I Thought I Lost You (again)

i thought i lost you (again)

masterlist; simon “ghost” riley

updated: I’ve put them in order of time if you want to read them that way.

just practice

simon eats you out for the first time.

your first christmas

simon is hurting and takes it out on you.

patient

simon comes home to find a joint in your apartment, something that reminds him of the past.

candied ginger

simon starts touching you on the way home from the grocery store.

nightmare

simon accidentally hurts you after having a nightmare.

a relationship with simon is far from easy

you and simon have a fight.

soft ramblings over tea

you and simon share tea the night before he leaves.

against the wall

simon finds himself wanting to give you a baby.

it’s safe here

simon says “I love you” for the first time.

surprising ghost with a pregnancy

...you surprise ghost with a pregnancy

merry christmas, lieutenant

soap runs into his lieutenant off-duty and meets the girl he has been keeping a secret (you).

buckshot

simon teaches you how to shoot so you can protect the family.

soft around the edges

ghost’s son runs up to him in front of the team.

uncle johnny

soap and ghost stay at your home for the night.

drabbles:

TLC from simon

anniversary

your son has a tantrum

ghost + your son's teddy bear

ghost's daughter runs up to him

your native language

domesticity turns him on

all dad!ghost here

au where ghost d*es here

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hinakamiya

2 months ago

Mini Comic-cover snippet for @prlssprfctn story

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hinakamiya

3 months ago

Jason Todd doesn't know how to love softly. He can't. It's just not in his nature. He died trying to save his mom, despite the fact that she gave him up. That's not a quiet act of love. That’s akin to screaming it.

I love you! I love you! I love you! I will die because of it!

And even when he comes back, he still loves loudly. It's just that love and hate are intertwined. He loves so much that it hurts, and he can't stand it. He loves Bruce and the life he had for such little time, that it hurts and he hates it. He loathes it because he shouldn't care, and yet he does. After everything that's happened, he hasn't forgotten it all.

And then there's you, and he doesn't know what to do. He loves you in a way that hurts, but it feels right.

You feel right.

So it all falls naturally into place. He loves you so much that his body is stumbling to keep up with his heart. You look his way, and you send his thoughts running a mile a minute.

He's not screaming, 'I love you!' over rooftops, but he might as well. He opens doors for you and stands on the right side of the road. He fixes that strange whine in your car and stays up all night with you when you have to study. When you come home after a night out, he's holding your hair back while you're bent over the toilet—not saying anything, but he's there, grounding you. When you kiss him, he grapples you closer to him like you might simply vanish. His eyes crease around the corners when he sees you in the kitchen, humming to yourself. He throws his head back with booming laughter because you bring it out of him.

And when he's out for patrol, he's thinking of you, and it's cost him a few times. He glances down at his watch, and he knows exactly what you're doing at 10 PM. He knows your routine just as intimately as the touch of your fingertips against his skin.

He doesn't buy you flowers, because those die, and chocolates are gone within a week. Maybe less.

So, Jason Todd loves loudly in that private sort of way where only you feel it in all of its intensity. But he loves so loudly that it echoes, and those who know him can see it.

Jason Todd loves loudly because it lasts, and it's heard.

You hear it.

Jason Todd Doesn't Know How To Love Softly. He Can't. It's Just Not In His Nature. He Died Trying To

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hinakamiya

3 months ago

the sillies

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hinakamiya

6 years ago

So, uh I sorta try to do a edit(?) İts my first time so sorry if you didn’t like it? İs anybody have any idea where i can do good edits?

Tags

oikawa tooru iwaizumi hajime hinata shouyou kageyama tobio shiratorizawa aoba johsai iiniku ushijima

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hinakamiya

3 months ago

Jason Todd is so whipped that he's willing to cave to your silly little advances. Cuddles? With that fluffy Hello Kitty blanket that stretches far and wide on that king mattress of yours? Fuck yes. Buying those overpriced Japanese strawberries? Why not. Buying the whole shelf full of Sanrio plushies? Bitch, take his money. Matching bracelets, matching shirts, matching pajamas? Take it. Take it all. That trend where you wrap pink ribbons around his muscles? Why the fucking fuck not?

That's your boyfriend. Your weak, doting, vigilante boyfriend.

