#and i couldn’t stop myself from saying something

[bisexual-borderline-disaster]

transcript

[A man faces the camera, which captures him from around his chest to the top of his head. Behind him is a wall with various paintings. He seems to be sitting down. On one side, there is the tiktok symbol with his username below it, @ mohanad.elshieky91]

I grew up in Libya, not to brag, in the city of Bengazi, which I’m sure you’ve only heard good things about. We are famous for our beautiful beaches and nothing else.

And I was driving my car years ago to meet a friend and by the time I got to my street corner where I lived, this woman comes out of nowhere and she does this [holds up his hand, palm out, symbolising ‘stop’] right in front of my car. And to be honest, I was intrigued, so I stopped.

But then that woman runs towards my car, opens the back door, and gets in, and I was like, I can’t think of one scenario where this is a good thing. But then the door next to me also opened and a guy comes in. He points a knife to my face and he says, “Drive now- please!”

I was like brother, at no point I feel like you needed to add the “please.” You know, I was never gonna be like [looks to the side and pretends to hold a steering wheel, as if he is a driver talking to a passenger] “Oh, are you forgetting something?” and he’s like, “please,” and I was like, “okay yeah, now I can drive you” [he flicks a hand to express how ridiculous the idea is and then faces the camera again].

So I started driving and in my head I was like oh, I got tricked, I’m being kidnapped right now, because that woman just stood in front of my car to distract me and this guy got in and they’re probably going to steal my car and do something to me. But then they were chatting and I can like, hear some of the stuff that was going on, the woman said that her phone died and she couldn’t call her husband to come pick her up, so that’s why she stopped me. And I was like, this part makes sense, but doesn’t explain the thing next to me.

And then the guy was like “Hey man, how was your night going,” and I was like, “I don’t know – I didn’t think we were doing this – my night is going great, hopefully not the last night.”

And then finally I got to the location he gave me and both of them left my car and went to a house and knocked on the house and man came out, I assumed that was the husband from the story, and I was like okay, but then the two guys started yelling at one another. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were just going at it. And I was just like, in the car watching them, and I know what you’re thinking, you’re like, ‘Mohanad, you could have just dri-ven [his voice wavers] away at this point,’ which is true, but more than anything, I love drama. I was like, I’m not gonna leave on a cliffhanger, you know, I need to see where this plot is going.

But then I was watching too close – close, and I was like, holding, like, like this on my steering wheel [he holds up one hand on top of the other, both open and face down, curved a little as if they are resting on top of a steering wheel] and I got too close and I honked by mistake.

And the husband saw me and he just runs back in, comes out, now he’s holding a gun and runs toward my car, and I was like, I don’t like this character development. And he starts yelling at me, and he’s like “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” and I was like, I mean, to be honest, questions I ask myself every morning – but also I didn’t know what to answer because I know – I don’t know who I am in this scenario, I’m also confused. And then he said, “Should I shoot you right now.” And I was like, “What?” and he was like, “Should I shoot you right now.”

And I was like, “When you say should, like, that’s a yes or no question, like, does it matter what I - answer?” and he was like, “What?” and I was like, “What are you saying, 'should I shoot you' – if I say no, wo-would you not do it, would- would my answer matter in this – case,” and he said [laughs a little], “Why are you making it weird?”

[He pauses for a moment to let this sink in]

And I was like, “I’m sorry that I’m making it weird, I’m just - scared,” and then he was like [flicks his hand] “Just go,” and I did not know you can survive death by being annoying, but I proven that you could.

And then the knife guy comes back into my car and he was like, “Just drive us home,” and I was like, who is ‘us,” I don’t even know your name – but I was like, you know what, I’ll just drive you where I got you from, to the streets, and forget that this night ever happened.

And he gets into my car and he was just like, “I was just trying to help, man,” and I was like, “I don’t think you’ve helped people before, because this is not how you do it. You could have just asked me, why would you put a knife to my face.” And I was like, there’s no way this night can get any worse, but then we got stopped at a checkpoint.

And back then in w– in the city, years ago, it was mostly controlled by these religious militias, extremist militias, they were, like, everywhere. And when I say extremist militias, I mean groups like ISIS. I’m not sure if you guys remember them, they kinda fell off, they used to be big on youtube, big posters. And they haven’t posted in a while. So I think about them sometimes, you know, I’m like, did they make it? You know, through the pandemic, you know, which I’m sure they did, those guys famously [he waves an open hand around his face, palm toward him, to indicate a mask] wore masks.

But then, you know, they searched our car up and down, and I said “our,” it’s my car, but – and they couldn’t find anything, I don’t know what they were looking for, and they were gonna let us go, but then one of them was like, “Hey, guys, before you go, I’m gonna ask you something,” and I was like, “sure.”

Then he said, “Who you guys support, us or them?”

And I- And I was like, okay, first of all, let’s acknowledge what a great question this is, you know, thank you so much for asking it, I love [his voice wavers] dialogue – but I didn’t know what to say, because I don’t know if you guys are “us” or “them,” you know, there are so many militias in the city and you guys all kinda dress the same, not to give you fashion advice but – you know, it’s kinda confusing, so I don’t know if you guys are “us” or “them,” and they were started – starting to yell at me, and they were like, “Who do you support?!” and I was so scared and I was like [presses two fingers to his forehead as if he has a headache] ah man, Jesus Christ, which obviously I did not say that out loud ‘cause that would have been so weird and awkward.

So instead, I went with another answer, and I said, “god. I…support god,” and they looked at each other [his eyes flick around as if he is looking at other people] and were like [he looks back toward the camera and shrugs] “honestly that’s pretty dope, you know – what a great answer, you can [he flicks his head sideways as if pointing someone that direction] go. That’s actually the whole brand here, so good job.”

And they let me go, and I was happy, but I drove the guy home and he turns out to be my neighbour, I love my community so much, and he was about to leave my car and he was like, “hey man, let’s hang out sometime” and I was like, “absolutely, you know, would love to do that, and you know – see you,” and…before he left, he said that I should keep the knife, and I was like, “why?” and he was like, “You never know when you need it man, this neighbourhood can be very sketchy,” and I was like, “oh, what – makes you say…that, like did something happen, tonight?”

And, um, I have not seen that guy since, and I don’t know what happened to him or whatever but, you know, uh, all I’m saying is, uh… life is a journey. [He smiles. The tiktok ends]

[starkeynation]

I love you, I’m sorry

A letter from reader to Rafe

Content: Angst, like PURE sad, the lamp looks weird, based on the song I love you, I’m sorry by Gracie Abrams (may or may not be accurate)

A/N: about that cliffhanger and happy ending, I changed my mind… also ignore any writing mistakes if there’s any and this was kinda rushed so I hope it still turns out good

Masterlist

dividers from @anitalenia

Rafe,

It is Saturday night. I should be out doing something, partying or whatever to enjoy myself, yet here i am, pen in hand, finding myself writing to you again. I know this letter will never reach you- it’ll end up crumpled at the bottom of my drawer or burned to ashes. Still, I can’t seem to stop myself.

It has been exactly two august ago since everything fell apart. I remember the way I laid it all out, raw, I wanted to be real, hoping that honesty would mend us. We weren’t perfect. Hell, we were far from it. We fought like fire and gasoline, burning everything we touched. Jealousy leads us to mistrust each other but even then, I didn’t think it would end the way it did. I never thought that fight would be the last..the final, devastating blow before you ghosted me and blocked me everywhere.

I swear it wasn’t my intention to break up with you, I thought by exposing the cracks, we could patch them together. Instead, the truth just ended up pushing you away. When you drove off in your Benz and left me standing at my gate, it felt like everything had stopped. The time, the world, my heart…everything froze. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to scream, I wanted to stop you, beg you to stay, to tell you that we could still save us but you didn’t look back, and i was too late.

Now, i watch you from a distance as you become successful, helping your dad doing business, running Cameron’s development like you were born to do it. I heard your name whispered in admiration at the club where I work, how you charm people the way you trained for. And you know what? I’m so so proud of you Rafe. I always knew you had it in you. I’ll be rooting for you always, even from the shadows.

Maybe two summers from now we’ll be talking again at some point, exchange smiles, our lives untangled and we’re cool again. I can picture you’ll be in your family’s jet, travelling, and me, on my boat moving on with our own lives. By then, i hope..im actually ready to move on. I know you’ve already moved on- I mean, why wouldn’t you? Still, there’s part of me wish that you wouldn’t yet, and maybe, just maybe, you would take me back.

But that’s just selfish isn’t it? I was selfish when we were together too. I made everything about me, i was inconsiderate, I turn something small into raging battles. I didn’t listen, didn’t see you for who you were. I’m ashamed of the person I was, of the mistakes I made. After everything i did, I’m surprised you haven’t send someone to kill me yet.

Lately I find myself sitting on the porch, watching sunsets like we used to, with a glass of something strong in my hand. I laugh at myself, at the crash I made, because what else can I do? It’s a twisted kind of coping—laughing at my own heartbreak. It doesn’t feel real and it’s really hard to let go but i guess that’s just the way life goes.

I know i was a dick, Rafe. I had too many flaws to count but as sick as it sounds, I loved you first. You’ll always be my first love. You were the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me, a storm that left me shattered but alive. Your love had impact me deeply, it is carved in my soul. No matter where we are, i want you to know that I’ll carry the past and the weight of my mistakes with me. Trust me, it will always, haunt me.

I regret every second for not treating you well, for not being the person you needed. Lastly, i want you to know that I still, truly, deeply, love you, I’m sorry.

*Ding* you heard the bell rings. You rush downstairs to answer the door.

“Pizza delivery”, says the delivery boy standing in front of you. You almost forgot you ordered one, an hour ago. You take your prepaid alfredo chicken pizza and thank him. It was Rafe’s favourite pizza, you’re not sure if it’s still his favourite though. After shutting the door, you walk to your kitchen.

Just two seconds later, *ding* the bell rings again. Did the delivery boy forget anything? You thought.

You open the door, “yes-“ you pause. You couldn’t believe it, standing right in front of you,

“Topper?”

“Topper what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice laced with confusion.

He then steps aside and reveals a man behind him, lying on the steps of your porch- a man whose silhouette you’d recognize anywhere. “Rafe,” you whisper.

“Shit I’m sorry to bother you but this dumbass got into an accident for driving while he’s high,” Topper blurts out, panickly.

Your brow furrowing and your confusion deepens. You walk closer to Rafe and spot the blood dripping from his head, “Accident? What? Then why do you bring him here instead of the hospital?” You ask, your voice sharp, slicing through the chaos of the moment.

“He won’t let me. He insisted I bring him here to see you,” Topper explains.

“Y/n,” Rafe speaks up, his voice low and strained.

Your heart skips a beat. It’s like the universe has stopped spinning again. This is the first time you hear him calling your name after two whole years.

“Hey Rafe, you’re bleeding,” you say, your voice mix with feelings.

“I’m fine,” he says, giving a soft, disarming smile while trying to sit up.

You instruct Topper to go find some cloth to stop the bleeding. As he dissapears, you sit on your knees facing to Rafe, “Rafe, what happened? Why are you here?” you ask, still have no clue of what’s going on here.

“I wanted to see you,” he replies, putting on that damn smile again, the one that’s always managed to unravel you. “I miss you, y/n.”

Your face goes pale, your eyes widens, the words hang in the hair, heavy and unexpected. “Rafe, you’re drunk,” you accuse, trying to make sense of what’s happening right now.

“No, I’m not, i swear I’m very conscious right now,” he insists, his voice firm. You’re still not sure if he’s telling the truth or not. “I really miss you, y/n,” he continues, his voice low but still clear for you to hear it.

Your heart aches, torn between disbelief and the undeniable pull of his words. “How hard did you hit your head? God, you’re still bleeding. We need to see a doctor,” you say, trying to stand up, but he grabs your hand, pulling you back down.

“Stop it, I’m fine i swear…this is nothing,” he says waving off the concern. Just then, Topper returns with a towel in his hand. He hands the towel to you and says, “dude, are you sure you’re okay? When i saw your car there were smokes everywhere. Looks like you hit that tree pretty hard,” his voice fill with concern.

“I’m fine Top, just go. I need to talk to y/n,” Rafe says with a dismissive wave. Topper hesitates, he looks at you for confirmation as if you’re the one in charge here. You nod at him, signalling an approval, “s’okay Top i can handle this.”

“Okay, just call me if anything happens,” he says. “Thank you,” you mutter softly to Topper as he’s leaving towards his car.

With Topper gone, you shift your focus back to Rafe. You take the towel and start dabbing on the blood on his forehead, “we still need to get this stitched up,” you say. Rafe then grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful, “look at me,” he demands.

You look at him straight in the eyes, drowning in his blue eyes. It’s overwhelming- staring at the man that you love but no longer yours.

“I do mean what i said, i miss you y/n and i wanted to see you,” he says, his tone steady and sure.

“But why now?” You ask, your voice breaking under the weight of the question.

“Sar..Sarah told me tonight that you’ve been writing letters about me. She found them stashed under your bed,” he says, hesitantly.

Your stomach drops and you shake your head in disbelief, “God…i knew it there was something wrong. She was acting so weird when she left this morning,” you mutter.

“So it’s true? You’ve been writing about me?”

Your face is turning red, you’re struggling to find the words. “I- yes…I’ve been writing letters. Pretending like I’m gonna send it to you but i never do,” you stutter.

