particularly quiet, chiming in every so often, putting forth his best side for Savina, encouraging her to change her mind- or at least opinions on him. Harry was certain you had only shared vague details about him – even vaguer about your relationship. 

And he tried to avoid being disappointed, still completely overwhelmed by finally confirming that he was, in fact, not crazy - you had been the person he saw running in the opposite direction – twice. 

Harry was yet to understand why he found it so challenging to stay on planet Earth when in your presence. He had to keep himself grounded, trying his hardest to keep his gaze directed away from you,

“Of all the places…” you built up the courage to snap at him. 

Harry took this with a grain of salt- knowing you well enough to expect rejection and complete weariness. For now, he deemed he could deal with those feelings when you weren’t fearsomely sitting across from him. 

Savina ensured no gaps of silence settled, asking all the right questions – general and friendly. Jeff was eager to engage and happy to be in the company of others- the last day and a half consisted of only physically communicating with Harry. Harry, who had spent his hours mulling about, stuck in his head, totally distracted. Jeff didn’t know what his problem was- starting to ponder if this was how Harry behaved during his downtime. 

You were still focused on regulating your heart rate, ears ringing, eyes staring blankly at the sea,

“So, Y/n, how do you and Harry know one another?” Jeff asked, startling you back into reality. Your lips parted, mind blank, and as you struggled to formulate a simple response, Harry stepped in and, to your surprise, helped you out, 

“She’s Jack’s little sister-”

“Older sister.” you scoff, eyes rolling. 

Jeff nodded along, having been around your brother in the past. He made the same face everyone made whenever Jack was mentioned; a look of approval after flashbacks of your chaotic-good, riot-of-a-time brother came to mind. 

“Where is he staying this summer?” 

“Alps.” both you and Harry spoke in sync. 

You glanced his way, already sure he was smiling as a result. And he was - cheekily. Just as rapidly as before, your heart was beating against your chest. It was loud – orchestral; ears screeching, body-quaking thumps, waves crashing against the sand, and the chatter of the three people situated around you - they spoke with clarity, but you heard only mutters- feeling like a bomb had just detonated beside your head.

After applying extreme focus, the ringing in your ears dulled and replaced itself with the sound of talking- comprehensive conversation. The last thing you wanted was to give Harry a reaction. After all, it was what he lived for. But you both knew that it bothered you– Harry knew before he even said hello.

Your stubbornness kept you going – always had – and from extensive practice, you were sure you could tune out his existence– at least for the time being.

“He plans on staying until August.” you scoffed – your brother was a moron who always seemed to forget how much the snow displeased him, 

“Bet he’ll last a month, tops.” Harry decided, and you briefly looked over in acknowledgement, 

“A week.” you felt certain – remembering a phone call yesterday where Jack whined for far too long about another incident on the slopes.

“Wanna put money on it?” Harry tempted.

“Money? We’re not children.” Instantly regretting your choice of words.

“Is that a fact?” 

“Don’t start.” Yet again, your anxiety surfaced- hot under the invisible collar of affection he clearly wanted to swaddle you with. 

“So, no money?” 

“No money.” You dismissed, breaking eye contact. 

Harry thought about it for a while – certain he could find a cheeky consolation prize for his failed attempt at striking up some friendly competition. 

“Doesn’t he hate the snow?” Savina pondered.

“Does it even snow there during the summer?” Jeff joined in.

“Some places snow all year round…surely?” Harry was sucked right into the confusion.

Your body was on fire, a headache threatening to split your forehead in half, and everything sounded like noise, sensory overload in full swing. 

“You can still ski in some places in Switzerland during the summer. Christ, next thing you’re gonna ask where snow comes from.” the longer you stayed put, the sooner you found yourself setting alight. 

“You already gave me that lecture in seventh grade.” Harry reminded.

“You thought snowflakes were a myth.” 

“At least I didn’t take it upon myself to spend all week preaching safety tips.”

“I’m older. I know better.” you scoffed.

“Slanderous lies.” 

“It doesn’t matter. Clearly, all of my warnings went in through one ear and out the other because you sprained an ankle and lost one of your ski sticks.” 

“You bumped into me.” Harry leaned forward, ready to argue to the death.

“Fuck right off. You cannot bump into someone who is behind you. And you were certainly behind me, you fuckin’ klutz.” You reclaimed the nickname, amazed that you were still having this argument. 

Harry always refused to let it go. It was one of the first times he learned that listening to you was probably a wise move. He remembers how frantic you had gotten- yelling at him for not listening, for hurting himself, and for finding it so amusing. But your eyes were so sweet, filled with concern, hands soft as they helped remove his gear. 

“Oh please, you came out of it practically unscathed.” Harry scoffed.

“I still have a chipped tooth!” you couldn’t believe how incredulous he was.

“Well, my heart still hurts after you called me, ‘Dickhead. You foolish dickhead. Are you trying to get us killed?’” Harry had memorised it like his favourite song.

He deserved it then, and he deserves it now, you thought. And though Harry’s recklessness was anxiety-inducing, you couldn’t help how fun the day was – before and after his fall – there was minimal argument, plenty of laughter, and the best hot chocolate you’d had to date. 

“I was being nice.” you offered. 

“Oh, I know.” Harry said smugly, “Until recently, it was the nicest thing you’d ever said to me.” 

A choral of your voice - singing sweet compliments his way, intent on luring him closer – made your stomach churn; the many, many pretty praises pointed straight at him. And just like that, all calm and collectiveness were sucked back into the Earth's core, replaced with only remorse and dread. There were no walls, and yet they were certainly closing in; you felt all eyes were on you now, burning into your skin with newfound curiosity- you couldn’t bear to look anywhere other than directly at him. 

And he was looking right back at you, waiting to see if he had struck a chord, hoping to get more than just a dismissal. But he was sorely mistaken – underestimating your need for control, becoming more overwhelmed by the second. 

Harry hadn’t the faintest clue about how he made you feel – how could he really? Your poker face could earn millions; your expression never faltered, no noticeable twitches, your body rejecting the ache to stiffen. But you could feel the cracks starting, threatening to shatter, spill all of your nerves out right into his lap, and if you stayed here a moment longer, you were sure to break. 

With that in mind, you startled the group by standing abruptly, your book falling from your lap, hitting the towel, causing Harry to look away for a moment- enough time to gather your cool, pulling your shades back over your eyes, hiding sheer panic. 

You turned to Savina, who was already looking at you puzzled, your words jumbling together, refusing to come out coherently. You searched desperately for an excuse- for some damn reason to get out of this mess. But all you could foolishly muster was both weak and faulty, 

“It’s fucking swelting. Think I'm gonna go for a swim.” You turned with whatever confidence you could scrape to the surface, walking off toward the ocean– your guard only retreating once the sea enveloped your ankles, cooling you down in more ways than one. 

You kept on forward, letting the salty water twist and wrap your thighs and belly- letting yourself sink into its embrace, dipping your head back until your hair dampened, fresh and comforting to your swelling brain. 

As you straightened, letting your body bob between the waves, hands coming up to cup your face, hiding your embarrassment from even yourself. This was not your definition of summer- you were sure this was nobody's ideal vacation. 

Harry was punctually proving that spending even ten minutes with him was a grave mistake. And you decided then and there that designating your time to avoid him was your best bet- your only guarantee that whatever vacation remained would stay sacred. 

Your skin was pruning by the point of your begrudging departure from the water, taking your time and returning to where you had left Savina, Jeff, and Satan himself.

And a wave of relief, bigger than those you had been bobbing in, washed over you with fresh revival at the realisation that the men were no longer here, only Savina, deeply invested in The Old Man and the Sea, perched in one hand, the other strewn across her hip.

You reached down for your towel, wrapping it loosely across your shoulders,

“Y'know, reading that book is kinda foretelling.”

“Are you calling me an old man?” Savina turned, instantly shutting, and discarding the book. 

“No, no. I think you’re struggling with the language barrier.” You teased.

“I speak better English than you.” Sshe reminded. 

You scoffed, folding and putting your towel back down, sitting cross-legged. There was a moment of pause, an itch to ask what had happened after you went for a swim- but the relief you had felt suddenly intertwined with slight disappointment. Why had they left? 

“They had lunch reservations.” Savina informed. 

“You did not need to invite them to join us.” you reprimanded. 