He's also doting in bed—getting you off like he'll die if he can't make you squirt on that chiseled face of his. Holding you down until you just want to crawl away from the overwhelming pleasure. He's doting in a way that has him helping you hoist yourself up on his third fucking leg just to let you slam yourself down until you've thoroughly fucked the remaining intelligence out of that cute brain of yours. Doting in a way where he lets you pull his hair when you just can't take it anymore after cumming for the nth time, or when you bite him wherever.

That's your boyfriend. That's Jason Todd.

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hinakamiya

5 years ago

Me: I’m tired tomorrow

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hinakamiya

5 months ago

Erm.. I know Kyle Garrick would be the type of guy to purposely look for a sweet introvert to wife up, one who values her personal space and time so she can handle when he leaves for deployment.

Loves his team and his captain too much to leave them behind so soon, but doesn’t want to have the thought on his mind that he’s causing his partner distress :(

So an introvert who knows how to keep herself busy and loves her time alone as much as she loves her time with him is absolutely perfect.

And it lowkey makes him extra clingy, kinda likes how he has to beg for your attention sometimes :(

Makes him so hard and needy, kissing up all over you while you stay focused on whatever it is you’re doing. Whether it’s knitting, reading a book, painting, he’s up on you trying to get you to focus on him. When nothing works he finds himself grinding against your leg, whining about how he’s not gonna be on leave for much longer, just look at him, give him a kiss, something :((

Ends up cumming in his pants the second you send a quick glance his way, a small smirk on your lips.

“Just look at what you do to me, baby… fuuckk..”

Note- idk what it is but something about a guy purposely picking a partner who’s an introvert who loves their alone time and space and then he just grows into a needy pathetic thing that just revels in any attention their partner gives them. Absolutely delicious 🤤

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hinakamiya

7 months ago

My friend and I were talking about Jason and she said it would be cool if Jason's S/O got along with Bruce, but I honestly don't see that happening?

I can't imagine being in a relationship with Jason and at the same time thinking Bruce is a nice guy after all

What do you think?

Oh my god! I’m so excited for this! I decided to respond in the form of a story 😉.

Bruce Wayne

Warnings: brief references to loss and trauma.

----------------------------------------------------------

It took nine months for him to finally let you in enough for you to start falling in love with him.

You’d first met Jason in the library; specifically the literature section. He’d been standing by one of the shelves, quietly flipping through a copy of Jane Austen’s Emma. He’d had the build of a stereotypical jock, so you’d honestly been a little surprised to see him focusing so intently on the British classic. But those were just your own biases, so you’d quickly tossed them aside in favour of returning to your search. Halloween was coming up, which always put you in the mood for one of your favourite classics: Dracula. It was short and the unconventional style of writing was always a little jarring at first, but you absolutely loved reading about how the characters puzzled through the mystery. You’d knelt down, searching the shelf where the novel should have been sitting according to the alphabetical filing system. But it hadn’t been there. You’d frowned and tsked in irritation, then quickly snuck a glance at the man standing behind you. You’d barely caught him raising an eyebrow at you over the top of his book before he’d quickly lowered his gaze, acting as if he hadn’t even noticed you there. You’d turned back to the shelves and stood up, checking to see if someone had accidentally misplaced the book after picking it up for a quick read … There! On the top shelf! You’d stretched onto your toes, reaching for the spine, but your fingers had barely grazed the edge of the shelf.

“Need some help?” You’d turned to find the man’s attention fully focused on you now, his startling green eyes studying you intently. He’d lowered his book, allowing you a glimpse of his rugged features, his wide lips and his crooked nose that looked like it had been broken and reset a few times already. He’d raised an eyebrow at you and you’d realised suddenly that you’d been staring.

“Oh!” you’d gasped, embarrassed by your own actions. “Uh, thank you!”

You’d stepped aside, giving him the space to get the book for you, and you couldn’t help but notice how big he was - tall and strong and broad. He’d grabbed the book with ease and rolled his eyes at the title before handing it over to you.

“Excuse me?” you’d said, frowning up at him whilst cuddling the book protectively to your chest. He’d given you a once-over in response, taking in your small form, so fragile compared to him, then he’d gone back to his side of the shelf, his expression unimpressed.