“Why didn’t you just send them?” He presses, his voice low, almost pleading.

“You know why Rafe…you’ve moved on. You blocked me few months after we broke up. You’re thriving now with your job, you got your whole life together, and I- I was the reason why we broke up. I can’t just crawl my way back into your life like nothing happened,” you shatter, your voice breaking as you’re struggling to control your tears.

Rafe shakes his head. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles and kisses it. “You’re wrong y/n, you’re absolutely wrong. I’ve been doing nothing over the past two years except than trying to forget about you. That’s why I’ve been doing all these jobs, thinking it could distract me, but no,” he shakes his head again. “Nothing could make me stop thinking about you.”

His confession leaves you breathless, your tears streaming down your face as he continues. “About the blocking and disappearing, I’m really sorry, I was a coward. The truth is, that day i came to your house to apologize. Then, as I stood outside, i saw you were laughing with jj through your window. I knew you guys were not together cause after jj left, I may or may not have confronted him…” he then mouthed sorry. “But then, I remember the way you looked so happy when you’re with him. At that time, I knew I had to let you go cause you deserve someone better and you deserve to be happy so that’s why I blocked you..as if that makes any difference.”

You idiot,” you scoff. “I never wanted anyone else, only you Rafe, only you. You’re the only one who could truly make me happy.”

His eyes glisten, his smile soft and hesitant. “Please forgive me y/n, I swear I’m a better person now and I love- I love you, so much. I still do.”

You reach up, caress his cheek and pull him in for a kiss. “I love you too Rafe,” you whisper. He cups your face and returns the kiss. The kiss is passionate, slow and tender. His lip is so soft and only god knows how much you miss this. The world fades around you, leaving only the two of you, two broken pieces finding their way back to each other.

You pull away from his face and let out a giggle. “Why are you laughing?” He asks, can’t help but let out a soft giggle too.

“Before you came I was actually writing another letter for you,” you admit, a shy smile appears on your face.

“Oh really? Tell me about it baby,” he smirks. Your smile widens at the sound of the nickname that rolls out from his mouth. “Mm I miss that. You, calling me baby. Anyways, it’s in my room, wanna come in?” You ask.

He shakes his head, pulling you closer as he leans back against the stairs railing. “Hmm in a bit sweetheart, you can tell me here while we stargaze. I missed your porch- and mostly you, of course,” he replies with a faint smile.

So you do. You talk to him about the letter while your head rest on his shoulder and your fingers intertwined. “Lastly I wrote, I love you, I’m sorry,” you say, explaining the last content of the letter. But then, you realise he has gone quiet. His stillness unsettling. You glance up to him, “Rafe?” He’s not responding. You check his pulse but there is none. Panic sets in as you shake him, calling his name.

“Rafe”

“Rafe, wake up”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up!”

“Y/n”

“Y/n”

“Y/n, wake up”

You gasp, your heart is pounding like a drum. You’re sweating all over your body as reality crashes down. It was a nightmare.

“Hey..baby you okay?” You turn your head to your right and realise it’s Rafe. He’s okay, he’s alive and he’s sitting on the bed next to you. Relief floods through you like a tidal wave.

“Is it the nightmare again?” He asks. You nod, signalling him that he’s right.

“It’s okay baby I got you. Here, come back to sleep,” he says, gently pulling you into his arms. You smile and cuddle him, clinging to the illusion of safety his embrace provides. You close your eyes again trying to fall back to sleep till your alarm suddenly rings.

You wake up with a tear running down your cheek. You hit the snooze button and realise that was a dream and this time, it’s the true reality. You look to the other side of your bed, it’s empty. It always has been for quite a while now. The truth is, that night after Rafe collapsed, you called for an ambulance. On the way to the hospital, they try everything to make his heart beat again, but nothing works. It was too late. He had lost too many blood before that you weren’t aware of and that same night, Rafe had died in your arms.

It’s been 3 years since the tragic. You keep having the same dream almost every night. Part of you is grateful that you and Rafe had ended in good terms but another part of you knows that the truth is you’ll never get the chance to redeem yourself and be a better partner. There’s nothing remaining other than the memories that will haunt you forever.

Rafe, if you’re hearing this, I love you, I’m sorry.

Like and reblog if you want to kys after reading this😇☺️

[wonderjanga]

Super Grandpa

When Superman first made his debut, people were in awe of him. Children and adults alike held awe and wonder for him. As for elderly, they also loved him. As for why? Because he was like the second coming of Captain Marvel. A super who was the hero during the fourties’ to sixties’. Naturally, other people besides the elderly noticed this too. This led to a theory popping up that Superman was Captain Marvel’s son or grandson. Most people were leaning to grandson though because if he was the Captain’s kid, he’d be at least fifty years old now. Not the twenty something year old guy they know. But yeah, people think they’re related, here’s a couple reasons why.

Supes: *being interviewed*

Lois Lane: *holding a mic up for Clark to speak into* “Superman, who would you say inspired you to become a hero?”

Supes: “Uh- I’d say…” *sounds and looks a little embarrassed* “Captain Marvel? I mean, look at me.” *gestures to himself* “I just have more blue than him. Plus, I mean he was my hero as a kid. I had the power to be like him so I decided to put it to use.”

A lot of people thought that sounded like a little kid talking about their parent being their hero, even though Clark was in all actuality, just talking about Marvel being his hero in general.

or

Wondy and Supes: *meeting each other for the first time*

Wondy: *nostalgic smile* “You know, you remind me of my brother.”

Supes: “Brother?”

Wondy: “He went by Captain Marvel?”

Supes: “Wait, seriously?” *bros ecstatic on the inside*

Wondy: “Yes. You look similar. Your suits are similar. Your ideals are similar. I’m sure you two would’ve gotten along wonderfully.” *sounds sad towards the end*

Supes: “I hope so.”

(This is the Wonder Woman that first came to America during WW2)

or

Supes: “Well, I myself have never met Captain Marvel, but my parents actually met him.”

Flash: “Wait, really? Were are your parents also superheroes?”

Supes: “No, they were normal people. He met them when they were teenagers apparently.”

Flash is over here thinking “Okay, so he might not be his dad, but he could be his uncle or cousin.” As for how the Kents knew Billy, he met them when he stopped them from getting into a car crash.

Then the time bubble popped, and Captain Marvel appeared once again. You couldn’t even ask Clark how he got the man to sit down with him at a diner and eat pie with him.

Marvel: “So you’re a hero too?”

Supes: “Yup. I’m part of the Justice League.” *nervously eating his pie*

Marvel: “What’s that? Are they like the JSA?”

Supes: Yes, sir, some of the members from the team actually joined us after they disbanded.

Marvel: “Sir…? Please don’t call me that. Also, they disbanded?”

Supes: “Yeah, during the 80s I think they disbanded.”

Marvel: “Dang… well at least that’s good.”

Supes: “Why would that be good?”

Marvel: “Oh well, the them disbanding part isn’t good, but the fact that you and others stepped up to create another superhero team that could spread hope throughout the states is incredible.” *smiles*

Supes: *absolutely fangirling inside* “You think so?”

Marvel: “Oh, absolutely.”

or

Marvel and Supes: *teamed up to fight some alien*

After the fight…

Marvel: “Gosh! You were just amazing! I’d love to fight with you again.” *smiles and ruffles his hair, cause he’s so darn tall*

Supes: “You could do that if you join the league, you know?” *internally screaming because his idol just ruffled his hair*

Marvel: “I really should. I’d thought about joining the JSA before the whole… y’know, suspendium.”

Supes: *trying to sound nonchalant* “We’d love to have you.”

People thought Marvel looked like a proud dad while Supes looked so happy to be praised.

So yes, the Marvel and Superman being family theories are strong.

Meanwhile, during all of this, Billy just thinks this guy is a cool dude.

[pickingupmymercedes]

A Christmas Carol - Lewis Hamilton

A Christmas Special

genre: fluff (there's a bit of angst because it wouldn't be me without it)

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Wasn't planning on doing one, but alas, like the Grinch "I'm toasty inside and I'm leaking". Hope you guys enjoy it.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Christmas was supposed to feel magical. It was supposed to smell like cinnamon and pine, sound like kids laughing over the crinkle of wrapping paper, and taste like mulled wine and homemade cookies.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as I power-walked from the kitchen to the dining room, a tray of meticulously arranged appetizers wobbling precariously in my hands.

“Where’s the rosemary garnish?” I called out, my voice sharper than I intended.

“On the counter where you left it,” my mom’s voice floated back, tinged with just enough exasperation to make me grit my teeth.

“Right, okay. Thanks!” I tried to sound upbeat, but it came out brittle, like one of the ornaments I’d already broken this week.

The house was perfect. Lewis’s Colorado cabin looked like it had been ripped from the pages of a Christmas catalog.

Snow blanketed the landscape outside, and the living room’s towering evergreen glittered with gold and red ornaments.

Both our families were here—mine and Lewis’s—mingling in various states of holiday cheer.

Everything looked exactly as it should.

So why did it feel like everything was on the verge of collapse?

I was usually the type to wing things. I’d always believed the joy was in the process, not the end result.

But this was different. This was the first Christmas we were hosting as a couple, the first time our families were all under one roof, and the first time I felt the weight of needing everything to be flawless.

“You’re overthinking it,” Lewis had said a week ago, catching me mid-panic as I tried to finalize the seating chart. “It’s Christmas. Nobody’s going to care if the napkins match the table runner.”

I’d rolled my eyes at him then, brushing off his easy confidence. “This is important, Lewis. It’s our first big family Christmas. I need it to be right.”

But now, with the pressure mounting and the hours slipping away, I was starting to wonder if he’d been right all along.

Still, I couldn’t stop.

There was too much to do, too much riding on this. It wasn’t just impressing everyone else; it was proving to myself that I could pull this off. That I could create something perfect.

“Y/n, the caterer just called. They’re going to be an hour late,” came Lewis’s voice from the kitchen, calm as ever.

I barely acknowledged him, my brain too busy spiraling into contingency plans.

Late appetizers meant a delayed dinner schedule, which meant the kids would get restless, which—… Okay, breathe.

“It’s fine,” I said tightly, not looking up from my task. “I’ll… figure it out.”

“Babe, it’ll be fine,” he replied, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe him. How could he be so relaxed about this?

This was the first time I could show everyone that I wasn’t just good at planning vacations—I could host the kind of Christmas that would make everyone look back and say “Remember that year at Lewis and Y/n’s place? That was perfect.”

But perfect came at a price. A steep one.

I was usually laid-back on holidays, but this one… well, I was turning into someone I didn’t entirely recognize.

Someone who had snapped at Lewis when he joked ironing the napkins was a bit much. Someone who brushed off my mom’s attempt to help set up because “I’ve got it, thanks.” Someone who hadn’t stopped to sit down—or breathe—since the day before.

I knew I was being ridiculous.

Rationally, I knew that no one cared if the table settings matched the garland on the fireplace or if the cranberry sauce came from a can instead of being homemade.

But rationality didn’t exactly have a seat at the table in my mind. Instead, it was crowded with doubts, insecurities, and the quiet, nagging fear that if I didn’t get this right, it meant something about me.

I wanted so badly to prove that I could do this—not to Lewis, not even to our families, but to myself. To prove that I could handle blending traditions, making everyone feel at home, and creating a holiday memory worth cherishing.

The irony? In chasing that, I was starting to lose the very thing that made Christmas special.

“Y/n,” Lewis called again, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. I realized I had been staring at the same strand of lights for a tad too long. “Why don’t you take a break? Have some wine or something.”

“I’m fine,” I said, sharper than intended. He didn’t reply, and the quiet that followed made me feel worse than any argument ever could.

I sighed, sinking to the floor, the lights still tangled in my hands.

I glanced around the room, the half-decorated tree leaning slightly to the right, the dining table still bare, and the unmistakable hum of chatter from the kitchen where both families mingled.

It wasn’t perfect. Not yet. But as I sat there, surrounded by the mess of my own making, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispered that it didn’t have to be.

I had just managed to shove the last box of ornaments under the console table when I heard a familiar voice call out, “Y/n! You didn’t even say hi when we walked in. What the hell?”

I turned, my brother already halfway across the room, his lopsided grin in place and a lumpy gift bag dangling from his hand. He had that look he always got when he was about to annoy me out of spite.

“Hey,” I muttered distractedly, glancing at the clock. Dinner prep was starting to fall behind, and I still hadn’t decided which candles to put on the table.

He stopped in front of me, arms crossed. “That’s it? Not even a ‘Merry Christmas, so glad you’re here, oh wise older sibling who taught me everything I know?’”

“I don’t have time for this, asshole” I said, brushing past him to fix the garland over the fireplace. “You and everyone else are so very welcome here, but I have a million things to do.”

He let out a low whistle. “Wow. Someone’s really leaning into their inner Scrooge this year.”

I didn’t bother responding, too busy adjusting a stocking that was slightly off-center.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked, softer this time. “You didn’t even notice when your niece tried to hug you.”

Guilt hit me like a truck, but I pushed it aside. “Nothing, I swear. I just… I want everything to be perfect, for her too, okay?”

“Perfect?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who once wrapped all Christmas presents in newspaper and duct tape because you forgot to buy wrapping paper.”

“I was sixteen and broke.” I snapped.