“And I didn’t need to invite them out for dinner tomorrow night, but I did.” She said matter-of-factly. 

Rage, confusion, anxiety, and a little excitement. You couldn’t decide which to act on- instead, your jaw went slack, lips parted, eyebrows raised, 

“You bitch.” 

Savina chuckled, picked her book back up and continued reading. 

🍷

Lunch had been a quiet affair; Jeff did most of the talking, and Harry did his best to listen. If it weren’t for the steaming serving of Shrimp Scampi keeping him sane, Jeff probably would have left Harry to his own devices for the day. 

But, after eating had long passed, and the sun had set over the sea, Harry was still in a funk- one that Jeff had failed to see from him so far, which, in itself, was odd. Jeff was usually first witness to Harry going through the motions; stressed, anxious, overwhelmed or overjoyed.This mood is hard to pinpoint though. It almost seems like Harry is so deep in thought he has become dismissive of all surroundings. 

Mid-way through the evening, when Harry unintentionally sighed for the third time in ten minutes, Jeff looked up from his phone, paused his round of Sudoku, and decided an investigation was in order,

“Is this how you behave on all holidays?” 

“What does that even mean?” Harry shrunk back in the sofa, shading his wariness behind a surprised façade. 

“You’re acting weird.” Jeff said, one brow arched, and as an afterthought, he decided to get straight to the point, “Is there something going on between you and Y/n?” 

“Why would you say that?” 

Harry ignored the little cupid’s dancing within the walls of his stomach, swallowing hard and staring out past the closest window, watching the sandy shores welcoming waves, the sea sparkling under the waning moon.    

“For starters, I don’t think I’ve seen you get this flustered around someone before.” Jeff tested, “Which is… something.” He was too observant, which obviously didn’t help soothe the little stars and hearts swirling around like a halo above Harry’s head. 

“…Don’t know what you’re on about.” He murmured timidly.

Jeff couldn’t comprehend why Harry seemed so reluctant to talk to him- surely if the two of you were purely platonic he would have no reservations just clarifying. Right now, Harry could barely look at Jeff, forehead compressed in an intense moment of introspection. 

A phone notification pinged, distracting Jeff momentarily, and Harry was back to his belligerent thoughts of yours truly. The knots in his stomach were ones of excitement and anticipation, but his head was advising him to halt, to be realistic for once in his life, even if a piece of his heart took a hit along the way. 

“So?” Jeff sternly pressed on, dropping his phone back into his lap.  

“So… what?” 

“Is there something going on between the two of you?” 

“No…Maybe…I don’t know.” Harry exhaled mercifully, only perplexing himself further.

“What’s the problem?” The muddy waters were only worsening- Jeff had never heard of you, and now he was hooked on figuring out exactly why that was the case. 

“She’s Jack’s sister, for starters.” Harry stressed, finally sharing his apprehension.

“Does he care?” honest curiosity.

“Probably not.” Harry hadn’t really thought about that part. 

“Does she care?” Jeff worded.

“Oh, for sure.” He knew that for sure. 

🍷

Harry was lying in bed now, the window ajar, salty summer breeze mixing with the lull of waves crashing in the distance. A secret sliver of the moon peeked through the sheer curtains, dancing across his face, illuminating his features, flickering like a flashlight above his shut eyelids. 

With a huff, he grabbed a fistful of the thin cotton sheet covering his torso, crinkling it between his palm, tugging it along with him as he turned over, facing his back to the moon., 

Harry couldn’t fall asleep, and even if he could, he wasn’t letting himself. His thoughts were on a sugar high, replaying the entirety of today on repeat; hyper-focused on the moments that included you, the sun crisping your edges, sunscreen turning to golden gloss atop your soft skin. 

And though he felt tremendous relief knowing he was, in fact, not delusional. You were as real as you had been the last time he saw you - sweetly slobbering, just for him – Harry felt you slipping further away. Especially after your less-than-stellar reception to his arrival- it could have been chalked up to the fact that you were surprised to see him, but something in Harry knew better. 

And when you jumped up off of your towel, body seeming scorched, scalded and scathing - desperate to separate from him- he easily confirmed you were running from him. 

Harry felt a pang in his heart each time he thought of you walking away, unable to drift off peacefully knowing that you were so close, and he had blown the opportunity once more. He would sell his soul to find out what went on in your head-especially regarding him. Harry thought he would gladly doze off into slumber, wrapped in the soothing comfort of your headspace. 

Yet here he was, his mind and body riddled with inertia- swallowed and swaddled by the sheets- he felt lonelier than he would have liked to admit. Harry knew just how well your body fit so snugly with his own, considering the feeling of tugging you closer, tangling yourselves into one whole being. 

Never in his right mind would he have actually expected to see you here. He had sooner accepted that he was slipping into delusions- and somehow still easier to pretend that was the case. At least then he wouldn’t be trapped in this limbo. 

As you walked away, Harry quickly glanced over at Savina, and they shared a brief but curious exchange. Jeff, none-the-wiser – reminded Harry that they still had that lunch reservation. Though he wished to stay, feet buried within the sand, relief rushed through his veins- frustration for, once again, being unprepared in your presence. 

He hadn’t expected you to be so standoffish, a hint of discomfort seeping through your usual style of banter. Harry worried it was because of him- because you truly couldn’t stand being near him.

Punctured with confusion, but almost certain that you had meant it when you were asking for him with such a needy craving that night in his bedroom, Harry still felt he knew you- knew not to take it too personally when you sent such frigidity his direction. He couldn’t – and wouldn’t – let it get to him.

His neck started to ache, threatening to spasm if he didn’t punctually readjust. And with that being the case, Harry lifted himself up and swung his legs over the mattress- feet softly thudding against the hardwood. 

Waiting on his eyes to adjust to the darkness, his hand blindly roamed the nightstand in search of his phone. Coming out successful, he unlocked the screen, glancing at the time, 01:13. He decided this was still a reasonable-enough hour, going to recent calls and pressing dial- knowing the man on the end of the receiver was still awake- confirmed when the call connected after two rings,

“Talk to me, baby.”

“Why are you still awake?” 

“Why would you call unless you thought I was?” Jack starts to think, offended that Harry would have called whether he was asleep or not.

“And why didn’t you tell me Y/n was in Capri?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.” He says nonchalantly.

“Well, you thought wrong.” Harry tries not to snap. 

Either Jack can’t tell that his friend is currently rather moody, or he can tell and just doesn’t care. Considering that their consistent friendship spans two decades, there’s a high likelihood Jack made a more-than-conscious choice to dismiss Harry’s demeanour. Instead he takes the opportunity to do what he does best, complain,

“Dude, I’m freezing out here. I fear I might have hypothermia, and I burnt my tongue on a cup of hot chocolate first night here- barely have any taste buds left. And, for some reason, I have this feeling I’m gonna get caught in an avalanche, I know, I know, that might be irrational but-”

“Stop whining. Go somewhere sunny. Go to the sea, I’m already looking forward to hearing you worry about hyperthermia instead.” Harry griped petulantly.

“Not a bad idea…” Jack considers. 

It sounds like Jack has started busying himself on the other end of the line, shuffling around as Harry contemplates bringing you up again. But, sleep will be hard to find if he chooses not to, and he’d kick himself for backing out, 

“Your sister doesn’t seem very keen on me being here…”

“Yeah, she didn’t sound too impressed.” 

“You spoke to her?” Harry almost sits up fully, soft sheets pooling at his waist. 

“Well, she sent me some rather colourful texts earlier.” Still, in the midst of doing something, Jack definitely has the phone on speaker now, veering further from Harry’s evident curiosity. 

“What about?” posed with caution, 

“Same as you. Wanted to know why I didn’t tell her you were coming.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t know why you’re both suddenly so interested in one other. I could just send you her number- would help stop me from having to be the messenger.” Jack groused.

“Not necessary.” Harry quickly dismissed, his nerves untangling as relaxation began to wash over him. He liked the idea of you being interested in him. For now, that was enough to lull him into a state of sleep, “You are the worst messenger, though.”

“And you love me, bitchboy.” He sang with silly spirit, voice nearing the speaker. 

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t think insurance will pay out if you die on the slopes... Maybe keep that in mind?” 

“That’s it. I’m getting out of here, man.” 

“Good for you.” Harry affirmed, yearning for a yawn.