“Nothing,” he’d drawled, opening up his book again. But the amount of sarcasm contained in that single word had only caused your anger to bubble even more.

“What’s wrong with Dracula?” you’d asked, a hundred different retorts coming to mind immediately. Your heart had thudded with anticipation as the adrenaline had raced through your system, your defences instinctively locking into place to shield you from whatever hatred might have been about to spew from his mouth.

“It’s a little cliche, isn’t it?” he’d suggested, picking up his book again. “Halloween … vampires … You in a book club or something, princess?”

He’d flashed you a little smirk, his expression more teasing than unkind, but the condescending nickname had raked over your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “At least his characters are more nuanced! And he develops more of a plot in these few pages than Jane Austen does in any of her hundred novels! It’s not just the same old story of two extremely unlikeable characters falling in love over and over again under a different title!”

Jason had flinched at your outburst, taken aback by your sudden vehemence. He’d told you later that he didn’t usually let people off so easily, but he hadn’t been able to get mad in the face of your adorableness. You’d rolled your eyes at his admission, but smiled anyway as you’d curled up into his side. It had taken about a year after meeting him before you’d finally realised the real reason he hadn’t shot back at you - the reason he’d just given you an amused smirk and asked if you’d read all of Jane Austen’s ‘hundred’ novels.

Because he’d seen in you that same instinct - that same fear - to always be on your guard, to always be prepared for someone to attack you and know that no one would come to your defence but you.

And that was how you’d first become friends with Jason Peter Todd.

It took three months after you’d admitted your feelings for him to yourself before you’d realised that he was never going to be the first one to make a move.

You’d been sitting on his sofa, watching a movie at his place as was your weekly Friday night ritual. You’d never been able to get into Jane Austen’s books, but you’d always loved the movie versions of her stories. Jason had been sitting beside you, legs spread apart, one elbow on the armrest, his hand propping his head up as he’d focused on the movie. You’d inched closer to him at a cautious pace, slowly closing the distance between the two of you.

“What are you doing?” Jason had asked finally, nothing ever escaping his notice. His tone was amused - as it always was when he was with you - but it did nothing to ease the churning of your stomach as you’d gathered up your courage. You’d kept your attention fixed on the television, watching as Alicia Silverstone sat in the exact same position as you, puzzling over how to express her true feelings to Paul Rudd beside her.

“I like you.” A blanket of tension had smothered the room at your confession, the only sounds coming from the movie that neither of you were paying attention to anymore. Finally, unable to take it any longer, you’d paused the movie and turned to Jason, your brows furrowed in irritation. “Well?”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or bolt in terror. Of course you would be the only person to confess your feelings and then get mad when the other person didn’t respond. But he had that same instinct too: to take your fear and twist it into anger - to defend yourself even before the other person could think to attack.

He’d turned away from you, his leg starting to shake as he’d processed your words. He couldn’t- You couldn’t. You couldn’t like him! Not like that! You were his friend and … he couldn’t afford to f*ck up the best thing had ever happened to him in his life! Even if he’d been finding it more and more difficult to stop his gaze from lingering on your soft curves and your full lips and imagining what you would feel like pressed up against him with absolutely nothing in between your bod- No! No. It was a horrible idea.

He’d turned to face you, wanting to list out all the reasons he wasn’t good for you. But you’d known him for too long now and you knew by the defeated slump of his shoulders exactly what was going to come out of his mouth.

“Don’t!” you’d exclaimed, jumping to your knees and clamping your hands over his mouth before he could speak. His eyes had widened in surprise at your sudden movements and you’d removed your hands from his mouth, satisfied that you’d startled him enough for him to not argue with you. “I don’t want a list of bullshit reasons about why you think you’re not good enough to be in a relationship or how you think it’s going to mess up our friendship or whatever else nonsense you’ve somehow convinced yourself of over the past few years.”

You’d rearranged yourself on his lap then, swinging your leg over both of his and sliding your arms around his neck as you’d laid your head on his shoulder.

“I love you, Jace,” you’d continued softly, running your fingers through his hair. “We can take it slow - we have the rest of our lives, after all - but I want to make this work. I want us … I want you. I just want you, for the rest of our lives.”