“And happy,” he countered, his voice pointed but not, at all, unkind. “We all were. Because no one cared what the presents looked like. Or if the tree was crooked or the turkey was dry. We were just… together. That’s what made it Christmas.”

I turned to face him, arms crossed. “Are you seriously trying to give me some kind of Christmas ghost speech right now? Because I don’t have time for—”

“Maybe you should make time” he interrupted, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone.

I hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in despite my resistance.

“Look, I get it” he continued, his voice softening again. “You want this to be special, and it will be. But not because of the table settings or the garland or whatever else you’re obsessing over. It’ll be special because you’re here, and we’re here, and that’s all that ever mattered to us as kids. It’s all that matters now, too.”

“Thanks for the Hallmark moment. Really. But I have things to do.” I sighted instead of admitting he was right, as I turned back to the fireplace.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped back. “Suit yourself, sis. But don’t come crying to me when the ghost of Christmas present shows up later to say ‘I told you so.’ over dessert”

I was halfway into rolling my eyes when it hit me. The pie.  but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at my lips as he walked away. Still, his words lingered, like the faint smell of cinnamon that seemed to follow me everywhere this week.

“Seriously, what’s going on, now you look like you seen a ghost?” my brother asked, peering into the living room.

“Oh, no,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a freight train. I had forgotten dessert.

My brother smirked. “Guess perfection really is a myth.”

Lewis appeared in the doorway; eyebrows raised in concern. “Everything okay?”

“No,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I forgot the dessert. I can’t believe I forgot the dessert.”

“Babe, it’s not a big deal,” he said gently, resting a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got plenty of food.��

“It’s Christmas, Lewis!” I suppressed a yell. “You’re supposed to have something sweet.”

Lewis exchanged a glance with my brother, who shrugged as if to say, ‘Your turn.’

“Hey,” Lewis said, tilting my chin up so I’d look at him. “What’s the one thing you always say when things don’t go according to plan?”

I blinked at him, tears threatening. “I don’t know.”

“You say, ‘We’ll figure it out.’”

“I’ve got it” I replied, careful to keep my tone light.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he came closer, a quiet warmth that made me hyper-aware of how tightly I was holding onto the matchbox in my hand.

“Y/n,” he said softly, and that was all it took for my defenses to wobble.

I set the matchbox down with a shaky exhale, staring at the empty plates in front of me. “I just want everything to be perfect” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

He stepped closer, his hands brushing lightly against my arms before resting on my shoulders. “It already is” he said.

I laughed under my breath, a sound that came out more bitter than I intended. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the cranberry sauce yet.”

“Babe” he said, his voice full of that frustrating calmness that made me want to hug him and throw something at him, at the same time. “No one’s here for cranberry sauce.”

I turned to face him, ready to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me cold.

They weren’t teasing or dismissive or even annoyed, like I probably deserved after snapping at him all day. They were warm, steady, and so full of love it made my chest ache.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked gently, his thumbs rubbing small circles against my arm. “You’ve been running around for days like you’re hosting the royal family instead of our families. What’s really going on?”

I swallowed hard, my resolve starting to crack. “I just…” My voice wavered, and I hated how small I sounded. “I want them to have a good time. I want them to see that we’re good at this, that we’ve got it all together.”

He tilted his head, studying me with that quiet intensity he always had when he was trying to read between the lines.

“You mean you want to prove that you’re good at this,” he said softly, and the truth of it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I dropped my gaze, staring at the floor like it might hold some kind of answer. “It’s stupid, I know” I whispered.

“It’s not stupid,” he said, his voice firm. “But you don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Y/n. Not to our families, not to me, and definitely not to yourself. You’ve already done more than enough by bringing them all over.”

I shook my head, tears prickling at the edges of my eyes. “It doesn’t feel like enough. I just… I want them to look back at this and remember it as something special.”

He reached out, tipping my chin up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “They will,” he said simply. “Not because of the candles or the napkins or whatever else you’ve been stressing over, but because they’re here. Together. And because you made that happen.”

His words settled over, softening the tension in my shoulders and quieting the storm in my mind.

“I don’t know how you always do that,” I said with a shaky laugh, brushing at my eyes.

“Do what?”

“Manage to say the exact thing I need to hear, even when I don’t want to hear it. Especially then”

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. “It’s a talent,” he said lightly, his tone teasing but his eyes still serious.

I leaned into him, letting the steady beat of his heart anchor me. For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe again.

“You’re right,” I admitted quietly.

“About everything?”

“Don’t push your luck” I muttered, earning a soft laugh from him.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands still resting on my waist. “Come sit with us for a while,” he said. “The table can wait. Dinner can wait. Right now, I just want you to stop and enjoy this.”

I hesitated, my gaze flicking toward the half-finished table.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “Please.”

The weight of that single word unraveled the last of my resistance.

“Okay,” I said softly, letting him guide me toward the living room and let myself just be.

Dinner was still salvageable, the table was mostly set, and the stockings—mercifully—were straightened.

It was fine. I was fine. We would be fine.

I hadn’t slept much. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the last few days finally wearing off, or maybe it was the quiet nagging feeling that I hadn’t quite nailed it.

Either way, when Lewis stirred beside me at the crack of dawn, his alarm buzzing softly, I was already awake.

He leaned over to kiss my forehead, murmuring something about taking a quick shower before the kids woke up. I mumbled back something that sounded vaguely coherent, but the moment he stepped into the bathroom, I slipped out of bed.

Still in my pajamas, hair a mess, and not a speck of makeup to hide behind, I padded softly down the stairs. The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes in those fleeting moments before the day begins.

The living room came into view, and I froze for a moment, leaning against the doorway. The tree stood tall, its lights casting a soft, golden glow over the room.

The presents we’d spent hours wrapping were still neatly stacked, though I knew that wouldn’t last long.

I sat down on the edge of the couch, tucking my knees under me as I watched the room come alive in slow motion.

First came one of Lewis’s nieces, her sleepy face lighting up the moment she spotted the tree. She gasped, then bolted back upstairs, her little feet pounding against the steps as she woke her brother.

A chain reaction followed—one by one, the kids tumbled into the room, wide-eyed and buzzing with excitement.

Next came my mom, her robe tied loosely around her as she headed straight for the kitchen.

I could hear her humming a Christmas carol as she rummaged for the hot cocoa mix. Within minutes, the scent of chocolate and marshmallows filled the air, mingling with the pine of the tree.

I didn’t say anything; I just watched.

Watched as the kids tore into their presents, the floor quickly becoming a chaotic sea of wrapping paper.

Watched as my mom handed a steaming mug to each child, all looking up at her with a grateful smile.

Watched as my brother shuffled in, still half-asleep but smiling as he plopped onto a chair with his coffee.

And then, almost as if she sensed I needed it, my mom came over to the couch and sat beside me, handing me a mug of cocoa, the marshmallows bobbing at the surface, and settled in with a soft sigh by my side.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said, her voice as warm as the drink in my hands.

“Merry Christmas, Mom” I replied, leaning my head on her shoulder.

We sat there for a while, watching the chaos unfold.

One of the kids trying to explain a new gadget to my dad, while my niece proudly displayed her new doll to Lewis’s mom.

It was loud and messy and completely uncoordinated.

And it was perfect.

“This reminds me of Christmas when we were kids,” I said quietly, my voice almost drowned out by the laughter and chatter.

My mom turned to look at me, her brow lifting slightly.

“You know,” I continued, smiling faintly at the memory. “When we’d open our presents in the morning, and you and Dad would be in the kitchen getting food ready. All the relatives would be there, the cousins running around, someone always spilling something…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “It was chaos, but it felt like Christmas.”

My mom chuckled, her hand brushing against mine as she squeezed it gently. “That’s what makes it special, honey. It’s never about the perfect decorations or the perfect dinner. It’s about… this.”

She gestured to the room, where Lewis’s nephew was now gleefully dragging people to play with him, everyone looking thoroughly confused but nodding enthusiastically anyway.

“The mess?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“The mess,” she affirmed, smiling. “The people. The noise. The love in all of it.”

I blinked back the sting of tears, resting my head against her shoulder again. For so long, I’d been chasing perfection, thinking it was the key to creating something memorable.

But sitting there, surrounded by laughter and torn wrapping paper and the occasional shout of “Where are the batteries?”—I realized I already had everything I’d been looking for.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“I hope I get it this messy, this right, every year” I said softly, my voice thick with emotion.

She didn’t reply, just leaned her head against mine, and we sat there in the quiet chaos, letting it all wash over us.

It wasn’t what I had planned. It wasn’t perfect.

It was better. So much better

And as if on cue, my mom glanced up and caught sight of Lewis standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.

His hands tucked into the pockets of his pajama pants, his grin warm and knowing as he watched us. With a soft smile, she nudged me gently.

“Someone’s waiting for you” my mom murmured before excusing herself, her footsteps light as she headed toward the kitchen.

Lewis didn’t waste a second, crossing the room to take her spot beside me on the sofa. He flopped down with exaggerated effort, his arm draping lazily along the back of the couch.

“Well, well,” he teased, tilting his head to look at me. “I don’t think I’ve seen you out of the bedroom without a fully picked-out outfit, perfect hair, and makeup in days?”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “I’ve been… intense. Haven’t I?”

“A bit” Lewis replied, grinning as he reached over to tug my hands away. “But only because you care”

I lowered my hands, glancing at him shyly. “I just... I wanted this to be perfect. I needed it to be perfect. Not just for everyone else but—” She hesitated, her voice faltering.

“But?” he prompted, his tone gentle.

I bit my lip, my gaze flicking to the kids tearing through their gifts, then back to him. “But for me. For us. For... the possibility that this might be our future someday.”

The words faltered, vulnerable and unsure.

Lewis didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he reached out, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to try so hard. You’re already more than perfect.”

I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, but he pulled back just enough to cup my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over my cheeks as he looked me in the eyes.

“I mean it,” he said firmly. “I’ve been dreaming about a future with you long before these past few days. Ever since I saw you barefoot on that trail, convincing Willow it was the best way to feel the earth beneath her. Since you let Roscoe slobber all over you on the beach the very first time you met him. Since we spent three days on that road trip, eating two-day-old sandwiches and drinking from streams, and you still made it feel like the greatest adventure of our lives.”

My eyes glistened, a shy smile tugging at my lips. “You’re really pulling out all the stops here, aren’t you?”

“Whatever it takes” he replied with a playful grin before his expression softened again. “ You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Least of all me.”

We stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, watching the kids dive into their presents. The room buzzing with laughter and the occasional triumphant shout of “Look what I got!”

My chest felt lighter than it had in days, my worries dissolving like the marshmallows in my cocoa.

I rested my head against Lewis’s shoulder, my heart settling into a steady rhythm that matched his.

But then, a thought struck and I sat up abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Lewis asked, trying to pull me back by the waist.

I swatted his hand away with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

I sprang to my feet, clapping my hands to gather the kids’ attention. “Alright, who’s ready to make a mess in the kitchen?”

A chorus of enthusiastic “Me!” erupted as they abandoned their toys and raced toward me.

I led them to the kitchen, my laughter echoing through the house as I opened cabinets and pulled out bowls, flour, and cookie cutters.

Within minutes, the kitchen was alive —flour flying, cookie dough being enthusiastically rolled and eaten, and the sound of uncontainable giggles filling the air.

Lewis stayed back, leaning against the back of the sofa, watching the scene unfold with a smile tugging at his lips.

I caught his eye once, winking at him as I smeared a dollop of cookie batter on one of the kids’ noses, eliciting a delighted squeal.

This could be our forever. Far from perfect, but perfectly us.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend @unlikelystay @thesizzler

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[woso-story]

The Weight Of Love And Loss - Part Four

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Part One Two Three

The morning of the meeting, your nerves felt like they were eating you alive. Every step toward the café felt heavier than the last, as though the gravity of your decision was pulling you back. For days, you’d debated whether to come at all. You’d imagined every possible outcome: Alexia apologizing, Alexia blaming you, Alexia trying to win you back. But no matter how much you rehearsed your responses, nothing prepared you for the reality of seeing her again.

The café was quiet as you approached. It was early, not many people around. Through the glass, you could see Alexia already sitting at your old table, her back slightly hunched, her hands wrapped tightly around a mug.

For a moment, you stopped in your tracks. Memories of the two of you flooded your mind—happy days spent in this exact spot, laughing, dreaming, planning your future together. The air had always been warm with love back then. But now? Now it felt like that love was gone, leaving only bitterness and heartbreak behind.

You inhaled deeply and pushed open the door.

---

The bell above the door jingled softly, drawing Alexia’s attention. She looked up, her eyes meeting yours instantly, and she stood, as if she wasn’t sure whether to stay seated or greet you. She hesitated before giving a weak smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hi,” she said quietly. Her voice was small, unsure, and it tugged at your heart in a way you weren’t ready for.

“Hi,” you replied curtly. No warmth, no familiarity. Just the distance you’d carefully built since the day you walked out of her apartment.

“Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?” she offered, almost nervously.

You shook your head. “No. Let’s just get this over with.”

The words were sharp, but you needed them to be. You needed to protect yourself, to keep the walls you’d built from crumbling the moment she looked at you with those pleading eyes.

Alexia flinched slightly but nodded, sitting back down. You followed, keeping your distance, your arms crossed defensively as you waited for her to start.