“Tell Y/n I say hi!” Jack merrily tormented. 

“Fuck off.” He chuckled lazily, eyes visited by the Sandman. Throwing in an, ‘I love you’, promises of their next dialogue happening during daylight hours, and a threat of coming to visit, the call came to an end. 

Harry released a lengthily postponed sigh, palm pressing to his forehead, before his phone emitted a startling ding, Jack’s name lighting up. Attached are the words, 'I think my fingers are freezing. Will they fall off?', as well as your name and number. 

He wanted to roll his eyes, dusty rose coating the apples of his cheeks- shyness coursing through him, and great relief that Jack had dismissed his protests- swooning at the digits belonging to you, feeling a little closer- nearer.

Customizing your contact details, gifting you the title of Klutz with a wine glass emoji for finesse, Harry’s eyes finally swell shut with sleepiness, body soothed back into the sheets, already drifting into dreamland by the time his head hits the pillow.

🍷

You would sooner face the guillotine than admit how long you took to choose an outfit for dinner. Throwing clothes in your suitcase the morning of your flight- ‘it’s not like I’ll have anyone impress’ mixed with ‘I put off packing to binge-watch Kitchen Nightmares’- was now biting you in the ass. Why the fuck did you bring so many socks? When would you even use them? 

When you had finally settled on something- consisting of a white tee tucked into a high-waisted coral and pink mermaid-esque skirt, paired with white latex ankle boots, a cream belt and a matching mini baguette bag- it was time to start fussing over hairstyles and by the end of that, it was a miracle you hadn’t ripped out all of the hair on your head. It was only when you caught a glance of yourself in the mirror that your confidence returned, and you mustered up as much of it as you could to get through the next few hours. 

The chosen restaurant was spacious, built with cobblestone, and decorated with dark green vines and eclectic hardwood tables. Harry and Jeff were already waiting on the sidewalk. Greeting you warmly, the sudden kiss Harry pressed to your cheek was startling but welcomed, and you hoped he wouldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed wishfully.  

Settling in, Harry makes it very clear that he intends to sit next to you- forcing Jeff to the end of the table without a chance for choice. It had been expected, but still, you felt the familiar bubbling of anxious uncertainty within you. The only promising factor was the chance to eat- something you had been too distracted to do all day. 

An awkward silence lulled over, only amplifying the splitting headache you soon faced. Harry looks at you as if he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else in the world. Gaze happily settled on your own- and your lack of comfortability- clearly revelling in it all. If the wine you had ordered would just arrive, perhaps your nerves would settle. 

“Thanks for inviting us, Savina.” Jeff started after a subtle clearing of the throat, and everyone was more than grateful for it. 

“Oh, of course! It’s such a coincidence bumping into someone Y/n knows from home. We just had to have dinner.” She shot a cheeky glance your way, and you hoped to God that the dim lighting would mask the blush rushing across your cheeks, 

“Well, we didn’t have to.” You mumbled, regretting it as Harry’s ears instantly perked up,

“Cancelled another hot date, did you, Y/n?” With each word, he seemed closer and closer, pricking at your emotions, stirring frustration back to the surface each time it threatened to settle down. 

“Do I sense jealousy?” You felt yourself shifting forward, arms resting impatiently atop the table. 

“Just curiosity.” He shrugged, relaxing back into his chair, arms folded across his chest with nonchalance, 

“What are you, a cat?” You dismissed him, turning both your attention and body to face the others, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Jeff.”

“Likewise, I’ve heard plenty about you.” 

“Hope I live up to my reputation then.” Shrugging, you glance over at the loved-up boy from your childhood, and he's already looking at you longingly.

“Oh, trust me, you already are.” Jeff chuckles with certainty, 

“Really?” you pondered, mirroring the curiosity that flashed across Harry’s features.

“I can’t help but enjoy seeing Harry being put in his place.” Jeff shrugged, sending a reassuring wink across the table.  

“Ah, you’re the designated babysitter?” You quizzed heartily.

“I hardly need a babysitter.” Harry defended in an instant.

“Hardly.” Jeff emphasised. 

“You make it sound like I’m a child.” Harry worked hard to remain still- tempted to act out with a pout and a soft foot stomp.

“All I’m saying is, it’s refreshing.”

“To see me being scolded?”

“The constant praising is great but…” Jeff’s face scrunched sympathetically.

“Tiring?” Savina tries.

“Exhausting?” you add. 

“Alright, alright.” Harry shushed with a playful eye roll- mostly directed at yourself.

The waiter arrived with a newly opened bottle of Merlot, gesturing for confirmation to pour a tester into the large glasses you were each designated. Savina approved, taking the liberty of tasting for the table. With a delighted suck of the teeth and a nod, the waiter went on to fill each glass. 

“So, Savina, what line of business are you in?” Jeff asked between his first sip- pleased with the bitterness greeting his pallet. 

Savina knew exactly what she was doing as she blocked her courtesy and left you with the challenge of creating some form of communication with Harry. He proved to be kinder, however, taking the opportunity to show signs of life, 

“What’s good here?” he made no effort to check out the menu, 

“Everything.” no effort on your part either. 

“Narrow it down.” 

“Well, you can never go wrong with Risotto alla Milanese…you’d probably really like Parmigiana- but either way, we should get the Olives Ascolante as an appetizer, they’re incredible, and I know you love olives…”

“Look at you, so astute.” He was trying not to grin back at you, heart silently swelling at the subtle affection you had let slip, 

“Shove off.” You prayed he would let it slide. 

Thankful for the return of the waiter, you took the liberty of ordering appetizers accordingly- glancing over at Harry to confirm he was satisfied with your choices. As an afterthought, you asked for a side of Rice Arancini.

Harry was enjoying his vacation more than ever, unabashedly sending a smile straight to your heart, hairs rising up the back of your neck, 

“What?” You asked when it was clear he was in no hurry to look away, 

“I like it when you’re assertive.” 

“Yeah, why am I not surprised?”  

“Guys?” In sync, your heads turned to the other two, “Should we also order some Focaccia for the table?” Nodding- in sync- Savina was quick to ignore you once more, “Got it. I started in Milan…” 

Twirling your index finger around the glasses rim, you had unknowingly prompted Harry to finally reach for his own wine, taking a curious sip. Wine was something he hardly humoured, even during his previous stays in Italy. His eyes lit up with adorable surprise, and a wave of endearment washed over you, the familiarity of Harry reappearing for the first time since even before your… incident(s),

“This is good.” He praised, lips glossed over, reattaching to the glass for more.

“I know.”

“No, like, really good.” He tried to emphasise entirely

“I know.” You sent him a cheesy smile, reciprocating the need to completely confirm that you two were on the same page.

“If the wine back home tasted this way,” his eyes still wide, going in for a third sip, “I’d have stopped with the scotch years ago.”

“Please, you love your Johnny Walker too much.” You tried your best not to pay attention to the stray droplets staining his bottom lip- it would be too easy to kiss away all remnants.

“Fuck, this is so good though.” Harry felt unnecessarily revolutionary, “made in Italy?” putting his glass down to reach over and grab the bottle, 

“I would hope so.” “Siena. Thank fuck.” 

“With this many vineyards nearby, it would be criminal to drink anything else,” you engaged your own glass, taking savoured sips, lashes unintentionally fluttering their way into the crevices of his heart.

“Been to any good ones so far?” Harry asked, leaning nearer with the excuse of the restaurant being a little loud, looking at you like he had loved you far too long- something you mistook for boyish fascination, it had always been just that, right? 

“Wineries?” You asked for confirmation he granted with a soft nod, “Oh, of course. Did a tour from Modena down through Bologna. At some point the trip did turn a bit blurry… but from what I recall, the wine just kept getting better and better.”

“I’ve never done a wine tasting before.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

“No?” he had never even thought about it before.

“Too much business, not enough pleasure?” You prodded, and as usual, you were correct. Harry had definitely spent plenty of time travelling- for the purpose of work. 

You knew this without him ever needing to tell you, though you typically minimized the importance of his career, you were one of the only people who understood this- and he wasn’t sure why you did… but it only helped reinforce the certainty he felt about the two of you, you just understood him, and you would never, ever admit that you knew he understood you too. 

“Exactly.” He agreed with subtle satisfaction, and a settled silence grew between yourselves, as you took another sip, swirling the rouge for a moment more.