You’d sat there in silence for a while, letting him digest your words. And slowly, his heartbeat had slowed and his muscles had relaxed until finally, he’d let his arms come loosely around your waist. “I don’t-”

He’d cut himself off as his voice had cracked with emotion, and he’d tightened his grip on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You’d continued to brush his hair gently, keeping your breathing steady and allowing your weight on top of him to keep him grounded. You’d seen him have panic attacks before and though he’d told you a little bit about what had caused them, he still hadn’t gone into much detail about it. All you knew was that he’d gotten beat up by a bad guy as a kid. He’d seemed horribly uncomfortable even telling you that much, so you’d never pushed him for more information. You were too good to him.

“I love you, Jay,” you’d repeated, holding him close to you, trying to physically transfer your love for him from your body into his. Eventually, you’d sat back and moved your hand to his cheek instead. You’d studied his features carefully: his thick eyebrows, his moss-coloured eyes, the tiny scar that cut into the corner of his upper lip … “We can … take it slow …”

And then you were kissing, your lips brushing each other’s softly as your tongues explored one another’s mouths. You’d let him take the lead, stepping back after being the one who’d made the first move, and soon, your kisses had turned heated: his hands squeezing every curve they ran over, your fingers sneaking beneath his shirt to glide over his hard muscles, your hips moving against one another’s as you'd both started getting excited. Eventually, he’d lifted you up and walked you backwards to his bedroom, your lips never leaving each other’s as you’d pulled each other's clothes off along the way.

And that had been the best night of your entire life, no thanks to Jason Peter Todd.

It took another six months after that for him to tell you the whole story of what had happened.

He’d sat on your sofa, leg shaking vigorously, teeth buried in his lower lip as he’d waited for you to say something. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d finally told you the whole story: the day he’d gone to the warehouse, the thrashing he’d gotten from The Joker, the trauma of having his soul forced back into his body … and then having the only person who’d saved him from the streets - who’d promised him that there was something in him worth saving - turn around and tell him that no, there really wasn’t anything in him worth saving after all. Now you understood why he found it so hard to let himself be loved by you - to believe that anyone could ever find something in him worth loving.

“Oh, Jay.” You’d wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close to you and murmuring into his hair over and over again that you loved him, you loved him, you loved him. You loved his righteous anger and his concerned protectiveness and his unwavering sense of justice. For you, there wasn’t any part of him that wasn’t worth loving - that wasn’t worth saving. Over and over and over again. Maybe you hadn’t been there to save him then, but you were there to save him now. As many times as he needed someone to.

Finally, he took you to meet his family.

You clasp the man’s hand, fixing him with a wary expression as you shake it. “Mr Wayne.”

“Please, call me Bruce,” he insists, fixing you with the same smile he’d probably been trained to wear as a child. You let out a noncommittal hum as your hand falls back to your side and you don’t miss the minute flicker in his expression in response to your cold demeanour. But he brushes it aside and glances over at Jason in question, waiting.

He’d told him a few days ago that he was planning to ask his girlfriend to come over for Thanksgiving. The rest of the family had already met you - mostly by stalking Jason and constructing elaborate situations in which they’d ‘casually’ ‘bump into’ both of you on the street or a café somewhere - and they’d all been delighted by his sweet little girlfriend who, at times, seemed to have even worse of a temper than him, but who also appeared to love him more than anything else in the world. Bruce’s heart had swelled at the thought of someone giving his son all the love he deserved - all the love he himself had failed so miserably at giving him - and he’d barely managed to keep a lid on his excitement when Jason had finally mentioned bringing you over. But he’d follow his son’s lead and do only as he said.

Jason shakes his head slightly, telling Bruce not to take it too personally, then he guides you to the kitchen, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist. Bruce waits for the rest of his kids to follow, then finally, he joins you all at the dining table.

The atmosphere is lively, everyone laughing and joking and sarcastically listing all the things they’re thankful for. You join in the fun, easily fitting in with the rest of his family, but there’s a moment when you pause - when your gaze lands on Bruce and you find yourself taking a moment to study his expression.

He hadn’t said much the entire meal, but he’d watched his family with an expression of tenderness - of disbelief - his lips curled into a soft smile as he’d surveyed his loved ones celebrating this day of thanks together. And it struck you: the familiarity of that look.