---

The silence between you stretched on painfully. Alexia fidgeted with her mug, her eyes darting between you and the table. You resisted the urge to fill the void, to make it easier for her. This was her meeting, her chance to explain. You weren’t going to make it easier for her.

Finally, you sighed, irritation creeping into your voice. “If you’re not going to say anything, I’m leaving. I don’t have time to sit here in silence.”

“No—wait,” she blurted out, her voice breaking slightly. She looked up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But I need to try.”

---

Alexia took a deep breath, her hands clasped tightly together as if trying to hold herself together. “I’m sorry for everything. For the way I treated you. For shutting you out. For not listening. I thought I was doing the right thing, trying to focus on getting better, but...I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you in the process.”

You stayed silent, your expression unreadable.

“When I got injured, I felt like everything I’d worked for my whole life was slipping away,” she continued, her voice cracking. “Football isn’t just a job for me—it’s who I am. And losing that...I didn’t know how to deal with it. I was angry, scared, lost. And instead of letting you help me, I pushed you away. I thought I could handle it on my own. But I couldn’t.”

Her voice broke completely now, tears streaming down her face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear, I didn’t. But I did, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I made you feel like you didn’t matter, because you do. You always did. You’re...you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I ruined it.”

---

Her words hit you harder than you expected. For months, you’d begged her to open up, to tell you how she felt. And now, here she was, pouring her heart out—but it was too late.

“You’re right,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “You did ruin it.”

Alexia flinched as if you’d slapped her, but you didn’t stop.

“I tried, Alexia. I tried so hard to be there for you, to support you, to love you. But you didn’t let me. Every time I tried to talk to you, you shut me out. Every time I needed you, you weren’t there. And do you know how that felt? To feel like I was invisible? Like I didn’t matter?”

Tears were streaming down your face now, but you didn’t bother wiping them away. “You broke my heart, Alexia. Piece by piece, over months. And I can’t just forget that.”

---

Alexia sobbed quietly, her shoulders shaking as she tried to compose herself. “I know,” she whispered. “I know I messed up. But...please. Please give me another chance. I’ll do better. I’ll change. Just...don’t give up on us.”

You shook your head, your heart aching at the sight of her so broken. “It’s not that simple, Alexia. You hurt me. And I don’t think I can trust you not to do it again.”

Her face crumpled, and she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob.

“I think we need time,” you continued, your voice shaking. “Time to heal. Separately.”

Alexia’s tears fell freely now, her shoulders shaking as she cried. “I can’t do this without you,” she whispered. “You’re my rock. You always have been.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Your rock? I felt more like your punching bag these last few months. I took every hit, Alexia. Every argument, every hurtful comment, every time you brushed me off. I took it all. And I broke because of it.”

She sobbed quietly, her hands trembling as she reached for yours. “I’ll fix it. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just...don’t leave me.”

You took her hands in yours, your heart aching at the sight of her so broken. “You need help, Alexia. Real help. Talk to a sports psychologist. Work through everything you’re feeling. Because I can’t be the one to fix this for you. I tried, and it nearly destroyed me.”

Her tears fell harder, but she nodded slowly, her grip on your hands tightening.

After a moment Alexia’s sobs quieted, and she wiped at her face with shaking hands. “So...that’s it?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“For now,” you said softly. “You need time to heal. And so do I. We can’t do that together.”

She nodded slowly, her tears falling silently now. “Is there still a chance for us? Someday?”

You hesitated, your heart breaking all over again. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But if it’s meant to be, we’ll find our way back to each other. For now, we have to let go.”

Her face crumpled, but she managed a small, shaky smile. “Okay,” she whispered.

You stood, your heart heavy as you looked at her one last time. “Take care of yourself, Alexia,” you said gently.

“You too,” she replied, her voice trembling.

And with that, you walked away, leaving behind the woman you once thought you’d spend forever with.

As you stepped out into the crisp morning air, a single thought ran through your mind: Maybe someday.

But for now, you needed to heal. Alone.

[morbethgames]

The Recoding of The Bureau is Finished

I’m done recoding the game. All in all, it was honestly about what I expected to be slimmed off once I got a good look at some of the scenes. As I expected, 90% of that were from the first 3 chapters. I am a mix of emotions after arduously spending hours upon hours replacing gender variables one at a time by hand. Which unfortunately, I couldn’t think of another way for doing it, because all of the characters were using the same gender variables instead of independent ones for each character.

I’m relieved it’s done. Disappointed in myself that I had to do it at all. Irritated that some people decided to put the game on blast for it rather than give actionable suggestions on how to fix it. Excited to finally be able to continue writing both the extra scenes that need to be written and the main story. I honestly don’t know which one I’m going to continue with first.

Please leave feedback.

There are still no doubt one or two spots with maybe 1-2k words each that could be slimmed down, but that would require a lot of work for very little payoff. So yes, I’m comfortable saying, the game is almost 400k words long in total. 85k words per playthrough. That’s not including the extra scenes in the stats screen, because randomtest doesn’t go in the stats screen (to my knowledge at least, someone can correct me if I’m wrong). So you still have to play the game roughly 5 times and choose different choices to see everything it has to offer.

Is the game smaller? A bit, yeah. Is it 100-150k? It’s more than double that.

Now, that doesn’t say anything for the state of some of the writing. If I have to read someone nodding, or smiling, or ‘slightly’, ‘a bit’, or ‘a little’ something in my own work again, I’m gonna jump out a window. Obviously, back when I started writing this, I was very much influenced by Wayhaven. I’ve since grown out of that idea. Since the game has taken on an identity of its own, and while I will forever be grateful to that series and continue to support it, there’s gonna be some changes in the final version of this game. Less of what I said above, less ellipses, and the flirting (especially in the beginning) will seem much more down to earth and believable for the setting it’s in, with a bit of wiggle room since this is still very much a YA game.

Please leave feedback.

The rewrite will not be happening until the first draft of the game is fully finished. I refuse to get stuck in a rewrite phase, mostly because I would just find it way too boring.

My patreon will continue to have static fiction on it, as well as sneak peeks into upcoming stuff. In case you’ve been missing it, Love In Stasis is up to Chapter 6 at this point, with more to come. I’m also thinking about potentially starting a horror static fiction.

I’ll be relying on people to playtest this new version of the game to tell me about any continuity errors, and gender errors, any anything errors. So please, play the demo. Let me know if you notice anything. I think if I’ve proved anything at this point, it’s that I act and fix things based on feedback.

And pettiness.

But mostly feedback.

Please leave feedback.

Last thing I’ll say; I’m gonna stop saying I’m bad at coding. Someone who’s bad at coding wouldn’t have been able to implement the text boxes and fine tune them. Someone who’s bad at coding wouldn’t have been able to code Golden Eyes. Someone who’s bad at coding wouldn’t have been able to slim down the game that much from where it was. So it’s time I give myself the credit of someone who at least knows what they’re doing. I’m not adept at it, but I’m certainly not bad at it either.

I’m still expecting the game to end up over 500k words when all is said and done. It will not be one million words, but I’m actually kind of happy about that. This is proof I’m still working on this game, and the next time it updates, it will have new content. Thanks for those that are patient and stick around, your support does still genuinely mean a lot.

Please leave feedback.

Stay Brilliant,

-Vi

P.S. Please leave feedback.

🛡️Patreon | Forum Page | Demo Link🛡️

[oldsoul007]

the last time

joel miller x reader

summary: they knew it could happen

The world had narrowed down to the two of us.

Joel’s chest heaved as he helped me stumble through the crumbling streets, both of us drenched in sweat and dust. The Clickers had almost caught us. We had barely managed to get out of the warehouse alive, and the sky was now darkening, thick with the remnants of the day’s heat.

Every time Joel glanced at her, the knot in his stomach tightened. Something wasn’t right. He’d seen her fight off exhaustion more times than he could count, but today, she was different. Her steps were slower, unsteady. Her breath was ragged, a little too sharp for comfort.

“Y/n,” he muttered, his voice low but filled with concern. “You okay?”

I didn’t answer right away. I kept my eyes forward, her hand still gripping his but with less strength than usual. The space between us felt heavier with each step.

Then he saw it.

I had raised my arm, reaching out for support as we turned a corner, and there—just below my jacket sleeve—was the unmistakable, jagged bite. Blood, still dark and wet, stained the fabric.

Joel’s heart stopped. For a split second, everything around us ceased to exist—the ruined city, the setting sun, the bitter chill creeping in. All that mattered was the blood on my arm. The blood that had never, ever been part of our plan.

“No,” Joel rasped, his voice cracking like old wood. He jerked me around to face him, his hands shaking as they gripped my shoulders. His gaze locked on the mark. The bite.

“I—” I tried to speak, but my throat caught. The words wouldn’t come.

“You—” Joel took a step back, his hands falling away from me as if I had burned him. His heart thundered in his chest. He looked from the mark on my arm to my face, the realization sinking in like cold water. “How?”

I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in, trying to steady myself. But when I looked back at him, there was no hiding the truth. No pretending.

“It happened during the fight,” I said softly, my voice cracking. “I didn’t… I didn’t even feel it at first. We were so damn close to getting away—”

Joel shook his head, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “You didn’t tell me. You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to—” I cut herself off, glancing down at the ground. I was trying to hold it together, but I knew Joel could see the exhaustion in me, the weight of it. I was breaking, just like he was.

“I need you, y/n.” The words burst out of him before he could stop them. His voice broke, raw and desperate, like something inside him had cracked. “We’ve already lost everything. I can’t lose you, too.”

My eyes filled with tears, but I blinked them away, trying to stay strong. I reached for him then, my hands trembling as I touched his face—gently, like I was afraid to shatter him, afraid to shatter myself.

“You already have,” I whispered, the words so quiet he almost didn’t hear them.

Joel’s chest tightened, and his mind couldn’t process what she was saying. His breath came in shallow gasps.

“No,” he said, shaking his head violently, as if he could fight the reality away. “I can’t do this again. I can’t lose you.” His eyes burned with unshed tears, and his voice came out hoarse, ragged. “Not after Sarah.”

The mention of Sarah felt like a punch to the gut. It always did. Every time.

I flinched, the ghost of Sarah’s name hanging between us. He knew it was unfair to say her name, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was the only comparison he had left. The only thing that explained the magnitude of what was happening to them.

The loss was too big.

I shook my head, a slight smile breaking through my tear-streaked face, but it was bitter and broken. “I know. I know.” My voice cracked again, and I dropped my hand from his face, letting it fall to my side. “But I can’t keep pretending that this isn’t how it ends for us, Joel. We knew this could happen. We knew.”

Joel’s whole body trembled. “No. We’ve made it this far. We’ve survived the worst, y/n. Please.”

I backed away from him then, taking a hesitant step back, like I was afraid that if I stayed too close, the weight of it all would crush us both.

“Joel,” I said quietly, the pain in my voice more than he could stand. “You are—. You’re the only thing left, the only thing I have.” My voice faltered. “But this… I’m not gonna make it, and I can’t ask you to watch me change.”

Her words struck him like a blow. His heart felt like it was being torn out of his chest. He reached for me again, but I stepped further away.

“I won’t let you do that,” he pleaded, his voice breaking as he reached for me one more time. “I won’t let you turn. We’ll find a way. There’s always a way.”

But I looked at him then, my eyes full of love and something else—something darker, like I knew the truth even though neither of us wanted to say it.

“I’m already gone, Joel,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “There’s nothing left to save.”

The words shattered him.

I wasn’t talking about the infection, not really. I was talking about the part of me that had fought for so long, the part of me that had fought with him, for him, after everything they had lost. I was talking about the end of something we’d both held onto for so long—an end we had both feared, but never truly acknowledged until now.

And in that moment, as the world seemed to press in on them, Joel understood. The pain in his chest, the ache of losing someone again, was a familiar feeling—a feeling he had buried so deep after Sarah. But it had come back. And it was here to stay.

I had always been a fighter. We both had. But this? This was something neither of us could fight. Not anymore.

Joel stepped forward again, slowly this time, his heart pounding in his chest, but when I didn’t pull away, he reached out for me, cupping my face in his hands. I closed my eyes, and a tear slipped down my cheek.

He kissed me then—slow, desperate, as if trying to burn me into his soul, trying to make this last moment stretch into infinity. I kissed him back, my hands gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

When we pulled apart, I rested my forehead against his, breathing raggedly, our faces close enough to feel each other’s tears.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words choking him. He couldn’t say it enough, not while there was still time.

“I love you so much,” I murmured, my voice soft and fragile. “But I’m not the one you need to save, Joel. Not anymore.”

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, as we both understood what was coming. What we had left was each other—and that wasn’t enough to stop what was inevitable.

I pulled away then, not to escape, but because I knew I had to.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, the words a whisper in the cold evening air.

Joel could barely breathe, his heart shattering in his chest as he watched me turn away from him, each step breaking him just a little more.

And as she walked into the darkness, leaving him behind, all he could do was stand there, watching, knowing this would be the last time he would ever see her—his y/n.

[vanillarosekiss]

Hi lovie! May i request something? Can you write angst to comfort with simon or john? Love me some ex to lover or just like another chance romance where the boys are grovelling teehee

Of course I can, angel!♡ I hope you like this, I'm so sorry that it's late. I really wanted to make it more angsty at the beginning and sweet at the end so enjoy.

What Remains ₊˚⊹♡

Warnings: angsty, simon being a bit of a prick tbh, fluff at the end.