“…Better change that then.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s entire body perked up, hoping you would lead him directly in your trap, and everything in you wanted to go with him, to spend time with him. An invitation ached to slip from your tongue, fighting contradiction, just dying to tour wine country with Harry. But in true fashion, you tracked back on every feeling of affection and offered.  

“I’m sure Jeff would love to go.” 

And Harry was lured straight into disappointment, having already indulged in the idea of spending time with you- ideally at your own suggestion. He was sure it looked like you were willing, if not pretty eager, but there was no way the frown accompanying your conflicting thoughts could go unnoticed. Harry knew this face well enough; you had sported it through most of senior year. Every time it seemed you were about to reconsider, to give in, a sudden reality check seemed to pull you back, retreating into nothing but a bowed head and twiddling fingers. 

The aroma of the appetizers finally arrived, scattered across the tabletop with the threat of mouth-watering bite-sized pieces of heaven. The conversation is almost completely forgotten to you, your senses elated with the promise of food, and your hands are moving every which way, grabbing one of everything, piling your plate plentifully. 

And even though the sight of your eyes rolling back, lips parted, as you taste a spoonful of, clearly entices him to try some for himself, Harry still thinks back to your last words, taking over your habit of overthinking. He can tell his brows are furrowed, can’t help himself from shifting his chair to face you, his arm resting across the table,

“How long are you gonna keep this act up?” 

You glanced up at him, Arancini half-chewed, eyes wide and heart thudding. Taking extra time swallowing, pushing it by reaching over for a sip of wine, you felt scorched by his stare and attempted another aversion, 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about...”

“We both know you’ve done damn near everything in your power to avoid me.” 

“Now that’s just not true.” You try. 

“Oh, really?” His forehead raised. 

You were trapped in a stare-off; Harry was clearly keeping you there by the challenging glimmer of his pretty green eyes. But, you don’t lose, 

“I haven’t done everything in my power…” 

“Oh my god, you’re infuriating!” Harry has to stop his hands from flailing around dramatically, 

“And you aren’t?” You defended, unable to commit to keeping your hands at bay, and Savina glances over with a brow raised in suspicion. 

Quickly detaining your outward display of displeasure, your hand finds the wineglass once more, taking a hefty gulp as Harry obtains the opportunity to get closer, eyes darting to the two diners across the table, engaging in a mild debate. His voice lowers, 

“At least I didn’t almost get hit by a Vespa trying to run away from you.” 

Almost choking on your wine, withholding a cough, spluttering out in utter surprise- and undoubtedly shameful understanding, 

“You know about that?” 

“I do now!” Harry exclaims, shocked that his suspicions have been confirmed. 

“I didn’t almost get hit.” 

Attempting to turn your attention back to the act of dining, Harry finally reached out and grabbed an olive and popping an olive between his teeth, crunching down on it, his smile mixed into one both of enjoyment for the food, and sheer amusement for your attitude. 

“What’s your plan, Klutz? To be the cause of pileups all summer?” 

The sheer suggestion of spending the rest of your vacation avoiding him and the ever-increasing fondness you felt whenever in his presence. And looking over at the man who seemed only capable of enjoying your company, you only panicked more,

“You’ll be here all summer?” 

“Well, if my staying will keep you this riled up, I think it’s my obligation to.” He was taking this less than seriously,

“Harry, I swear-”

“Man, my name never sounded so good being chewed out.” He’s met with only sternness, a glare that had him feeling like a scolded schoolboy. And he didn’t like your stare- not when you could be coating him in sweetness, so his features soften, his taunting tone turning tenderness, “We’re friends, Y/n, I’ll make sure I don’t get on your nerves…more than usual.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” you ask meekly, shoulders relaxing and soothed by his surety, but still too sceptical to believe him. And when Harry sees this in the way your eyes stay squinted, he wants to reach over and soothe every frown line with soft kisses, 

“Trust me, I would hate to see your arms and legs covered in bandages…would be such a shame.” 

He takes a long sip of his wine, savouring the way it tantalizes his senses, before reaching over and popping another olive into his mouth, chewing and talking consecutively, 

 “Besides, I have plenty of sweet nothings lined up for you… can’t bear to keep them all in.”

“Bet?” you fail to resist falling for his promises of future-fondness.

“Might fuck around and writing another song about you.” He shrugs candidly.

“Another?” 

Head racing, hurriedly scanning through the roller deck of songs and memories that pertained to Harry, you couldn’t begin to highlight a moment or song worth writing for your sake. You want- no, need- him to say more, to give you something to soothe the idea that Harry might have been right about his feelings all along- that this ‘thing’ between the two of you was nothing new, only brushed aside. 

“Y/n, Harry. Are you guys ready to order the main course, or do you need a moment to finish flirting?” Savina interrupted, amusement showing in both her tone and her taunting smile. Your defence was back and bigger than ever, and you bit back with dismissal,  

“We were not flirting.”

“Well, one of us was.” Harry mutters.

“That’s your problem.” You shut him down sternly, sliding your chair an inch further from his intensity, you focus all attention on the question at hand, “I’m ready to order.”

🍷

Wine glasses are empty, the bill is taken care of, and you can finally admit that relaxation has set in. With no further incidents during dinner, there was finally space to enjoy Harry’s company. Though that only reminded you of how fond you were of him, the night was young, and Harry was sure to resort to naughtiness. 

Glancing between the group, Savina made certain her next suggestion wouldn’t result in you retreating to a coffin. And with one more smile of endearment from you- directed at Harry’s detailing of an event he attended- she decided it was a safe bet, 

“Should we check out some of the bars?” 

With a collection of cohesive nods, the restaurant was left behind in search of a place with dimmer lighting and louder music. 

Standing on the sidewalk, the air was warm, but when Harry’s boot accidentally knocked your own, your skin had an eruption of goosebumps. 

“I remember this little one on the corner of Regazzi. Very nice for dancing.” Saved by Savina, you had an excuse to take a step away, ensuring no further bump-ins with Harry. 

“Lead the way.” Jeff agreed, and with that, you were all headed off down the street. 

A quaint but bustling location, already filled with enthusiastic guests grooving along to a song you faintly remember playing in a nightclub in downtown Rome? The energy was infectious, bobbing and weaving between those dancing. It took a moment to source a small table for the group to gather around. Instead of occupying the seat next to you- which you swear you hadn’t hoped he would select- Harry stayed standing, addressing the collective, 

“What are we drinking?” 

Savina was quick to name Sangria, Jeff offered to join Harry, and you were about to order your classic Gin and Tonic when the memories of Harry taking care of it for you came flooding back, and your feelings of bashfulness were asking to be fed once more,

“Surprise me.” Batting your lashes, his eyes lit up, confirmed with a nod; Harry, with Jeff in tow, made their way through those dancing in search of the bar.

They were hardly out of earshot when Savina gently grasped at your wrist, giving it a shake, her smile growing,

“He’s fabulous!”

You scoff as the last person on your side seems to be switching teams, leaving you open to feeling crazier than you already did. He was fabulous, but you swear you aren’t wrong in finding him aggravating,

“You’re just saying that because he’s Harry Styles.” 

“You know I don’t care about that.” Savina dismissed.

“Yeah, well, I wish you would.” She was right. You knew there was no reasoning. 

“C’mon, he’s cute! A little puppy!”

“I don’t want cute.” Griped through gritted teeth.

“But you do want him?” She already knows the answer.

Who were you fooling? Either you were miserable at hiding your attraction for Harry, or it had gotten so strong that the mere energy between the two of you was telling. Probably both, and neither would gain your admittance any time soon, 

“No. I told you, it was a lapse in judgement.” 

“No such thing.” 

“He’s annoying. He’s famous- and childish- and he’s fucking everywhere I go! Can’t close my damn eyes without his pretty little face popping up like a Jack-in-the-box.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Jack-in-the-box.” That cleared up nothing. Savina’s gaze is perplexed.

“… Your brother is in a box… in your head?” 

“No. Those boxes that sing when you wind them up,” You used your hands in an attempt to describe the boxes shape, “and then a clown pops out of nowhere, and you’re like, ah! Why didn’t I see it coming?”

“Oh my God, yes!” Savina almost cheers with comprehension, “My cousin loved that thing… what is this universal fascination with clowns?”

“Like, who is their demographic?”