Because how many times had you seen it on Jason? Jason, who would watch you with that same tenderness on his face whenever you did something to make him believe that maybe, just maybe, he really was worth loving. From something as simple as calling him cute when he was annoyed with someone for deviating from his mission plan to the bigger stuff like surprising him with a tray of brownies you'd made from scratch because you knew they were his favourite. He'd spent so long being convinced that he wasn't worth loving that he still couldn't quite believe it whenever you made space for him in your life. And now here was Bruce, giving the large, boisterous family he’d so carefully cultivated the exact same look.

The moment continues to linger in your mind as you all settle down to watch a movie, Jason's siblings arranging themselves across the various forms of furniture scattered around the room while you cuddle up with him on a loveseat by the sofa. The night soon turns into a game of who can stay awake the longest as one by one Jason's family begins dozing off, their satisfying meal coaxing them into a state of sleepiness. You yourself find it hard to keep your eyes open when you're wrapped up in your boyfriend's big, strong arms, all snuggled up against his broad chest. Eventually, Bruce forces everyone up and to their beds, making sure they're all safely tucked in before retiring to his own bedroom.

You lie with Jason in his bed, tickling his scalp in the way that always makes him drowsy, even when he's finding it difficult to sleep.

“What?” he asks finally, sensing that you're still awake. You narrow your eyes in thought, combing through all the information Jason has ever shared with you.

“How old was Bruce when his parents died?” You knew the story, of course - Bruce Wayne had lost his parents in a mugging incident when he'd been just a child - but you hadn't grown up in Gotham, so you weren't too sure about the details of the case.

“Hmm, I think he was eight,” Jason supplies, doing his best to stay focused despite your soothing touch. “Why?”

Eight?! That must have been horrible! “And did he … have a lot of other family to take care of him?”

He was rich - obscenely so - and he had a house big enough to rival the President's! So of course he must have had some wealthy aunt or uncle who'd taken him in after his parents died.

“No,” Jason mumbles, starting to lose the battle against sleep. “He just had Alfred.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest, hurting on behalf of the little boy who'd had to grow up almost completely alone, no parents, no siblings, no one at all who understood his circumstances and gave him a reason to keep living.

“But … How did he keep living? In spite of it all?”

Jason hums softly, not quite registering the question as he splays his limbs out across you. “I don't know. How do any of us?”

You swallow down the lump in your throat and resolve to forget about it. For now, at least.

You wake up earlier than Jason the next morning - a rare feat, especially considering that it's almost noon - and head to the kitchen to get some coffee after taking a shower. You're surprised to find Bruce already doing the exact same thing, but he greets you with a welcoming smile.

“Need any help?” he asks, giving you enough space to stand in front of the machine. You study the various buttons and knobs, trying to see if you can puzzle it out yourself. But in the end, you decide that it's probably better to just let him handle it.

“Um, yes, please!” you agree sheepishly, stepping aside and letting him take over. “Can I just have a latte?”

He gets to work making you your coffee, then invites you to join him in the garden outside. You clutch your cup tightly, refusing to make it so easy for him to get into your good graces, but you join him anyway, intrigued to find out more about this man who had forsaken your precious Jason when he'd been just a child. You sit in silence for an uncomfortably long amount of time, refusing to start the conversation first. So Bruce begins.

“My kids have told me that they think you’re really good for Jason,” he tells you softly, gazing out at his beautifully staged garden. He turns to you and his gaze bounces between your face and the table as he continues speaking. “I’m glad … I’m glad that he’s finally found someone … who makes it easier.”

He chose his words carefully, unsure of how much you knew about Jason’s life, so you decided to enlighten him. “He told me … everything.”

Bruce lifts his head and fixes you with a surprised - and wary - look.

“I know … about his parents and Red Hood and … and The Joker.” Your voice grows soft at the last part, your heart aching at the memory of everything he’d told you. You slide your gaze over to Bruce, who’s lowered his head at the revelation that Jason really had told you everything. You narrow your eyes at the look of shame on his face and the rage begins to take over you. “I know … what you did after he came back - or, really, what you didn’t do. Were your morals so important that you couldn’t … Didn’t you think …”

You clench your fists, trying to find the words to convey your emotions. Finally, you push yourself out of your seat, your features hard with the same righteous anger that Jason always wore. “I love Jason! I think he’s the most wonderful, sweetest, most caring human being I have ever known in my life! He deserves the world and everything more! And you …”

You dig your nails into your palms then force yourself to take a deep breath, letting the anger pass through you.