The dreaded knock came late—sharp and deliberate, breaking the silence of your small apartment. You weren’t expecting anyone at this time, but the minute you opened the door and saw him standing there, everything froze.

Simon.

He looked the same, but so different. The mask was gone, but his darkening aura stayed the same. He didn’t say anything; he stared at you like he wasn’t sure you’d let him speak.

“What do you want?” you said, voice harsher than you expected.

“I came to talk,” he muttered, his voice low, almost hesitant, “To apologise.”

You let out a harsh laugh and crossed your arms.

“Talk? Now? After you walked out of my life without a word? Months, Simon. Months. And now you want to talk?”

“I know,” he said quickly, his tone defensive, as if bracing for impact.

“I know I fucked up.”

“Fucked up?” You stepped back, gesturing wildly, “No, Simon. You didn’t just ‘fuck up.’ You destroyed me. Do you even get that?”

He winced, his lips pressing into a hard line. “I left to keep you safe. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” you snapped. “You always have a choice. You just didn’t want to deal with me, so you made the easiest one. Don’t pretend you did it for me.”

His head snapped up at that, and for the first time, you saw something crack in him.

“You think it was easy? Leaving you? That it didn’t tear me apart every time i thought about it?”

“Sure looked easy from where I was standing,” you fired back. You knew it wasn’t like that, but you had lost it with him now.

“I was trying to protect you,” he said, voice harder now, colder. It was like he went back to who he was in the field, merciless and cruel.

“Do you have any idea the kind of shit that follows me? The kind of danger I drag around? I left because I didn’t want you caught in the crossfire. You know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you.”

“Protect me?” You let out a bitter laugh. “That’s rich, Simon. Did you ever stop to think about how it felt on my end? Not knowing if you were dead, alive, or just done with me? You didn’t protect me. You abandoned me.”

That word hit him like a slap. His jaw clenched, and something in his expression shifted, turning darker. “You think I wanted to do that? That it didn’t fucking kill me to walk away? I was trying to do the right thing.”

“Yeah, well, you failed,” you shot back. “Congratulations. All you did was prove I meant nothing to you.”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You think you meant nothing? Christ, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I thought about you every fucking day. Do you know how many times I wanted to pick up the phone? To come back? But I couldn’t.”

“Why? Why couldn’t you?” you demanded, your voice breaking. You didn’t want to get emotional with him but you couldn’t help it.

“What stopped you? What could possibly be worse than what you did to me?”

Simon’s voice dropped, “Because I was scared, alright? Scared I’d lose you for good. Scared you’d get hurt because of me.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words hitting you like a tidal wave. For a small moment, neither of you said anything, just stood there in the wreckage of everything unsaid.

“You broke me, Simon. You left me with nothing. And now you just show up, expecting me to forgive you?”

“I don’t expect your forgiveness,” he said, his tone softer now, the fight draining out of him. “I just… I couldn’t stay away anymore. I had to try. Even if you want to slam the door in my face, I’ll take it, but I needed you to know I’m sorry. For all of it.”

You felt your resolve cracking, the anger giving way to something else—something just as painful.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” you whispered. “You don’t get to come back like this and try to undo everything I’ve been through.”

“I know,” he said gently. “But I can’t let you go without a fight. Just because I left doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore.”

Your arms hung limp at your sides, the weight of his words crushing you. You couldn’t tell if you were angry at him or just upset.

“I know I’ve been a prick, baby, trust me I know. And I hate myself for ever doing this to you. I wasn’t thinking properly. Fuck, I just- ”. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

He looked… lost? Like he didn’t know how to fix this, and it tugged at something deep inside you, even through the anger.

“Simon,” you said quietly, your voice softer now.

His hand dropped, and he looked at you, the raw emotion in his eyes catching you off guard. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you if you let me,” he whispered. “I just want you back. Please.”

The sincerity in his voice broke you, and you couldn’t even get a moment to second-guess yourself.

“One chance, Simon. That’s all you’re getting.”

Guys i fear this is one of the best things i’ve written (my favourite). And it’s actually proof-read because i could be asked to get the grammar correct!! So proud. Thank you anon for this lovely, lovely request `౨ৎ~

Tag list: @soapisgod @slut-lmao @sebastianstans-slut @ilikeoldmen @g1rlfa1lure0 @queenoflaflames @tmartin0918 @kkloubee @goldie-221 @patricksoulmate @writingandsins @mxnee777 @caro-line19  @decaffeinateddelusionbread @poohkie90 @senoritaleeda @xoxoxoaspen @i-ship-stony-and-superfamily @simonrileysdarling @angelica456

Please lmk if you’d like to be removed or added to the tag list, I won’t take any offence!

[morningsharksworld]

Imagine Hazard being slightly jealous that Reader, who he's been flirting with for a while. Was ogling someone who was flexing and decided to flex real quick to get their attention back.

(I need to see this man flex look at hiimmm)

Show Off

A/N: Thank you anon for making me go insane in the middle of this and still manage to write him a bit flustered because I couldn’t help myself, I hope you enjoy this one as much as I did :’]

Summary: a battle of peacocks what more is there to say?

The tavern buzzed with its usual noise: off-key singing from the corner, the clinking of mugs, and hearty laughter. You were perched at the bar beside Hazard, who had been in his usual form—leaning lazily on the counter, tossing out his sharp wit and charm as if it were currency.

It was easy to fall into his rhythm, though tonight your attention had slipped. Across the room, someone had started flexing, their biceps bulging as they posed for a small, admiring crowd. It wasn’t often you saw such blatant peacocking, and the display had caught your eye for a moment too long.

Hazard noticed. Of course, he did.

His golden eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a thick mutter. “Ach, really now? That’s what’s got yer attention? Some overgrown lump flexin’ like he’s auditionin’ for a bloody statue garden?”

You blinked and turned to him, caught off guard by the irritation in his tone. “What?”

He gave you a look, tilting his head toward the flexing stranger. “Cannae believe it. I’ve been sittin’ here spinnin’ gold fer ye, an’ yer too busy starin’ at that. Ye’d think I was invisible.”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “Wait—are you jealous?”

The word hit him like a thunderbolt. His smug grin faltered, his cheeks flushing a faint but unmistakable red. He straightened up immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. “Jealous? Me? Dinnae be ridiculous sweetheart.”

“Oh, you’re jealous” you teased, leaning closer to him with a sly grin. “You saw me looking at someone else, and now you’re sulking.”

“I am no’sulking!” he shot back, though the red creeping up to the tips of his ears betrayed him. He turned his head away, muttering something about “daft ideas” under his breath.

“Hazard” you said sweetly, drawing his attention back. “If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask.”

He stared at you, his mouth opening as if to fire back a retort—but no words came. Instead, he blinked, his flustered expression only deepening. “I don’t—ye cannae just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. “Yer impossible, ye ken that?”

“And yet here you are, proving my point more” you teased, leaning back with a satisfied smirk.

Hazard scowled, though there was no real heat behind it. “Fine, then” he said, his voice tinged with stubborn pride. “If ye think yon flexin’ fool’s impressive, I’ll remind ye why ye should keep yer eyes right where they belong.”

“Oh, this should be good” you replied, unable to suppress your grin.

He stood up, rolling his shoulders with exaggerated nonchalance as he shed his jacket, letting it fall onto the back of the chair. His shirt clung just right, emphasizing the lean strength of his frame as he stretched. When he reached up to run a hand through his hair, his muscles flexed just a little more than necessary.

“Ach, been a while since I’ve had tae bother showin’ off” he drawled, shooting you a sidelong glance. “Still reckon I’ve got more tae offer than yon poser.”

“Hazard” you said, barely holding back laughter. “Are you seriously flexing to prove a point?”

He froze for a fraction of a second, then turned to you with his trademark grin, though the flush on his face hadn’t faded. “What? Dinnae act like ye’re no’ impressed, lass. I’ve seen the way yer eyes wander when I stretch.”

You arched an eyebrow, lips twitching. “So you have been paying attention, huh? Almost like you were… jealous?”

His bravado cracked for just a moment, his golden eyes flicking away as he mumbled, “I wasnae jealous. Just—ye know—remindin’ ye where yer loyalty should lie.”

“Hazard” you said softly, leaning in close enough that your voice dropped to a near whisper. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

That did it. His entire face went red as he took a half-step back, coughing into his fist to mask his embarrassment. “Aye, well… don’t get used tae it” he muttered, glaring at the floor.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound finally breaking the tension. “Alright, alright” you said, resting a hand on his arm. “I’ll stop teasing… for now.”

“Good” he replied gruffly, though he refused to meet your eyes.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the noise of the tavern filling the space. Then Hazard glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his grin slowly returning. “Adorable, am I? Sweetheart, ye’ve got no idea what ye’re in for.”

“Oh?” you replied, your own smile widening. “Care to prove it?”

His golden eyes gleamed as he stood straighter, his confidence slipping back into place like a second skin. “Aye” he said, offering you his hand. “Let’s take this outside. Ye’ll nae be lookin’ at anyone else after this.”

And just like that, Hazard was back in control—at least, as much as you were willing to let him be.

[asarigg]

Inside the Character's Mind: Part 1

mentions of physical, psychological and sexual abuse towards both Koujaku and his mother

SELF DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR

Let’s go back to the beginning. Or rather, what Koujaku tells us. He also talks about himself, of course, but usually when he talks about his past, most of the time he talks about his mother: because that’s what hurts him the most. He barely mentions the abuse towards him other than the tattoo and that one time his father punched him. But he always talks about all the hardships that his family put his mother through. And I’m sure you’ll agree with me that it is hard to believe that was it.

Koujaku’s father has proven to be an extremely violent piece of shit and a zero-empathetic person. I don’t doubt that Koujaku’s mother, because of her nature, was his favorite toy. What’s more, he did every cruel thing he could think of to her, his wife too, she had fresh wounds every day and she couldn’t even eat, and although it isn’t said nor implied I wouldn’t be surprised if Koujaku was a product of rape. I mean… most likely. We hardly know anything about his mother, not her appearance, not her name, not what she liked, not how the hell she ended up in that place, if there was any love involved in it or if it was something about debt, we only know that she was the perfect victim.

She was always saying sorry to her son, for everything Koujaku’s been witnessing, she feels guilty and responsible because he tries to stand up for her, and because she has brought him to a world where the one that decides for them is a criminal. She keeps a deep pain inside for everything that’s happening and she tries to hide it, especially from Koujaku, and seeing her son suffer doesn’t help. Smiling to him so he doesn’t worry, and saying sorry to try to comfort him. That’s why the last thing she repeats over and over to her son when she’s lethally wounded is “I’m sorry”, feeling sorry that it’s because of her that he has lived like this, because she wasn’t able to protect him, to give him a proper life.

Obviously all his father did was also psychological abuse towards Koujaku, even blackmailing him with hurting his mother. But I sincerely believe that his father would use physical abuse to teach the boy a lesson, nothing could stop him anyway, because Koujaku as a child complained and rebelled, he didn’t care if his father hit him, he would defend his mother regardless. This is why I sometimes give Koujaku more scars to his body, and besides defensive cuts I also give him cigarette burn marks. Lore expansion better known as adding trauma.

I think he just doesn’t talk about it that much because the abuse towards him isn’t what has hurt him the most. We ourselves often don’t give it much importance if someone tries to insult us, but maybe if it’s someone close to us, that does piss us off, some logic like that. Moreover, throughout the game Koujaku’s personality is just like that, always worrying about others and giving little importance to himself, to the point of being tremendously negative for him.

Don’t you think those scars would make him look more masculine, intimidating, as if he’s survived dozens of dangerous, tough fights? It seems the perfect image for an environment like organized crime.

Despite all of Koujaku’s feminine traits, the perception of him both in canon and in fandom (usually) is that of a stereotypically masculine, super straight man who fucks a different woman every night, always joking with “no homo, bro” (which, mind you, I’m not saying I don’t like these jokes, I make them myself too). But in reality that couldn't be further from the truth.

With that image that we have of him, sometimes it would seem that he is someone with prejudices or that he really had a hard time accepting that he’s not straight, specially when in the scene where he confesses to Aoba he says the following:

The reasons he tries to hide his feelings is a mix between the fact that they are friends and he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship they already have, that he wants to hide his past and that he doesn’t want to be a burden on Aoba, so he keeps all those things to himself. (And he’s also been educated a certain way and has always seen things one way, never gave it much thought so when it crosses his mind, of course he’s confused)

When he first met Aoba he thought he was a girl because he had really long hair, and after all, when we’re kids we don’t have very developed features anyway, it’s a pretty androgynous state. When Aoba corrects him and tells him he’s a boy his behavior is exactly the same, nothing changes. He corrects himself and never treats him as a girl.

He is someone who has no problem showing his affection for Aoba, neither in private nor in public, he’s very comfortable with his bisexuality, the only one who is reluctant to do so, either out of shame or fear, is Aoba.

What I’m trying to get at with all this is that all that “gentleman” facade and the “always accepting women who want to have something with him” that makes him look so stereotypical in a first impression has a much darker origin, although underneath all that there’s a much more sentimental, vulnerable and open Koujaku about his true feelings, expressing them even if he feels embarrassed, as we see on some occasions (touching his hair nervously when he confesses, of when he explains why Aoba's hair is so important to him).