“I’ve never met a child who likes clowns.” This was taking a real detour, 

” Plus, they don’t have the greatest rep.” 

“Always trying to eat children… yeah, kids are definitely not the demographic….” Savina thought about it a moment, and you were sure you had successfully managed to divert the conversation from Harry until Savina did a one-eighty, “Anyways, stop running. Let him take you out. It could be fun.”  

“That would make me a clown.”

“You’ve been acting like one since he got here, no?”

“No.” You had been acting nothing but rationally; hiding behind a tree was perfectly normal under the circumstances… right? Or did you really need to run when you saw him from the sidewalk? There’s no way he would have spotted you. Turns out, you had been acting anything but rationally, “Oh God. I have, haven’t I?” 

“A little.” Savina smiled sympathetically, grateful you were finally catching on to the bizarreness of your behaviour these last few days. 

“I almost died trying to avoid him!” Your eyes were wide with embarrassment, absolutely mortified. 

“I, for one, would like to see you relax.” She confessed, “It would help me do the same.”

“You took two naps today.”

“Because I needed to relax.”

Across the restaurant, Harry waited anxiously for their round of drinks, trying his best to seek you out within the movement of other patrons. He was granted quick glances before bodies moved to the beat and blocked you once more. 

“You really like her." Jeff observed, 

“Obviously.” Harry thinks anyone who spent even five minutes with you two would be able to see the wishful fondness he felt for you.

“Why am I only finding this out now?”

Harry really didn’t want to get into it- especially since you clearlydidn’t want to. 

“Because I’ve barely seen her the last five years.” He concedes, and when Jeff only looks at him like he’s speaking gibberish, Harry is forced to go on,

“It’s like she’s suddenly everywhere. I mean, she’s always been everywhere, but now she’s like… everywhere… y’know?” 

“Sure…” It’s becoming rather evident to Jeff that Harry isn’t sure when he stands with you, and as the conversation hits a dead end, the drinks arrive, and they busy themselves with making their way back to the table.

🍷

Your drink- long finished- forms a large part of being the reason you wanted to dance- so badly that your boots basically stood up on their own and made their way over to the make-shift dancefloor, slipping in between bodies vibing along to the beat.

It felt good to relax- as Savina would suggest- and you felt the release of all pent-up frustration as it left your body and disappeared into the crowd, no longer your burden to bear. The rest of the group had scattered, and for a while, that went unnoticed as the dancing held your undivided attention.

Harry was simply a thing of the past until you did a little twirl, and unbelievably, he was in your direct eye line. Leaning against the wall, an almost empty scotch in his hand, he seemed to be comfortably observant. 

The checked overshirt he donned was doing a half-hearted job at covering his chest- most of which was on display due to his choice of a low, low-cut white undershirt. His pants were a peachy-pink hue, not unlike your skirt, and like you, his sneakers were white to match. He’s dressed good. So good that you aren’t surprised when a girl starts to approach him. That doesn’t stop you from almost choking, insecurity suddenly invading your free spirit, and it killed you how much it bothered you to see him tilt his head to hear her better, a smile as she spoke, leaning in even closer.

Determined to stay sane, you continued to dance, looking anywhere but the scene of what you deemed a crime. But when you were about to explode from the need to let your eyes wander back to him, you looked over, heart sighing with liberation, when it became clear he was alone again. 

That wasn’t enough, though, your target had been set, and the need to dance was done and gone. Your body didn’t want to sway; it wanted you across the room, trapping Harry against that stupid wall. So, you let that ambition carry you across the dancefloor, dodging dancers, focused on reaching his unsuspecting figure. 

Harry followed the trail of your shoes up to the determined look plastered across your face as you seemed to be suddenly bounding over. He hadn’t managed to spot you, searching the crowd for as long as he had been standing in this corner. 

Before he could blink, you were before him, slotting your feet in the space between his own. The gap between you was small, but you gestured to it anyways, finally acknowledging the fact that you happened to be dressed similarly,

“I like the way you dress.” 

“I get it from you.” His head bowed to see you better, smile beaming down at you like you were the only person in the world. 

“I thought about the bet….” You started, chest tilting into his own, brushing up against him. 

“Ready to put money on it?” 

“No.” 

“Then?” He wondered, hands finding their home on your hips, tugging you a tad closer, his eyes flickering back and forth across your features, loving the fact that you looked like you wanted him.

Your palm flat against his chest, the other resting on his forearm, only seemed to confirm Harry’s suspicions. Pushing up on your tippytoes, lips lining with his ear, your voice, low and sultry, threatened to turn Harry to mush. But that wasn’t your plan, 

“If I win, you have to stop with all your little flirty remarks-”

“Why would I agree to-” His eyes augmented with horror.

“If you win, I’ll go on out with you... on a date.” 

Harry wanted to laugh. You had stumbled into a trap he hadn’t realised was set the moment he had phoned Jack last night. But his body was in a shamble of shivers and goosebumps, hands pressing into your hips, pulling you closer, your chest bumping into his own.

“Do you hate my compliments that much?” He cooed, hoping to charm you closer.

“No. I just want to wipe that smugness right off of your lips.” You slide your hand out from the trap of his chest and your own, wrapping it around his shoulder, nails raking across the back of his neck. 

“Deal.” Harry hardly held back his enthusiasm, pupils swallowing the swirls of mossy-green whole. 

“I’m sticking with one week.” You ignored the way his reaction sent a rush of encouragement straight up your spine and instead indulged in the feeling of him melting under your touch- like a magnet to your presence.

Harry’s face was closer now, his forehead threatening to brush against your own. Your grip tightens, hanging on to anything he might say next.  

“Three days… max.” He was almost aching with adamance. 

“Better get the last of those compliments in, Styles. Make ‘em count.” You tried to warn, putting all available energy into maintaining control, but it was hard when he was still inching closer, his voice husk and for your ears only, 

“Even if you win, I have a feeling we would both miss those compliments terribly.” 

Unfortunately, he was far from wrong. This was a last-ditch attempt on your behalf- and you knew that going into it. You could have easily dismissed the bet altogether- easily dismissed it even now, instead of pushing on with fervour.  

“You don’t know that.” You swallowed, trying to remain factual- hating the way he made you feel so submissive. Your comfortability of being the older, mature one was almost non-existent the moment he opened his mouth. Cursing yourself for this sudden willingness to let him take the reins. 

“I’m almostcertain I do.” he wouldn’t budge. It only made you want him more as you unconsciously lilted into him, leaving no gaps to be found, 

“You’re far too hopeful.” 

“Only when it comes to you.” 

“Cute.” Sarcasm masking the way your heart did a hurdle- threatening to jump right into his arms. 

“I know you are, but what am I?” Harry’s words brush over you with a mix of musk and mint, breath fanning over your cheeks, making your eyelashes flutter,

“Annoying.” 

“What else?” He’s so close now, jaw tilted and taunting you to reach out and grab at him.

“Insufferable.” 

“And?” His eyes are blown-out, one of his hands slipping from your waist and wrapping around your lower back. Trapped in his hold- and never wanting to leave- your former frustration was nowhere to be found, nudging your nose against the nape of his neck, lips brushing the warmth of his skin,

“And, sometimes, I want to just fuck the brattiness out of you.” 

Pretending the words that you had uttered were ineffective, Harry struggled to breathe; his brain scrambled, ready to be seasoned and served on a platter. His grip only tightening at your tantalizing warning, ready to do whatever it took to make it a reality,  

“Might take a couple tries….” 

You breathe out at his suggestion, soft laughter tickling at his neck. You’ve never enjoyed being in the arms of someone more- and you ensure it stays that way, arms wrapping around him with warmth, pulling him impossibly closer. You press a soft kiss to the slope of his jaw and inform, 

“Would be worth it.”  

🍷

Jack doesn't mean to, but he sneaks up on you- consumed in overwhelming thought, staring blankly at the copy of Crime and Punishment strewn across your lap.

“Miss me?” His voice was sharp, slicing through the silence, sending a shockwave your way. 

Your legs jolted- gravity dragging the heftiness of Dostoevsky off of your lap and onto the floor. But it was long forgotten, bent askew atop the tiles.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You spat, seething at your brother as if you were sure that he was here just to spite you.

“I’m here to make this the best summer ever!” He hollered, embodying the energy of a teen on spring break.