“I agree.” He says it so quietly that you almost miss it. Then he holds your gaze and repeats the words. “I agree with you. Jason deserves everything he never thought … he was good enough for.”

He clasps his hands together, fidgeting with his fingers as he tries to figure out how to continue. “I …”

I was wrong? I did my best? I’d do it differently if I could go back in time and fix it? The excuses leaped to the tip of his tongue, but they were all lies. Jason Todd had always been Jason Todd, and it didn’t matter how many times he ran over the millions of different scenarios in his mind: the two of them would have always ended up in the same stalemate in the end. Because Bruce Wayne had always been Bruce Wayne too.

Bruce sits back and returns his gaze to his garden, serene and calm and the opposite of everything his life had ever been. “Is he still going to therapy?”

You grit your teeth, irritated by the sudden change of topic. But you’ve loved Jason Todd everyday for almost two years now: you knew how to look for the subtle shifts in his expression, the small ticks and habits that gave away his emotions when he was working so hard to hide them. So you don’t miss the tightness of Bruce’s jaw and the tension in his biceps and the minute shifting of his shoes as he probably wriggled his toes in them.

“Yes,” you sigh, sitting back down again. “He’s doing a lot better.”

“Good.” Bruce nods slowly. “Good. And his … Has he had any attacks recently?”

He turns to you, his eyes overflowing with concern, and the final remnants of your anger leave you. “He’s had a few, but they’ve been getting less over time. And he’s gotten better at dealing with them.”

Bruce nods again. “I’ve heard about this … tapping technique? Apparently it can help with anxiety if you tap certain places on your body? I can send you a few links if you think it might help him?”

And suddenly, he’s not Bruce Wayne, the untouchable billionaire with the practised smile, nor is he Batman, the sour vigilante who thinks he knows better than everyone. He was Bruce Wayne, the little boy who’d lost the most important people in his life and been forced to learn how to grow up without them. The little boy who fought so desperately every single night to make sure that no one else would ever have to go through the same things he had. The little boy who still couldn’t figure out why no one had thought that he was worth saving. Just like Jason Todd.

And now you understand. Bruce Wayne had never forsaken Jason Todd. He’d never abandoned him or chosen anyone else over his precious second son. He just hadn’t known how to save the little boy who’d been forced to grow up on his own, who fought every single night to make sure no other child suffered the same fate as him, who had never been able to figure out why he hadn’t been worth saving. He hadn’t known how to save himself.

“That’d be great,” you tell Bruce, giving him a warm smile. His lips curl at the ends in response and he sits back again, lighter now that you seemed to have forgiven him. “And Bruce? Thank you for saving Jason.”

Bruce lets out a self-deprecating chuckle and shakes his head in disagreement. “I didn’t-”

“You did,” you tell him, firm in your conviction now. “You saved that little boy from a rough life on the streets. You helped him live again after he came back. You gave me the Jason Todd that I know and love today. So if you think that there’s anything I’ve done to save him, it’s only because you saved him enough first for him to get to me.”

Bruce stares at you for a minute, his expression unreadable. Then finally, he smiles. “You know, I guess my kids were right about you after all.”

And that was why you and Bruce got along so well, you would think to yourself any time Jason would ask you about it. Because Bruce Wayne had always been Bruce Wayne, but he’d done the best he could to make sure that Jason Todd always stayed Jason Todd; that no matter how hard the world shoved him to the ground, no matter how strongly he believed there was nothing in him worth loving, the world needed Jason Todd. The world needed someone who would do the right thing, even when it was difficult - especially when it was difficult. You smile and ruffle Jason’s hair.

“Because Bruce Wayne has always been Bruce Wayne,” you tell him in response. Jason rolls his eyes at your usual vague answer, but his lips curl at the ends like they always do. He lies down, resting his head on your lap, and you stroke his hair softly as the two of you continue watching your movie.

So yeah! Those are my thoughts 🤔😋.

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