The relationship he has with his mother is the most direct connection, or course. Being the son of an abused woman has made him hyper-aware of his position as a man (so much that sexism in this game almost goes full circle like the Bourbon family tree, but this is NC’s problem and it happens everywhere, it’s so obvious it’s a writers problem and it’s a shame it affects Koujaku so much because he’s basically the only one who isn’t scared of a bad bitch). We’ll talk about this in particular some more later, but let’s focus on what concerns his father for now.

Being the family of criminals that they are, abusers and… almost slavers, the most logical thing to assume is that they are specially conservative. It could very well be that his father, once he decided to make him his heir, wanted the image of his kid to be as intimidating and masculine as possible. A criminal, a murderer who could run his business in a world like this.

We know that the tattoo is an experiment by Toue, and it wouldn’t be strange if his father knew what was behind it, because after all it would also be beneficial for him to have a way to control him, to mold him to his liking and to make him obedient, unlike he had been behaving, refusing to be his heir and trying to defend his mother. The image of an effeminate, soft, sissy man was not exactly ideal for the future leader. For me, Koujaku’s father either already intended to name him heir before agreeing to the tattoo being an experiment with Toue and Ryuuhou, or he ended up deciding to name him the heir precisely because they had already talked about the tattoo and its possibilities beforehand.

His father would want to break him, drive him to despair so that he would stop resisting, take away his will and, although this is mostly headcanon, “make him a man”. Be a man, be strong, tenacious, learn to fight and find a woman to continue the family with, etc. So it is not surprising that at first he didn’t even reconsider his sexuality and thought that the affection he had for Aoba was just friendship, which over time, with such strong feelings, he realized was not the case. I sincerely love that he is shown to be so nervous and that he confesses to be kinda confused about it and in a state of denial, without having any external reference and too busy hating his father and Ryuuhou to even think about it, it’s normal that it took him so long.

He was trained to be a gangster, while his father insulted him, hit him and threatened him using his mother, on whom he took it out. This training also implies not only fighting but also for doing business, how to talk to be well-received, how to negotiate, how to give the best impression of himself at any given situation. This pack of skills seem to resonate with those that he uses to flirt and run his own business, even if he does it on an unconscious level, he just knows what to say to strike the person he’s talking to in their weak spots. His father’s physical treatment would not only be a punishment, but also to teach him a lesson, to learn to endure the pain, just like he endured the pain of the tattoo. If he cried, it would be shameful, he would be punished. He had to hide his pain, his feelings, his thoughts, for the sake of his mother’s safety and his own. Practically becoming a puppet, thus evolving into the life he carries in Midorijima as an adult.

Him not wanting to open up to Aoba wouldn’t be just an “oh he’s going to hate me”. It’s also what he learned would be the best, having a charismatic appearance that everyone likes. After all wouldn’t it be logical to not want any confrontation with anyone after all that? A tough guy, with people around him who admire him, who never gets tired or cries, because nothing’s wrong. In a way it’s also a shield, a protection, a defense mechanism. To be a man.

Now, the way he behaves that almost everyone without exception associates with his mother. And this, for sure, is the intention, his desire to protect his mother and therefore take care of the women he meets. But it’s also him actively wanting to be the opposite of his father.

What kind of relationship does he have with women? The contact he has with them is mostly through all his female fans, who are crazy to say the least. We’re not going to get much into the subject of sexism but first of all it’s a huge mistake that his fans are only young women or the way they make them all act.

Koujaku spends all his time building a character that he considers perfect, someone gentle, who never says no to a woman and is always available to entertain them, it would never occur to him to deny anything to any of them, as his mother was denied so many things. Unlike that hard and tenacious masculinity that he was taught to have in order to take on his role as the heir or the bestiality of his tattoo, he presents a gentle and chivalrous masculinity on the outside. What he does is pamper them and give them everything they ask for (almost, because has never really had serious relationships. Which makes sense because he would be telling them pretty big lies, right? That wouldn’t fit with his own code). He doesn’t think very highly of himself, he has a low self-esteem as he thinks he is nothing better than a worthless monster that should have probably died a long time ago.

Sometimes people who are abused go through abuse again, in a cycle. I think saying that Koujaku is a playboy is incorrect. (He acts flirty and likes playing around, sure, but there’s something deeper). That perception of him is natural, of course, because the way he behaves and how he is presented to you, is the image they want to give of him after all, in a basic and cliche way, so artificial that it is unsettling. I could believe that it sounds artificial on purpose, referring to that shell of how a confident and strong man should talk, if it weren’t for the fact that they do this kind of cliche and artificial situations quite often with other characters as well, and it makes it kinda hard to remain immersed. I honestly think that the foreshadowing could have been done a little better, but it still serves the narrative. Also this is practically almost all you see of his character the two first interactions he has with Aoba. Considering the structure of the game and how rushed everything is, it’s not very positive, but for the sake of your mental health it's better not to think too much about it.

In short, Koujaku is a very accommodating and attentive person. He listens and encourages others with their problems but doesn’t let anyone worry about him with his own, taking on everything himself. He even ironically tells Aoba that if he’s worried about what happened with Mizuki, he can blame him, and that he can always count on him to tell him anything. It’s a very lonely way to live, even though he has so many people around him.

Knowing this, it’s more than reasonable to think that more than him flirting with women, it’s simply him agreeing to give what those women ask of him. They come looking for something and he gives it to them. He’s a toy. It’s often joked that he’s practically a prostitute, and pretty much that’s what it is. And it’s in the balcony scene where we see a more personal side of him, where we can observe that in reality all this burden tires him, it’s not natural. It’s not like his character isn’t extroverted and charismatic, but that’s not everything, and in public he doesn’t allow himself to be “less”, so in private and in confidence is when he can afford to relax, with Aoba or in his own house.

Somehow, even though he is no longer with his family, the way he interacts with other people, or how he lets himself be used, be it consciously or not, even if there is a different intention behind, is not that different from before, people still use him.

ERHM... SOMETHING

I’ve sometimes wondered if there was some sort of sexual abuse on Ryuuhou’s part towards Koujaku. Nothing is implied canonically, at least physically, but the erotic connotations of the story of the tattoo artist he’s based on, the sadism, and his constant references to love make me think of it happening on a symbolic level.

I think it’s obvious that Ryuuhou loves Koujaku, in his own way, as his creation, and he’s referencing love at first sight and Koujaku’s abuse of Aoba. In a metaphorical way that abuse certainly happened, ever since he was tattooed, his body did not belong to him anymore. There are people who can’t stand the idea of having sex, and others who often seek it out to ease the pain. Ryuuhou made sure to mark his body and mind so that he could never forget him. His tattoos are his shame, his filth and sin. When Aoba touches his tattoos Koujaku practically jumps at contact.

[tenthousandyearsx]

...suddenly a breaking news ticker appeared. [Seseong Guild Leader Sung Hyunjae, Wedding Scheduled for January 1st.] …Huh? I blinked. What? What? Gyeol and I both gaped. It was time, I guess. He was planning to get married before he turned forty. Since next year would be the last year of his thirties, I could understand. No matter how you look at it, thirties and forties feel different, right? Yeah, better do it before it’s too late. It’s sudden, but I can understand. Wait a minute, though—he didn’t get married before the regression, did he? And who is he marrying? Wasn't he dating no one? The first of January wasn’t far off, so why rush into a wedding as if frying beans in a flash of lightning? Is he showing his skill attributes by getting married suddenly? – Ah, ah. Gyeol, who was about to call out to me, closed his mouth again. As expected, Sanchez, who had been staring at the TV in shock, spoke to us. [...] At Sanchez's words, Gyeol tugged on my shoulder and shouted. – Dad, is that real?! “Well, I don’t know. I never saw any signs of dating. Did they fall for each other during a party or something?” Could that be it? But with who? No matter how hard I thought, I couldn’t think of anyone who might have been in a relationship with Sung Hyunjae. After all, that guy wasn’t the type to take an interest in anyone... It wouldn’t be Chief Song, would it? Surely not. But then again, who else could it be but Chief Song? What is this? Could this only happen in America? Both are Korean, so they’d have to follow Korean law. Could they have gotten U.S. citizenship in just five days? For an S-class hunter, dual citizenship would be easy to obtain. ...So where should I send my congratulatory gift? Sung Hyunjae is rich, so should I send it to Chief Song? No, wait, there’s no way those two are getting married! I don’t know about Sung Hyunjae, but there’s no way Chief Song would go along with that! – Dad, dad, are you okay? “Uh, yeah. But seriously, who’s bold enough to... Did they fall for his face? You shouldn’t marry someone just for their looks. Though, he is quite wealthy.” Marriage, huh? I wonder if Sung Hyunjae’s wedding will have a buffet. Who will sit at the family seats? I’ve never heard anything about the Seseong Guild Leader’s parents. But since we’re somewhat close, should I offer to MC the wedding? Usually, it’s a friend of the groom who does it. But I can’t have Chief Song do it. [It has not yet been confirmed, but they are said to be an S-class awakened.] The announcer's voice echoed from the TV. What? S-class? No way, it can’t really be Chief Song, can it?! [The individual was spotted to be a woman in her twenties, but nothing is confirmed–] “Do you have no conscience?!” Even if she’s in her late twenties, that’s a ten-year age gap! No way, I can’t MC this wedding. If by any chance it turns out to be a young woman in her early twenties, I’ll ruin this wedding myself for the sake of business honor. After that, the TV didn’t offer any more useful information. S-class hunters even make breaking news with things like this, huh? Well, if they marry a foreigner and move to another country, it would become a national issue. I looked at Sanchez with desperate eyes. “Aren’t you curious about what’s going on? I happen to have the direct number of the Seseong Guild Leader, so just one call–let me make one call!” [...] However, Sanchez shook his head firmly and told me to wait here before stepping outside again. [...]

“Sung Hyunjae-ssi, if this marriage that was announced today is something you wanted, please strike me with lightning right now.” Three seconds. 3, 2, 1. No lightning. Guess I can go ahead and stop this. [...]

“What the hell is Sung Hyunjae up to? Is he really too busy to send a single message?” I opened the messaging app. [America’s Hero^^] I saw my last message to Sung Hyunjae, where I had cursed at him. It was nonsense after he had complimented my outfit, saying it looked good on me. “…I guess we’ve sort of become friends, huh.” So I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know. [If you don’t send a wedding invitation by today, I’m coming for you.] [...] Come to think of it, how many times has this happened now? His birthday party invite, he ghosted me without replying, then I barged in and blew up his house. The cruise was wrecked, and the hotel wasn’t spared either. So Sung Hyunjae must have intentionally not sent the invitation, knowing I'd ruin the wedding venue. Was that the signal he was sending, that he wanted me to destroy it? [...] “Yerim-ie, I guess we’ll have to attend the wedding too.”

– The S Classes that I Raised – Chapter 603: Wedding Season

[bean-there-before]

I don’t know how to explain it (wait real quick imagine this like I’m saying it while we’re laying on grass looking up at clouds)

I don’t know how to explain it but I don’t think I want to be friends with any real life Smosh or dimension 20 or starkid or life series fans

Like I have people on here that I can freak out about something with and I don’t know how to casually say “I like Smosh” without diving headfirst into everything I love about it and all the ships and all my favorite duos

likewise if someone told me they had watched tmwdlm idk how I wouldn’t be able to start ranting about the music coming back and the plots and the lords in black and I’d definitely spoil every other hatchetfeild musical

also, if someone said “I like dropout but especially dimension 20” how would one normally talk about it without jumping into everything single character and how good this is and every single campaign I’ve seen and how i don’t have the time or attention span to watch all the ones I want to and I want them directly transferred via iv into my bloodstream

or like (this one actually happened) I had my friend name all the people in the life series based on their skins and she did then I couldn’t stop myself from jumping straight into the lore and explaining a bunch of relationships and why this happened and why this and who won this

you know? Like how do you be normal around people who are like… normal about a thing

edit for clarification: less like I’m scared about not being normal and more like a healthy work life balance they don’t all need to know the amount of time I allocate to these things

[cheynovak]

Perfect Aim - pt 1/2

Russell x Y/N f/character and co worker

Summary: Russell and Y/N are send out on a mission, she can't stand him until she gets hurt and he takes care of her.

Warnings: 18+! MDNI! - Spice/smut, blood, guns, shooting, ...

English isn't my first language

Please do not copy my work. Likes/Comments/Sharing are appreciated.

The hum of the engine filled the quiet space between us, an almost welcome respite from his incessant chatter. The man couldn’t shut up if his life depended on it.

Russel Shaw. Perfect record Shaw. Smooth-talking Shaw. And if that wasn’t annoying enough, it was clear he charmed his way through life, likely leaving broken hearts and dirty laundry behind for someone else to pick up. Probably his mother.

I folded my arms tightly across my chest, staring out of the window of his chevy to ignore his running commentary. Every word he said was like nails on a chalkboard, and the heat radiating from his cocky smirk wasn’t helping. His reflection caught my side-eye in the window, and he laughed.

“Damn, you remind me of my little brother, Colter.” His tone was teasing, but the casual dig at my mood set my teeth on edge.

I turned to glare at him, narrowing my eyes. He loved that. Of course, he did.

“Oh yeah, sweetheart, just like that. I like my women feisty.” His grin widened like he was daring me to respond.

“Like you could even handle me,” I muttered, more for myself than him.