“Does Harry know you’re here?” 

“I’m not digging this lack of enthusiasm…” He half-pouted.

“Jack, respectfully, I will pay you to leave.” You bargained with the panic within, threatening to trap your tongue between teeth.  

“Keeping the bit going, I love it!” Jack was hardly listening to you. Instantly falling into the routine of sibling comradery.

“I’m not doing a bit. You have to leave before Harry sees you!”

“Well, it’s too late for that.” His creased brows met in the middle, looking at you as if you were suddenly alien.

“What?” Panic was fizzling over, foaming at the gums.

“I called him before my flight, and he gave me all the details.” He shrugged.

“Details?”

“Yeah. I’m staying with him. He said he thought you wouldn’t be overjoyed having to host me, which is rude, by the way.”

It was as if you were simultaneously thinking and not thinking at all. The inside of your head was suddenly a jumble of letters, an amalgamation of nonsensical emotions. The rug had been ripped from right under you.   

“So… he knows that you’re here?” 

“Gee, Jack. It’s so good to see you. I missed you too…” He mocks, having expected better reception. Whatever was brewing between you and Harry was not going unnoticed. 

“I’ll deal with you later.” You huffed, turning on your heels.

Your head was a pot, thoughts bubbling and boiling over, steam surely sputtering from your nostrils as you stormed out of the house and onto the sidewalk. Taking two steps at a time, almost tripping, shoes scuffing the paving as you muttered your frustrations aloud. 

The day was joyous- and you hated that – raindrops swirling within a cloud floating atop your head just as a crown would. It was more than obvious that Harry had been playing you all along. The part of you that felt mortified had rushed all heat to your blushing cheeks, and the part of you that felt so silly- so gullible- had you picking up your pace until abruptly arriving.  

“Harry!” Fists thumping against the hardwood as if it was personally responsible, 

“Harry.” Louder- thudding harder- indisputably sending your frustrations his way.

He took his time, bare feet strolling along the porcelain tiles. Running a hand through his hair, he unhooked the latch and smiled as your flared cheeks and kissable pout finally came into view. 

He smiled knowingly, opening the door fully before leaning lazily against the frame, eyeing you up and down with endless patience, noting how lovely you looked in lilac; skin soft and shimmering under the sun, hair pulled back and certainly warm to the touch. He thought for a moment more, lips spreading into a smirk, and then shrugged,

“There were no rules stating I couldn’t make use of the information Jack provided.” 

“It’s- that’s- what you did was totally unethical!” You reasoned, pushing past Harry into the villa, arms across your chest, owning the entire entrance hall. Harry only looked more entertained, enjoying the flashes of frustration in your eyes.

“Unethical?” 

“Yes!” you settled.

“I won fair and square-”

“Not fair. Not square.” You all but whined, and a shiver shook at Harry’s spine; scenes of you pressed up against him, pleading for his affection. 

“Wow, Y/n. I’ve never known you to be a sore loser.”

Harry was pushing buttons for sure, seeing how much closer he could bring you, guiltlessly loving the attention you were paying him- even if it was lacking positivity, if it was all you were willing to give, he had to have it. 

“I am not a sore loser.” You defend, accusatory finger pointing directly at him, “You tricked me.”

“I hardly tricked you.” He scoffed, eyes rolling fetchingly.

“You omitted very important details.”

“We both knew he was on the brink of leaving.” He rationalised, “I simply gave him a little nudge.”

“You’re unbelievable.” 

 “I could say the same about you.” He challenges.

“This is like blood money or blood diamonds, I don’t know.” Coming to terms with the catastrophic choice to indulge in this bet, you hadn’t thought this far ahead- you hadn’t actually thought about it at all. What happened next? 

“Oh, please.” He mused. But when you only seemed to look more upset, Harry softened, guilted and regretted putting you in this position, “If you want to back out, I won't judge. We can forget the bet ever existed.” 

He meant it with all sincerity, but the words whisked over your head, hopelessly mistaking his sympathy for torment. This man had to be up to something. There was no way he would give you such a hard time only to retreat at the first sign of resistance. So, instead of taking him at face value, you switched up your tactics- whatever they were and tried a different defence, 

“Ha. You’d just love that, wouldn’t you?”

“No, I would not, missy.” 

Harry laughed the words your way, arms folding atop his chest, almost totally distracting you as his muscles constricted against his flimsy t-shirt as it threatened to shift and expose the pleasing sight of the soft skin belonging to his hips and pelvis. Taking a step nearer, your next sentence would send Harry into a world of excitement,

“We’re going on that date,” You said it straight, but when Harry shifts, and his stomach peeks past the thin cotton, you add for your own sake and reminder, “and I’m gonna make damn sure you regret it.”

“Is that a threat?” He tries to move even closer, but you take a step back and then another, preparing to turn on your heels and put him behind you. 

“Yes, Harry Styles.” 

It’s time to get out of here before you say more things you can’t retract, and there’s plenty of leftover angst you can project onto Jack, whom you only now acknowledge is probably still aimlessly wandering the grounds of your villa, waiting for an explanation.

Nodding your head with finality, this was your chance to finish on a high. You were already out the front door, sneakers angrily scraping the gravelled pathway, when Harry swung himself around the door frame- holding onto it the way you would wish farewell by hanging from the side of a moving train- projecting unnecessarily, and sending you home with some wise food-for-thought, 

“It would take a miracle to make me regret spending time with you, Y/n.”

---

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Lord have mercy, I am so nervous and hope you guys like this! This series is near-and-dear to my heart, living in my head rent free for the past few years lol. Anyhow, thank you for reading! I know my updates are less-than punctual, but I really do appreciate all the love and support 🥺 -Emmy. xo 💞

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[writingonleaves]

things you never said (things you'll never say to me) - nico hischier

pairing: nico hischier x original female character

warnings: swearing, sadness, angst, not my traditional fluff folks, very little dialogue, kinda a ramble disguised into a piece lol, google translated german, projection?? is that a valid warning

inspired by + title: "things i wish you said" by sabrina carpenter

word count: 2.8k

author's note: got into my feels randomly for this (incredible) song and decided to write something with it. also a part of @wyattjohnston 's lowkey loverfest 2k24!! hope you all enjoy this melancholy ride and please let me know what you think <3

*****

Nico Hischier has always been a leader. 

You ask anyone in Naters or Bern who knew him growing up and they would say the same thing — he’s a polite, young boy with so much talent and a sensible mind. He may be the youngest of three, but everyone’s always turned to Nico for guidance. With a calming voice paired with a warm smile, it’s rare for Nico to steer anyone wrong. 

And he sees it in himself too. Even when he was a rookie, when the C stitched into his jersey was only a blurred dream, he still felt like he had to lead by example. No one was expecting that of him, he knows that now, but he was a first overall pick, the weight of a losing team’s hopes on his shoulders. If he crumbled, those supporters’ hopes fell with him. His own hope would fall with him. 

It took a few years, a pandemic, another first overall pick, a shit ton of roster changes, a new coach and other things to walk into a locker room that wasn’t used to losing. And Nico prides himself as being a leader in that transition. C on his jersey or not, he would’ve done it. Because he doesn’t know how not to.

Leanna always said he didn’t know how to turn it off. 

When Nico had first met Leanna Spritz, it honestly was one of the worst first impressions he’s ever given. It was the morning after a brutal 6-1 loss against the fucking Flyers. The final score itself was bad, but the fact that it was against the Flyers rubbed more salt into the wound. He knew Lindy was gonna bag skate them all to hell and back the morning after and he just really wanted his cappuccino before to take away some of the bitterness. 

All up in his head, he had crashed literally into Leanna. Before they both could comprehend, her cold brew had spilled. Somehow, Nico got away with an unnoticeable splash on his hoodie and no spillage from his own drink. But Leanna wasn’t so lucky. Her brown sweater wasn’t dark enough to hide the fact that half of her cold brew was on it while the other spilled to the ground. 

“Fuck,” Nico had exclaimed, eyes widening and darting between her now coffee stained sweater, the empty cup on the ground and her red hair that only glistened with the sun rays. “Shit! I am so sorry. That’s totally my fault.”

Leanna had waved him away with a small chuckle as she dug into her purse for stray napkins. Far too nice for someone who now had coffee all over them because of him. “It’s okay. Mistakes happen.”

Nico looked at his watch and grimaced. Shit. He was going to be late to practice. And that would be even worse than usual with their horrible performance the night before. “Listen. I really want to buy you a coffee to make up for my clumsiness, but I’m gonna be late to work and-”

Leanna had nodded in understanding, lips quirked up. “Don’t worry about it. Promise. Go. Don’t be late for work.”

He had been so frazzled that all he remembered doing was blurting out another apology before practically running away, partially from embarrassment but also because he really did have to go. 

A week later, Nico went back to the coffee shop. In the back of his mind was the redhead who he still owed a coffee to. But Nico’s also realistic and he knew he’d probably never see her again. 

While he was patiently waiting in the long line, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He braced himself to interact with a fan, but turned around and was pleasantly surprised by who he did see. 

“I thought that was you,” she had said, pink beanie over her hair and a twinkle in her eye. “Not going to spill coffee again on me, are you? I’m wearing white today.”

Nico swallowed before his brain turned back on and he grinned. “Good eye. And no. I promise I’ll be less clumsy today. And I’m less in a rush.” They were next in line to order and he ordered first before turning to her. She had tried to deny him but he just raised an eyebrow until she gave the barista her order. 

“I’m really sorry again,” Nico said as they had shuffled out of line to wait for their drinks. “I hope the sweater didn’t stain.”

Leanna waved him off with her bright smile. “That sweater has been through too much for some coffee to ruin it. You don’t need to worry, Captain.”

Nico had been shocked that she knew who he was, which, in hindsight, is dumb. He’s not Jack, but he gets recognized a good amount around New Jersey still.

He cleared his throat. “Nico is fine.”

She smiled. “Okay, Nico. Well, I’m Leanna. Thank you for paying for my coffee. You didn’t have to, by the way, especially to clear your conscience.”

“That’s not why-well, it is. But I also, uh, are you in a rush?”

Nico remembers that day so well still, his English failing him despite living in North America for over five years as he basically asked Leanna on their first date right there and then. He remembers being thankful that she took some pity on him with her sweet smile and led them to a table. He probably would’ve stood there stuttering like a fool if she didn’t cut in.

“Nico?”

Nico blinks himself out of his memories as Jack walks into his living room. Sometimes he questions if he should’ve given Jack a key. 

“Hey. What’s up?”

“We have skate,” Jack gives him a look. “Dude, take a shower. Quickly. Or we’ll be late.”

“Right,” Nico says, stumbling over to the shower. As the water’s warming up, his eyes stop at a purple bottle tucked in the corner of the sink. Hair oil. Leanna always joked that she couldn’t live without it. His hands twitch to reach for the bottle just so he can smell the grapefruit scent, but he forces himself into the shower instead. 

He can hear Nina’s voice so clearly. Throw it away, she’d say in their mother-tongue that realistically Nico will never not be fluent in but sometimes is scared will slip away. Nina liked Leanna a lot, actually, the one time they met when she came to Jersey to visit last year. But Nina is also Nico’s sister, and cursed her name many times when Nico called her crying, waking her up in the middle of the night. She had stayed on the phone with him for three hours, letting him cry.

He forces himself to take a shower. To wake up a bit and shift his focus to the upcoming skate and game tonight. They’re playing the Rangers, which is just always a grind. He needs to be all in.

Nico keeps to himself while getting ready for practice, putting on his gear quietly while his teammates chatter about something or another around him. He speaks quickly to the equipment team about his skates and smiles in thanks. He catches a whiff of the perfume of their head of PR as she walks past in the hallway, and Nico swallows. 

Realistically, he knows it’s not the same one. But it’s floral and smells like jasmine, so it might as well be. 

As he’s driving home, he has the radio down low. He was never the one to fuss about putting his music on in the car. Because the world just works like that, a song that he doesn’t know the title to comes on. He hums along, because Leanna always played this song.

Instinctively, his fingers twitch to reach out to someone who won’t ever be in his passenger seat ever again. He can hear her voice, her thigh under his palm. It’s not safe to drive with one hand, she’d say with an amused laugh interlaced in her voice. He would always roll his eyes before giving her thigh a squeeze and keeping his hand there for the majority of their journey. 

He remembers that sentence bringing him comfort when they were driving to her sister’s house in upstate New York. He was scared shitless to meet her whole family for the first time to celebrate her cousin’s birthday. It was below freezing point outside, but his hands were so clammy that one would’ve thought it was summer. 

Leanna had put her hand in his hair at the nape of his neck. He had immediately calmed down. 

He swears if he focuses hard enough he can still smell the green tea shampoo Leanna used. It was always interesting to him, because the first thing he would think of when he saw her flaming red hair wasn’t green tea. It deserved something more bold attached to it. Like orange. Or vanilla. Or coconut.

Because Leanna was exactly that. Bold. Bright. Crashing into the lives of everyone in her path with her bright smile, loud laughter and a personality that sucked you in. 

Nico stops at a red light and absentmindedly looks to the right. His breath catches at the sight of a woman walking a beagle. Leanna always said that once she was more settled down, a beagle was the kind of dog she wanted to get, just like the dog she had by her side throughout her whole childhood. 

At one point, Nico had thought she meant settling down in Jersey. Never did she give the indication while they were together that she had meant London. 

He couldn’t force himself to unfollow Leanna on Instagram after the break-up. He catches himself way too often seeing if she still follows him. She does. And she even likes his posts most of the time. He checks.

Nico shouldn’t be surprised. Even though she cried so much when they broke up and he couldn’t handle it, through tears, she wished him nothing but the best. Even as she was actively breaking his heart.

As he pulls into the parking garage for his apartment complex, he kills the engine and just sits there. He should be focusing on the game tonight. Focusing on how they need to stop taking stupid penalties. Focusing on their positioning in the offensive zone. 

You think too much, honey. Leanna would say, kissing his forehead twice, something she started doing to calm him down. You just need to play hockey. Least that’s what you always tell me. Everything else will follow. 

And he would never admit it out loud — especially to Jonas — but he still repeats those words in his head. He’s not sure if it works, but it’s like a mantra. A routine. And hockey players know more than anyone how important routines are and how difficult they are to change. 

It’s been two months and three days. It’s annoying that Nico can still hear her voice in his head, clear as day. He hopes one day he’lll never be able to remember. But he also dreads the day that he’ll forget what she sounds like. 

He walks up into his apartment and pours out a glass of water, downing it in one go. The sun’s out for the first time in two weeks, and a small smile spills on his lips as he admires the sunlight through his glass windows. His eyes shift to a spot on one of the tables by the window on the right, where it seems like something is shining. His curiosity takes over and he walks over, a reminder popping into his brain that he needs to dust his apartment. Why does dust accumulate so quickly anyways? 

His stomach drops. One of her combs placed nonchalantly behind one of his plants. The shine is coming from the light hitting the red hair caught between the bristles. 

What the fuck?

Nico closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before hastily grabbing the comb and tossing it into the trash. She never officially moved in with him, but she was around the apartment enough to leave some things lying around here and there. He thought he had thrown everything out. Or more accurately, he trusted Jesper, Timo and Jack to do it for him during a particularly bad Saturday afternoon two weeks after everything fell to shit. 

He checks the time and sighs. He needs to nap or else everything will be thrown off. Checking his phone to make sure no one needs him, he plugs it in to charge by his bedside, ignoring a text from Nina he’ll answer when he wakes up.

It’s a text she sends a few times a week when she senses that her younger brother’s having a harder day. From almost 4,000 miles, she still knows. Nico’s always loved his sister, but he’s never felt more grateful to have her as he has in these last few months. 

eins zu zehn?? ❤️

One to ten, it translates to. On a scale of one to ten, how shitty or good are you feeling about it today? 

Nico sighs, responds back with a 6, and wills his mind to rest. 

Somehow, he wakes up decently well rested to his alarm. He stays in bed a few extra minutes, getting his mindset ready for gametime. He chooses to wear the gray three piece suit tonight. One of his more fancier fits. It is the Rangers, after all. 

It was Leanna’s favorite suit of his. She always joked he “ruined the look” when he slapped on his beloved white beanie. I love your hair. I wish you’d show it off more, she’d say.

He digs out the beanie from his clean laundry. 

He always leaves an hour or so to himself before he has to go to the rink. He usually spends it tidying up or doing things around his place to clear his head so he can come back after the game and just crash. 