“I bet I can,” he replied smoothly, looking me up and down as if he had the right. “What do you say, shall I remove you from those uncomfortable pants once this mission is complete?”

“Perv,” I shot back under my breath, refusing to give him the satisfaction of anything more. The rest of the ride was silent, just how I liked it.

***

The job was straightforward on paper: grab the intel, avoid bloodshed, and get out clean, no killing! And it had gone that way—at least until the alarm screamed its betrayal into the silent halls.

“Run!” he yelled over the chaos.

Adrenaline and pure spite for the man fueled me as we sprinted through the labyrinth of corridors, but it wasn’t enough when I felt the sharp sting in my leg and hit the ground.

My hand reached just above my knee, seeing how the blood started to collor my pants darker. "Fuck!" I yell at the pain. I looked up see Russel coming back.

"Stay down!" he yelled aiming his gun.

The sound of his gun firing shocked me, for a second forgetting about the pain.

"Come on, I got you." he said and before I knew it, he was hauling me up and dragging me to safety. His arm draped around my side while the other held my arm around his broad shoulders.

"Can you walk?" he asked while I looked back over our shoulders to the men lying dead in the hallway. "uhu" I answered agreeing.

***

The ride to the motel was tense, silence heavy except for my ragged breaths. He looked back to where I was sitting in the back. "Keep pressure on that leg!" he ordered.

In other circumstances I'd bit back, knowing how I'm no child and cab take care of myself. But this time I'd be wise and shut my mouth.

***

Russel drops me onto his motel bed before retrieving something out of his car. Something that looks like an home made ER kit.

His hands were steady, no-nonsense, as he stripped off my boots and tore my pants to clean the wound.

“This might hurt a little, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice softer, concerned even. " Are you sure you won't go to a doctor?"

“Been through worse,” I bit back, hiding the way my stomach turned at the pain of him searching for the bullet. My hand clenching the sheets trying to hold my leg still.

***

Once my leg was closed up, stitched and clean he moved me to my bed, visibly relieved.

He handed me a glass of bourbon, sinking into the chair across from the bed. “Reckon you deserve it,” he said quietly.

I drank without answering, the weight of the day settling heavily. Unable to hold the tensed silence. A joke slipped out before I could stop it. “Well, at least you got me out of my pants tonight.”

I felt his eyes scan my bare legs, maybe even a little too long. I've never been self cautious, but his glare made me want to cover up my silk black panties.

But them I heard his laughter, rich and full, echoed around the small room as he leaned back. “Touché,” he replied, shaking his head as though I were an enigma he couldn’t quite solve.

It was too quiet then, the kind of quiet where you could hear truths trying to fight their way to the surface. “Hey, Russel,” I broke the silence, my voice softer. “Why did you shoot to kill?”

“Who said I did?” His answer was quick, his tone flippant.

“Come on. Your aim’s too good to shoot two men dead on accident. And that's a compliment, it's taste horrible on my tongue so take it."

His hand tightened around his glass, his knuckles whitening. “I know it was supposed to be a no-kill mission." he admitted after a pause, looking anywhere but at me.

"But seeing you hurt… it triggered something. I—” His voice wavered, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of smugness. “I admire you, Y/N. Always have.”

He smirks looking at his glass again. "I eh, I asked for a very long time to team us up. Finally they agreed and look at you."

The weight of his words hit like a blow. Admire sounded too much like *more than admire,* but I ignored it, brushing off the warmth pooling low in my stomach.

"It's not your fault." I whisper. "The killing is." he looked me in the eye. I saw disappointment, hurt, flicker briefly across his face.

He moved to stand and poured another glass.

“Hey, Russ, can you help me? I nodded towards the bathroom. He moved on his feet before I even finished the sentence.

As he bent to help me up, I tugged him closer by the back of his neck, crushing my lips to his before I could think better of it. He froze for the briefest moment before relaxing into the kiss, returning it with unguarded intensity.

"Thank you." I murmured against his lips.

When I finally pulled him down onto the bed with me, he braced his hands on either side of my body, staring down like he wasn’t sure this was real. “Don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough, his eyes darker.

“You won’t,” I answered, my voice steady despite the heat flooding my veins. "Shaw,” I teased, voice low, “I reckon you deserve this.”

Russel smiled into the kiss, a quiet chuckle rumbling from his chest as his body pressed carefully against mine. His movements were deliberate, slow but confident, as if savoring every moment.

Hiis calloused hand trailed down my side, his touch igniting something inside me that I hadn’t anticipated. When his lips began to explore the curve of my neck, I couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped my lips.

His kisses became more insistent, wandering lower, as his hands skillfully removed the barriers between us—clothing discarded with a confidence that betrayed his experience.

But none of it felt rushed. It felt... intentional. My fingers tangled in his hair, soft and surprisingly silky, scratching lightly along his shoulders. The groan he released sent a shiver through me.

I couldn’t hide my reaction, my heart stuttering in a way I wasn’t used to, not with him. His fingers toyed with the waistband of my remaining clothing, waiting. I bit my lower lip, a silent permission that his sharp eyes immediately caught.

Without a word, he tugged them off, his gaze flicking up to meet mine, ensuring I was still with him.

When I nodded, his lips curved into a rare, genuine smile, the kind that wasn’t steeped in bravado. Then he surprised me—he kissed down my stomach, his movements unhurried and intentional.

This wasn’t what I expected from Russel Shaw.

I always pictured him as arrogant, quick to take, sing a woman for a quick blow leaving in the morning kind of guy, but everything about him now was... giving. Thoughtful.

He moved with purpose, pressing kisses to my skin like he wanted to map every inch of me. And when his head dipped lower and I felt the first deliberate stroke of his tongue, my back arched off the bed.

My mind blurred, my fingers clenching in his hair as sensation overwhelmed me. It wasn’t just what he did—it was how he did it. He took his time, responding to every sound and movement I made, adjusting with a precision I hadn’t thought possible from someone like him.

The low hum of appreciation he released vibrated through me, as though he was savoring me as much as I was unraveling under his touch.

“Russ,” I gasped, unsure if it was a plea or an acknowledgment of the man completely undoing me.

Painkillers had worked well. The throbbing ache in my leg? A distant memory. All that remained was him, his mouth, his touch—completely consuming every shred of thought.

The moment felt endless and too fleeting all at once, his actions so perfectly attuned it left me breathless, every nerve alight. It was intimate in a way I hadn’t thought possible with Russel, leaving me to wonder if I ever truly knew the man at all.

The intensity of Russel's focus was unlike anything I’d ever felt. His fingers teased along my sensitive flesh, their movements deliberate and methodical, sending shockwaves through my body.

The first finger entered, curling and pumping with precision that made my breath hitch, my back arching off the bed. When a second finger joined, then a third, it was too much. The pressure built until I was screaming his name, tugging hard on his hair as my world went white.

His free hand moved to cup my breast, fingers pinching and rolling, heightening every sensation, while his lips and tongue continued their meticulous work. I felt completely undone, laid bare in a way that was both terrifying and electrifying. His hand didn’t falter, carrying me through wave after wave until I was left trembling beneath him.

"You like that, huh? Yeah, I can tell. I can *feel* you," he emphasized the word, grinding slow and deep. “Your body’s so eager for me, so needy… Are going to come, sweetheart?”

I finally reached it and when I came down from the high, Russel climbed up my body, his expression soft but smoldering.

He positioned himself carefully between my legs, but the weight of him had my injured leg shifting. Pain shot through me, and I hissed, sucking in a breath.

“You don’t have to,” he said, his tone almost shy as if he wasn’t the same man who’d just pulled me apart moments ago.

“No,” I replied, shaking my head, “Don’t stop.” The need in my voice surprised me, but it was the truth.

Russel hesitated, his hand grazing my cheek, and I couldn’t help but laugh—bitterly amused at how this man could be such a gentleman when I was lying there, legs wide open for him.

"Say it,” he demanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated against my throat. "Tell me what you need from me. Tell me how bad you want me, Y/N."

“Just fuck me, Russel,” I snapped, desperate now.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smirking, his voice dropping an octave as he positioned himself.

The first thrust was gentle, almost too careful, as though I might break beneath him. But he still hit that spot with unerring precision, proving once again that Russel knew exactly how to aim.

Each movement after was soft but firm, his rhythm thoughtful, avoiding any aggravation to my injury but still managing to drive me insane. My hips bucked against him, urging him on, desperate for more.

“God,” I gasped as he tangled himself deeper into me, his hands everywhere—on my hips, gripping my shoulders, tracing down my sides. The sheer overwhelming intimacy made me squirm under him, needing him faster, harder.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he muttered against my ear, his voice rough and breathless. "That's it," he groaned as my hips rolled up to meet him.

"Taking me so perfectly. Fuck, Y/N, you were made for this—made for me." He bit down gently on the lobe of my ear, a quiet growl slipping past his lips.

“Russ,” I moaned, the sound half a plea, half surrender. His movements turned sharper, his breathing ragged, his restraint faltering as he gave me what I needed.

As Russel moved against me, each slow, precise thrust sending shockwaves through my body, his lips found my ear. His voice, rough with restraint, brushed against my skin as he murmured.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," he rasped, his breath warm and ragged. "You don't even know what you’re doing to me, do you? Been thinking about this… about you for years."

The depth in his tone sent a shiver straight through me, and my fingers dug into his back, urging him closer.

I let out a whimper in response, my head tilting back, exposing my throat to him. His lips trailed down, pressing against my pulse as his hips snapped just a little harder, dragging a gasp from me.

"Listen to you," he murmured against my skin. "Every noise you make is mine, sweetheart. You sound so fucking beautiful."

His hand slid to the back of my knee, carefully lifting my injured leg to wrap around his waist. He hissed at the change in angle, but his thrusts had me crying out, louder now.

He looked up at me, I could feel him retreat, on instinct I grab his neck and shoulders. Kissing his neck.

“I need you,” I admitted, the words falling unbidden as my back arched and I clutched at him. “I need all of you. I can… I can take a little pain, keep going .”

“That’s my girl,” he said, his voice tinged with smug satisfaction. His fingers gripped my hip tightly as he began thrusting harder, each movement driving deeper and making my body shudder.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he muttered, his tone raw with honesty as if the words had slipped out unguarded. “So tight, so wet. Just for me, huh? You know how crazy that makes me?” His voice cracked slightly, and I could feel his control starting to slip.

He dropped his head to my shoulder, kissing and biting down as his breath hitched. “You’re driving me insane, sweetheart. Can’t hold back much longer… You gonna come for me again? Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.?”

The dirty, guttural edge in his voice sent me spiraling. My nails dragged down his back as my body tensed, his name falling from my lips like a prayer. The words didn’t stop, his encouragement turning filthy as he coaxed me through the final push.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, feeling me clamp down around him. “Let go. Let me hear you scream my name, yeah? You feel so fucking good, Y/N. Come on baby girl, milk me.”

I fell apart beneath him, and his own release followed quickly, the sounds of his pleasure mingling with mine. Even as we tangled together, spent and breathless, his lips pressed soft words against my temple.

My body tightened around him, every nerve electrified, and as he ground into me one last time, stars burst behind my eyes. His groan, low and guttural, reached me as I felt him lose control, his body trembling as we came together.

For a moment, the room was silent except for our heavy breathing. Russel stayed above me, his arms trembling slightly from holding himself up. Finally, he collapsed onto the bed beside me, pulling me into his chest, careful of my leg.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmured against my hair, his voice warm and surprisingly soft.

“Yeah,” I replied, still catching my breath. “I guess… you weren’t just bragging when you said you could handle me.”

He chuckled, low and satisfied, brushing his fingers down my arm.

***

The buzzing of Russels phone on the night stand woke me.

The morning felt colder than it should have and still the memories of last night warmth my chest. I could still feel the ghost of Russel’s touch, the intimacy of last night lingering on my skin, but it clashed with an icy feeling gnawing at the back of my mind.

I hopped out of bed and walked to the bathroom. My leg ached as I cleaned the wound, trying to focus on something tangible—anything to drown out the vulnerable warmth still blooming in my chest.

When Russel walked in behind me, his presence was an instant shift in the air. I could feel him watching me as I dabbed at the stitches.

"I could have done that," he said, his voice still husky from sleep.

"I know, but you were sleeping," I snapped back, harsher than I intended. There was an edge of defense to it, and I immediately bit my tongue.

Russel frowned but said nothing, instead leaning forward to press a kiss to my temple. I froze.

He pulled back with a quiet sigh. "I guess we need to head back to HQ soon," he muttered before disappearing into the shower, leaving me standing there with my mind spinning.

"Yeah, I guess."

I clutched the counter, my reflection staring back at me with wide, confused eyes. The kiss—it wasn’t like him. Russel Shaw wasn’t gentle, wasn’t... soft. Was he? The warmth stirred in my chest again, and my heart fluttered against my better judgment.

Stop it. He’s Russel Shaw. He doesn’t do this. But he was soft last night. Only because you where hurt. Or wasn't that it?

Did he... made love to me?

I couldn’t help the thought that maybe,just maybe, I wasn’t just another notch on his bedpost. Maybe last night had meant something to him too.

He said he admired me... I tried to push the idea aside, determined to keep my head clear. But I felt like a love sick puppy.

Then I heard it again. The soft chime.

My gaze darted to where Russel’s phone rested on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with another message. The room was quiet except for the sound of the shower running, and I shouldn’t have looked. I knew better, but curiosity was a demanding thing.

I limped over, trying not to jostle my leg too much, and hesitated before tapping the screen. A preview of notifications slid into view.

**5 missed calls. 3 texts.**

My chest tighten.

Reenie:

*"I tried to call you."*

*"Don’t ignore me, Russ"*

*"Russel, come home."*

That last text hit me like a fist to the stomach.

Home.

The word clawed at my throat, choking me. Home meant someone waiting for him. Someone he had obligations to. A wife? A girlfriend?

I stumbled back, bile rising in my throat. The warmth from last night shattered into cold, piercing clarity. I felt like a fool—a stupid, naive fool. The intimacy, the softness, the connection I thought we had... all of it felt like a cruel joke.

He had someone else. Someone he was going back to while I was daydreaming about something more, while now left with nothing but guilt and regret.

My chest tightened painfully as humiliation crashed over me. I had fallen for his charm, let myself be vulnerable. And now, I was a mistake he’d leave behind while going back to his perfect life.

Tears blurred my vision as I grabbed my bag and threw it over my shoulder, my injured leg protesting with every movement. I needed to get out of here. Now. Before he could come out of that bathroom, flashing that perfect, crooked smile, and tell me another lie.

I yanked open the door and hobbled into the hallway, every step feeling heavier than the last. I barely noticed the stares as I boarded the first bus I could find, not even bothering to look at where it was heading.

All I knew was I had to escape—from him, from my feelings, from this mess. The tears spilled over as I slumped into a seat, clutching my bag like it was the only thing anchoring me to reality.

I felt stupid. Stupid for thinking I could be more to someone like Russel Shaw.

And worse, stupid for still hoping, deep down, that I was wrong.

--

taglist

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla

@thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss

@muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy

@livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11

[princessofgotham777]

Dating Jason Todd (Part Five)

fanfic type: angst, fluff, comfort (ongoing)

If you liked the Titans show but wish they handled Jason’s story line differently you might like this fic!

Hey so this is in fact my first time writing fanfiction (idk what my life has come to). Sorry if it’s cringy but also I would eat this up cause I LOVE some good angsty comfort fanfiction. I won’t write smut. I don’t think I’m gonna do requests but if you have any ideas feel free to let me know. Also of course I don’t own any DC characters this is purely fanfiction. Although I’ve had tumblr for a bit I’m not really used to posting stuff so sorry if I don’t format everything well. Thank you and I hope you enjoy. (I hope you like run-on sentences💀) (if you don’t like it don’t be rude just move on dude😃🧍‍♀️)

So story line, this doesn’t really take place in any specific universe but I’m gonna be pulling concepts from Titans, The Batman, Under the Red Hood, and whatever lore I remember from the CW shows cause I grew up watching those, then just my imagination of course. Reader is referred to as she/her btw.

Warnings: talking about death, suicide, depression, torture (it’s not graphic I hate gore it’s just sad), talking about intimacy (not graphic), struggling with eating, topics of grief

Part five: Dead?

You think you’re in shock. Maybe you’re so in shock you don’t even know you are. Dick said Barbra was going to deal with things back in Gotham so him, Kori and Rachel could come home. He told everyone he wants the team to be together but you know he really just wants to keep an eye on you. They should be back any minute since it’s been about three hours since you got the phone call; the call that told you the love of your life is dead. You and Gar sit on the couch side by side both quietly staring off into space. The elevator door opens and Dick, Kori and Rachel walk in. Rachel walks over to you and Gar, she pulls you both into a hug, Kori joins in and Dick simply stands to the side.

You get sick of the awkward conversation and long periods of silence. “Can I talk to you?” You ask Dick. He nods and you head into your old room.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I know,” you reply. “I’m going to Gotham.”

“Y/N, it’s not safe,” he says.

“You can’t stop me Dick, if you want you can come with but I’m going to Gotham…I want to see him,” you say softly.

“Fine, but no running off and what I say goes,” he says.

“Yes to the first one but I’m not a titan anymore I don’t take orders from you,” you say.

“Sorry…” he says. You begin to throw things into a leather backpack when he says, “you’ll always be a titan to me.” You look into his eyes and see so much sorrow. You don’t have the energy nor motive to attempt to unpack what he’s said. All you want is Jason, and now you’ll never see him again.

“Come on,” you say as you put on Jason’s leather jacket and your pink Chicago hat. Dick follows you out of the room and down the halls to where the titans are.

“Going somewhere?” Rachel says.

“Yeah, Y/N and I are going back to Gotham,” Dick says.

“What?” Gar says.

“What about the threats?” Kori says.

“Jokers the least of my problems right now, Jason’s dead…I need to be there,” you say.

“You’re okay with this Dick?” Gar asks.

“No but that’s why I’m going,” he says.

The car ride is filled with awkward silence. You guys are about an hour into the drive when Dick finally says something. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise,” he says.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” you answer quickly.

“I just need you to know I tried, I swept every room in Arkham myself,” he says.

“I know, Rachel told me,” you say. You notice he’s about to continue the conversation so you say, “I forgive you, I know that’s all you care about so I forgive you.”

“Hey, that’s not all I care about” He says.

“It wasn’t your fault, and besides it’s not about you,” you say.

“It’s not about me? What does that mean?” He says.

“Nothing just, you always do this Dick,” you say.

“Do what?” He asks.

“You always make it about yourself and your redemption, you did it on the roof top and you’re doing it right now and I just can’t deal with it, not today,” you say.

“Wait the rooftop-“ he starts to say before you cut him off.

“Not today Dick!” You say with anger. “Please,” you say softly. The rest of the car ride is fairly quiet except the typical arguing about if the gps is correct.

You and Dick get to GCPD to find Barbra speaking with a man in a lab coat.

“Dick?” She says. “I was just about to call you.”

“Barbra you remember Y/N,” Dick says.

“Right, hi,” she says sounding off. “Um something’s happened,” she says.

“Course more bad news, first can we see the body?” Dick asks.

“Fucks sake it’s not “the body” it’s Jason,” you mumble.

“Yeah so that’s the thing, it’s not Jason,” Barbra says.

“What?” You say.

“What do you mean it’s not Jason?” Dick asks.

“He was so beaten he was only recognizable by the Robin suit, we tested his DNA cause it’s part of procedure and the body in the morgue is not Jason Todd,” Barbra says.

“So Jason could still be alive somewhere?” You ask.

“Hypothetically yeah,” Barbra says.

I hope you liked the fic if you did please like, I really appreciate any positive feedback. It’s nice to know people enjoy my writing and it encourages me to keep writing and posting. I have a lot of ideas to develop the red hood story line and also I have backstory ideas for how the reader meets Jason and Dick and becomes a titan. Sorry this one is so short my mom is in the hospital that’s why. I did the whole Jason’s alive thing because I thought I killed him off a bit too suddenly, I’m trying to sort of merge the plots of under the red hood, death in the family and Arkham knight in regards to how he dies. Anyways I hope you are enjoying this series🩷

Also here’s my Masterlist incase you haven’t read the other parts.

Masterlist

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Part 6

"You really came"

The days that followed my departure from the house were a blur. I spent most of my time lost in thought, questioning everything I had once believed about love, desire, and loyalty. The hotel room became my sanctuary, the only place where I could truly think, where I didn’t have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. But even here, in the quiet isolation, I couldn’t escape the pull of Ghost.

I hadn’t heard from him after that last message, and I found myself constantly staring at my phone, waiting for him to reach out, to give me some clue about where he was, what he was doing. Every day that passed without a word from him gnawed at me, a constant reminder that our connection was fragile, fleeting—maybe even dangerous. But it didn’t stop me from wanting more.

Meanwhile, Ghost’s Perspective

Ghost had spent the past few weeks buried in his work. His missions were always demanding, each one more dangerous than the last, but it wasn’t just the physical risks that weighed on him. It was the silence. The absence of you.

After he left, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t look back. He was a man of discipline, a soldier who lived by his own rules. Relationships, connections—they were distractions. But you, you were different. From the moment he laid eyes on you, he knew you were someone he couldn’t just forget, couldn’t just walk away from.

At first, it was easy to bury the thoughts of you in the chaos of his missions. He threw himself into his work, completing each task with cold precision. But no matter how many times he pulled on his mask, no matter how many times he buried himself in the shadows of his world, he couldn’t escape the memory of your touch, your voice, the way you’d melted in his arms.

He hadn’t expected to feel anything for you. He hadn’t expected you to get under his skin the way you had. And yet, here he was, halfway across the world, staring at a message from you, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a pull—an ache—he couldn’t ignore.

*I’m waiting.*

He hadn’t meant to send that. It wasn’t something he usually did. Ghost didn’t wait. But for you? He would.

~~~

Your Struggle

Back in the hotel, the days grew heavier. I could feel the weight of my choices pressing down on me. My husband had tried to contact me, sent worried messages and voicemails, but I hadn’t responded. How could I tell him I was uncertain? That the man I was married to, the man who had always been there for me, no longer seemed enough?

I wasn’t sure who I was anymore.

And then, one night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stared at the phone, my finger hovering over the screen, the message from Ghost still waiting for a reply. Was I ready to go back to that life? To the fire and intensity that came with him?

*I’m waiting.*

The words echoed in my mind, growing louder with each passing second. I knew what I needed to do.

I couldn’t keep running from the truth. I had to face it. I had to face him.

*Where?*

I tiped and after his response I packed my things quickly, making sure I had everything I might need. My heart pounded with excitement and dread in equal measure as I got into the car and drove. I didn’t have a destination in mind, but deep down, I knew where I was headed.

The drive was long, my thoughts a chaotic mess. What would I say to him? Would he even want to see me after all this time? What if I wasn’t enough?

But as I neared the outskirts of a city far away, I spotted the familiar silhouette of his motorcycle parked in the shadows of an alleyway. My breath caught in my throat.

~~~

Ghost’s Arrival

Ghost stood silently in the alley, the night wrapping around him like a cloak. His dark figure blended with the shadows, but his eyes—those cold, piercing blue eyes—were fixed on the car as it pulled up. He didn’t move at first, watching you as you stepped out, your face a mixture of uncertainty and determination.

“You really came,” he said, his voice low and controlled, but there was a flicker of something behind the mask. Something raw.

I swallowed hard, stepping closer. “I had to,” I whispered, my heart racing.

He didn’t say anything, just reached out, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me closer. His grip was firm, possessive. He needed to feel me, to know I was real.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he murmured against my ear. His breath was warm, but there was something almost... sad in the way he said it.

“I didn’t know what I wanted,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I know now.”

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. “What’s that?”

I hesitated, the truth burning in my chest. “I want you, Ghost. I don’t know how to walk away from you anymore.”

His expression softened for a moment, just a fraction. But then the mask of control slid back into place. “Good,” he said, his voice suddenly hard, commanding. “Then we’ll do this my way.”

Part 7

[ghostyypawzz]

i hate it.

ihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateitihateit

earlier today i went through old videos of me as a child with my dad. staring at it i couldn’t help but wonder if any of them like how i am now. if any of them expected me to turn out so horrible. i was so happy. i didn’t care. i liked living, i felt nice, i had no issues because i didn’t remember them. the giggles and cheers and broken words from me were so unfamiliar.

he turned to me and just said “it was like a switch flipped when you turned 6 and you cut yourself off from the world”

fuck

why can’t i just disappear? why is this so fucking hard? it hurts. it hurts so badly.

everyday i wake up i feel like a husk. im a walking corpse, i go through the motions of living.

i mimic what i see, i act how i want to be, i hide how rotten i am. i’m disgusting. i’m a disgusting roach and a parasite in people’s lives.

a piece of trash.

i hate looking at myself. my personality, my looks, the way i speak, all of it is so off-putting. i know it is.

the way people stare when i talk and lean in to hear, the way they giggle when i say something stupid. understanding people is so complicated i hate it. i want to pick apart my brain and find where i went wrong. i try to articulate myself differently but i can’t seem to figure it out.

i wish everyone would leave me, i’ve deluded them into thinking that i’m worth staying for, why can’t you see how terrible i am? why can’t you hate me? i hate this feeling. i want to cry but i can’t anymore.

i miss being happy but i’ve been absent from life for so long

i hate that people think anything good about me, i’m a liar and a deceiver. stop wasting energy on me and find better people, stop it just stop. you can see how much of a self loathing person i am so just let me be. it’s obvious i can’t get better, find better people. don’t settle for me.

please just kill me already

when i die, i want it to be a spectacle. i want people to laugh and cheer and smile fondly at it.

how terrible

i sound fucking insane i’m so stupid hah

whenever i grab the letters, the ones they didn’t find and read over them i can’t help but feel a pit. paragraphs of plans, letters, guides of what to do after i’m gone. they never found the most recent one, they found the ones with half-hearted words and comfort. not the ones with messy words.

oh how i wish to not have the want, the worry of being seen in a vulnerable sight

i want warmth but i’ve been so cold for years

what a fucking joke.

im in hell, this is hell. am i even here? what the fuck is going on??? why did this have to happen to me? why am i so fucked up? why do i cause so many issues and spread pain?

please leave me.

well whatever

i’ll shut up now, i need to. i’m just going to say everything’s fine now.

i’m better than ever

i’m happy so people can stop worrying about me, okay? im not doing anything and im not going anywhere. this is just a phase of my life.

i’ve gotten better.