Today, he replays the breakup in his mind. Or what he remembers of it, since he blocked a lot of it out. 

When you picture your future, do you see me in it at all? He had choked out, holding Leanna’s hands in his for what was the last time. 

It hadn’t helped that she had also been crying as she said her next words. Neeks, baby. It’s not you, it’s me. And I hate that I’m pulling that out, but it’s true. Maybe this isn’t the right time for us. 

Why can’t it be? Nico had said. Why can’t we make it work?

Maybe in the future, if things are different. She had said, biting her trembling lip. But even then, Nico knew they were empty promises. She’s too stubborn of a person to not bend the world her way. She just doesn’t want Nico to be a part of that world.

It’s not fair, he knows that realistically, but oftentimes he wonders if she ever loved him at all. That thought especially rode his mind after he saw her post a story on Instagram earlier last week. It was clearly a soft launch, with her hand in the hand of some faceless guy over dinner. Nico ended up scoring two goals that night out of sheer adrenaline and anger. 

Because all he’s ever wanted was for Leanna Spritz to be happy. Even now. Even after all of this. Even if it’s not with him. 

But fuck, she’s clearly moving on. Why can’t he?

He blinks, collapsing on his couch in the living room and staring at the wall. The last time he heard from her was a month ago, when he had gone down after a rough hit during a game against Minnesota. He ended up only being out for the next two games, but the hit hadn’t been pretty. His chest had taken the brunt of the damage. Everyone, including him, had been relieved that it wasn't more serious.

While he was getting checked out by the trainers the next morning, his phone had buzzed and he almost threw up. 

Leanna Spritz✨

I saw the hit last night. Hope you’re okay. Listen to the trainers. 

Nico was angry. What right did she have to text him that? 

But then, he just felt sad. That bottomless pit in his stomach opened up. He felt nothing but emptiness. 

His phone buzzes, this time with a text from Timo, and Nico takes a deep breath. It’s game time. No more crying over his ex-girlfriend. 

As he’s sliding on his beanie in the bathroom, he catches sight of the hair oil again. He picks it up, smells it, before throwing it in the trash. It lands on the bottom of the can with a final thud. He clicks all the lights off, makes sure he has everything he needs, grabs his key off the hook and shuts the door. 

Two hours later, everyone’s getting hyped up. He gives a mini impromptu speech, Jack slaps his back way too hard and Nico smiles, dimples and all.

He takes a deep breath before his blades touch the ice.

#lowkey loverfest 2k24 #k writes #hockey fanfic #hockey writing #hockey blurb #nico hischier #new jersey devils #nico hischier fic #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier writing #nhl #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl blurb #nico hischier x oc

[the-s1lly-corner]

Can I request TADC cast x reader who just kinda...emotionally shuts down when they get stressed? Like someone who just responds to stress by freezing up and not saying a word. Can you write some HCs for how each cast member would help them through such a shutdown?

Also not quite related to the request, but can I use some of your HCs for some fanfic ideas?

TADC cast x reader who shuts down/freezes when stressed!

yahoo !!! think i might do this and one more request then go stretch my silly legs based on admins own personal experience with them shutting down n shit and what helps with them so uhuh obviously; what helps me isnt universal so !!

aaaaand to answer your question; yes you may! i dont see why you shouldnt be allowed to use my hcs! otherwise whats the point of me sharing them with others/letting people requests, you know :0?

CAINE:

i think it would take him a minute to realize that theres something wrong, or he will notice immediately i think it depends on how long you guys have known one another. but for the sake of story telling lets say its the first time hes seen you freeze up. i like to think that sometimes caine spectates IHAs to make things are running smoothly... or as smoothly as they can... thats when he notices youve kind of just... standing there off to the side. takes you off the the side. at a loss for what to do, and he might actually think that theres something wrong with you; like digitally or coding wise that theres something wrong. not like, mentally and physically. very bad at comfort the first time because he doesnt know whats going on, but if you explain to him hes going to do his best to help. takes you away when he notices somethings off, sometimes even pauses or cancels the IHA if he has to, takes you to your room or his own room (does he have a room?) so you have a space thats familiar and calm. caine, as a partner is wrapped around your finger and will follow every command you give him, and this is especially true for moments of distress. so really it depends on what you personally need for comfort!

POMNI:

honestly pomni seems to freeze up as well in moments of stress, but she seems to snap out of it after a moment; at least going off of what we have seen in the pilot! so i think she would be able to relate to you when you have your moments. with that being said, i dont think pomni is good at delivering comfort. i think i might have said this yesterdays request w/ a crying reader where she just. sucks at giving comfort. like most of the other characters on the list (if not all) she will try to take you off to the side so you can have some space. doesnt know how to proceed though; does she try talking you through this? do you need a moment alone? i think she would try to fill the silence with random conversation; words that arent exactly tied to the current thing going on, you know? just to fill the noise. another one where youre going to have to fill her in on what works best for you personally when youve unwinded enough to be able to think straight, you know?

RAGATHA:

drum roll please

she takes you off to the side; but with a twist! she takes you to your room so youre somewhere familiar and safe, so you... well feel more comfortable and safe. i think she would also talk about random things, like pomni to fill the silence; but while pomni kind of just talks to nothing, ragatha would leave the conversation open just enough so if you were to... say want to join her in this distraction, then you have a spot to join. you know? not totally blocking you off from an escape, but also not forcing it onto you before youre ready to move forward. if that makese sense. at least thats what personally helps the admin. definitely walks you through some grounding, i think

JAX:

easily one of the worst, i think. not because he would kick you when youre already down, but because proper comfort and soothing really isnt his thing. his entire deal is that he picks on and bullies everyone to keep himself entertained and busy.... that doesnt strike me as someone who is very emotionally mature and ready to be able to help someone who is shutting down... so i think the first few times he might actually make things worse due to the simple fact that he has no idea what hes doing. after a few scenarios of you freezing, though, i think he would slowly figure out what needs to be done... okay so take you away from whatever is stressing you out, dont push you... checks notes... dont be intimidating, you know basic stuff! not stellar, but hes learning... probably just pushes you down to sit on your bed, or even his bed if his room is closer. doesnt talk, i think; you guys just kind of sit in silence, i think. mostly because jax still doesnt know what to say tbh

sorry jax fans </3

KINGER:

honestly as i try to come up with ideas for kinger, i can see kinger being the type to shut down and freeze in moments of stress. he either outright freaks out, or just goes still and quiet. its a coin toss for him. same song and dance, he takes you away and to somewhere quiet and not... overstimulating... more often than not he takes you to the pillow fort; or hell he might even start building one right there around you! leaves the softest and most comfiest pillow for you so you can hold and squeeze it however you wish. impromptu stress toy, more or less, i think. tends to be very controlled and quiet when you get like this, idc what anyone says kinger would be the king of comfort (dad/grandpa vibes yk) tries to come up with solutions as well as ways to prevent this happening in the future; or at least work out a system so you have a way out before things get too terrible

ZOOBLE:

like a cross between jax and pomni i think. they kind of sometimes underestimate the depth(?) of these scenarios and how impacting it can be; but they are also so so bad at comforting people in general. rather than taking you to the side i think they would try to get everyone else to leave if theyre not confident that your state wont get worse if they touch you. only really does this if you shut down in a space thats like; not the common living area... though i do think they would still try to tell everyone to back up should the location be there... tries to lower their voice and make it sound softer; which is way harder than it looks! theyre so used to being sarcastic and tired sounding! another case of "it takes some time to get right" you know? generally does try their best though, does not ever make you feel less than for your reactions or minimizes you

GANGLE:

genuine panic when it happens, especially when it happens for the first time. kind of stuck on what to do since her response to stress is different from yours (you freeze, she cries). though i do think she would have a solid means of helping you out. takes you to her room, and lets you draw. thats it

well okay i should be more specific. she lets you doodle around on papers to try to get the feelings out. not even like, doodles in the way of flowers or people or what have. just scribbles and lines and circles, just to help you through it, you know? tries to quiet reassure you that youre safe in here with you, and surprisingly enough, does a decent job of keeping herself held together for your sake... doesnt pry for you to talk if youre not ready, and keeps an eye on you to make sure youre safe. similar to kinger, you guys try to come up with a system to help avoid these situations/have a way out

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader