#its always 'its never too late to be better' but it always was for him

[mysteria157]

Undone

nanami kento x black fem reader

wc- 2.8k

warnings- angst, heavy themes, mental health and healing, the fluff that nanami brings.

a/n: I have been feeling like poo these past few days and trying to find my voice in writing. So I created a little drabble that helped me feel better. hopefully, it does for others as well. happy reading

divider: @saradika | JJK Masterlist

He hasn’t heard from you in days.

Granted, that first date was 12 weeks ago, but Nanami is used to the string of texts between you that is consistently pinging—a feat that Nanami never thought to reach. He’s used to the late night phone calls, the FaceTimes that are meaningless because he just wants to look at you. But for the first time, you turned him down.

Three days ago, on the morning of a nice dinner he had planned, you called with a scratchy voice, “I’m just really tired today, but I’ll be shipshape in no time!” You had insisted.

With vigilance sewn into his body since the day he could remember, Nanami notices right away something is wrong. Maybe it was the distant crack of your words. Maybe it was the fact that you cleared your throat once, no—two times to make yourself sound as professional as possible. As if Nanami is an employer and not the man you’ve decided to let into his life.

Regardless, he was as polite as always. Content to change the subject and send you well wishes before hanging up. The meme texted to his phone five minutes later, sweetening whatever sour concoction had manifested in his belly from your phone call. But still…Nanami knows. So he waits.

He waits three days of agonizing silence before a maelstrom of worry finally claws its way to the surface of his pool of impassivity. He stops by the market first and grabs ingredients. There’s a soup recipe you love—a recipe he soaked up like a sponge as he hovered near you in your kitchen during your first date. He’ll make that.

On his way out of the market, his eyes catch a bouquet of Asian lilies. Sunset orange petals adorned with long dark stamen. He picks up a modest bouquet—something large enough to make you smile every time you see them, but not too much to make you sneeze from your allergies.

It’s 6:47 PM when Nanami’s shoes touch your welcome mat. Even as his eyes trace the tawny ‘Welcome!’ made of coir, he can feel the unease wafting from behind your closed door. Your spare key rests in his closed hand, the metal digging into his palm in a silent question. You insisted that it wasn’t too soon in the relationship for this, to have access to each other in this way. After all, finally opening his heart to love after keeping it locked behind the demands of work, Nanami wanted to take things slowly. But you had other plans—you always do. And now, Nanami is glad to have relented so quickly when you gave him the spare key two weeks ago.

You’re a tidy person, meticulous to a fault. So it’s easy for him to spot the littering of disarray. The curtains are drawn tight, casting your home into darkness. A trail of clothes starts from the door and trails to your room. There are dirty dishes in your sink—you hate going to bed with a messy kitchen. The air is permeable—a physical being that Nanami can see the particles as they float and scurry with his movements through your home.

He finds you in your room, a tornado of dirty clothes and empty takeout containers, three blankets deep, with only the top of your hair visible. The air is just as stale in here—heavy with the kind of silence that comes to life from too many hours alone with dark thoughts. Your phone lies on your nightstand, face-down, notifications from others probably neglected along with Nanami’s. He hates the sight, angry at whatever malevolent force that’s decided to torment you, and now he fights it.

The rustle of Nanami setting his things down makes you stir, the lump of covers oscillating with your movements as a flash of your melanin-rich skin pokes from the dark hole where you reside. Your eyes meet his—surprised, alarmed, and immediately angry.

“Get out,” you snap, your voice gravelly from disuse. Through the curtain of your textured hair, Nanami catches a sliver of your icy gaze, foggy with the heaviness he can smell in the room. He takes a step closer, and it’s a step too far. Your tired eyes widen with a simmering fury that makes Nanami think twice.

“Why can’t you listen?! You can’t be here…” you stop short, squeezing the covers around your already decaying form like a lifeline. “Not when I’m—like this.”

He takes another cautious step—your eyes narrow, a weak challenge—then another until he sits at the edge of your bed. The dip from his weight causes your feet to curve into the cavern, toes touching his thighs from beneath your covers.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

The still air seems to vibrate from your fury, dust motes zipping haphazardly as if being pulled back and forth by an invisible force.

“Call you? Call you?? So you could see this? So you could see how I can’t even—“A lump of confusion and rage dies in your throat, the sound gurgling like a sewage pipe. His hands clasp the blanket that covers your shoulders, pulling you up gently with no resistance. You want to smack his hands away, to yell at him to leave and never come back. Because you’re not ready for him to see you like this. Not yet.

But despite the bark of your bite, you’re exhausted—mentally and physically.

“I wanted to wait a few weeks,” you ramble, eyes turned away from him as you shiver from the cold air on your exposed upper half. You’re still wearing the same shirt from three days ago when you called Nanami to cancel; your eyes had already been filled with tears, your throat suffocating beneath torrential thoughts and negativity that springs to life when you least expect it.

“No one wants to see this so soon.”

“From that statement alone, I’m going to assume the men you dated before were below average in all respects.”

“Everyone expects some grandiose gesture to make all of…this go away. And it’s not that fucking simple.” You don’t acknowledge his assessment. Still rambling, still trying to push him away even as he stands. He pulls you up with him with a firm grip still on your shoulders, his care poking at your defenses with inquisitive fingers.

Your knees buckle, threatening to give out without the reassurance of his hold. Your rambling falls to the wayside, fading into the air around you as you finally comprehend your new position in front of him. Standing for the first time in days, the strength of his hands radiates warmth down to your toes. The room falls quiet, opening its ears to your uneven breathing and the smell of tears.

One beat. Two beats. Three.

“It seems you’re standing now,” he says simply, the low crooning timbre of his voice wafting over your face. You heave in a stuttering breath, suck down his air, and let it fill you from the inside with care you’ve neglected. Nanami doesn’t leave his words open for discussion. There is no question hidden in his matter-of-face statement. There is no undercurrent of judgment.

“A bath.”

“What? Kento—no. I don’t need—I don’t deserve—“ His hand slides from your shoulder to cup your cheek, silencing you with its warmth. You resist leaning into his touch, too embarrassed that he can see you like this—stinky, tired, so utterly crestfallen that you can barely function.

“I’ll draw you a bath. I’ll make you dinner. And once I’m sure you’re at least full and clean, then I’ll go. Until you’re ready for me again.”

Steam rises around you in the bathroom, carrying eucalyptus and lavender from the bath oils you like to indulge in on a terrible day like this one. You draw your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your limbs to bury your head in the gap it creates. Your eyes catch the water droplets on your skin, hydrophobic and suspended in time before sliding into the bath water.

When you turn your head to the side, you catch your living room from the open door. He’s cleaned up—opened the curtains, picked up the laundry, and vacuumed the floors. One of your candles burns bright, the low whir of your washing machine sashaying through the apartment. All things you just haven’t had the energy to do.

It started off small, it always does. One thought—fleeting and infinitesimal—but still heavy with a nervousness that plants in your mind like a maggot, burrowing its way through the meat. Your symptoms are more anxious thoughts, more poor remarks of yourself, more he’s successful who are you kidding? More maybe they don’t like you, why can’t you see that? More once Kento sees this side of you, he’ll never want you again.

More, more, more even though those thoughts hold little evidence to prove true. But for you, those maggots burrow until there is nothing left of you but a hollow shell, a husk that has no choice and no energy but to lay down in bed and sleep the days away until the meat heals again.

Beneath the steam, you can spell the mix of thyme, peeled tomatoes, and garlic. The tomato soup you showed him how to make on your first date. He was inquisitive, watching silently, his eyes falling on yours too often to take good notes. Now, it’s another show of this man you’re growing to love, crafting something for you with his own hands, affection beneath the veil of reservation that he shows everyone else.

It’s too much for you. The tears come quietly, spilling down your cheeks and into the bath water, polluting the love that was used to create it.

You hear his footsteps, padded feet on your now clean floor as he walks into the bathroom and takes in the sight of you. You blink against the rush of embarrassment, too tired to wipe the tears away, too tired to hide a vulnerability you wanted to keep a lid on for awhile longer.

He walks to your sink, gathering product, a hair bottle, and a wide-toothed comb before coming back to you. He kneels beside the tub and rolls up his navy sleeves without ceremony, pinching off his glasses before he sets them on the floor. He’s soft but efficient in the way he rubs your bar soap on your loofah, getting it nice and sudsy. He’s relaxed but observant—his tie loosened but not completely off, his forearms flexing with quelled strength as he washes your back and shoulders, the slight furrow of concentration in his brows as he measures his next words.

“Strawberry and cream cheese danishes.”

“Hm?”

“If I eat one, I’ll want more. So I try to stay away when I can.” Nanami continues, washing the soap off your shoulders before he hands you the loofah. You take it without question, watching him disappear to sit behind you as you wash your limbs.

“After Yu…I would bury my sorrow in work. I worked and worked and worked until my boss forced me to take time off. It’s a sneaky sickness. It likes to watch over you and strike the very moment your guard is down.”

You hear the squeeze of your hair bottle behind you, your snarled strands soaking with rosemary-scented mist in his gentle fingers.

“It’s been years. But when it does hit, that darkness that seems to strangle me and tell me that I should have tried harder, that I should have protected him….I like to go across the street from my home and get a strawberry and cream cheese danish.”

You know Nanami has a sweet tooth. You’ve seen the way his eyes light up from the pies that you like to make, always bringing him a slice to work. You’ve seen the sidelong glance he gives strudel that steams behind glass display cases at the bakery he takes you to. But to imagine him leaving his apartment in the dead of night, wrinkled clothes and bags beneath his eyes, not showered in days—paying for a danish…you hitch a breath, a chuckle squeaking and dying in your throat with a painful lurch.

“Why are you laughing?” He admonishes. You can practically feel the lifted brow and gentle smile on your back. Your skin tingles with the movement of his fingers as he works them through your hair, detangling with rosemary and leave-in conditioner

“Do you buy the three-pack?”

Silence. A pause in your hair before baby hairs flutter from the puff of air he shoots out. You bite your lip to keep the dry smile from forming.

“No,” he lies, playfully.

The heaviness in the air gives way to a light current of brightness from your fleeting smile, from the smell of the tub, and your hair now detangled and loose before shrinkage claims it.

“I’m not sure what’s compelled you to think there’s a proper time to tell me that your thoughts grow dark at random moments in your life. Now, two months from now, it doesn’t matter. I love you.”

The declaration wraps around you, sliding down your ajar mouth and curdling in your lungs with certainty, taking root in the muscle for the foreseeable future.

“And if it is alright,” he continues, carding his fingers through your hair to plait it into a single braid. “I would like to love every part of you. Even the parts you try to hide. The parts that make you think that you’re not good enough—for me, or your friends, or anyone else. If anything, being able to be here, right now, is a privilege I’ll cherish.”

When the fresh tears spill over again, they no longer taint the water you soak in. They cleanse, collecting and filtering away the depression and anxiety that claims so much of your life when you least expect it.

After, when you’re clean and smelling of Shea butter that Nanami slathered you in, you sink into your now clutter-free sofa. The exhaustion settles on your bones in a different way. Well earned after a long battle instead of invasive and unasked for.

Your eyes rest on the lovely bouquet of Asian lilies on your coffee table, fresh with stems cut, curling toward you with open petals so you can see the beauty inside. The gesture fills you with more of that feeling, of love that you never imagined to come so soon with a man like him.

Nanami walks around the sofa, a tray that he sets in front of you carrying his own rendition of your tomato soup, toasted sourdough grilled cheese, and a tall glass of water.

“Extra basil?” You ask, lips wobbly around a smile as you take in another form of his adoration that you’ll have forever if he allows it.

“Extra basil.”

When he returns with his own tray, his hair falling over his eyes in a heap of hard work, he offers you a look. A measured look that’s filled with everything he wants to give, an excitement in his warm brown eyes that you can’t wait to see more of. But it’s shrouded in a gentle reservation with gaps only visible to you. Soft smiles for you. Loving touches for you. A beacon in storms that brew seemingly out of nowhere just for you.

He leans forward and brushes his lips against your forehead, a safe place where he can take some part of you while you heal. But you’d like more. So you tilt your head for him, soaking the warmth from his lips that press against yours softly.

Suddenly, your worries, your dark thoughts, your misery that you let keep you beneath your blankets for days all smoothed over from his touch. Satiated until those maggots in your mind wiggle to life again when they’re hungry.

“Marcus didn’t give a rose to Janine.” He says casually as he draws back to his side and turns on the TV, nonchalant as if he didn’t just spend the evening putting you back together with gentle hands and quiet love.

You relax into his side, looking at his arm with teary eyes as he rests it on the couch behind you, offering a blanket of comfort and safety that you haven’t had in a long time.

“Gojo spoiled it,” Nanami continues, grumbling and annoyed at the two syllables of Gojo’s name touching his tongue. He blows at his spoon of soup, eyes locked on the screen, his sharp features colored with flickering blues and reds.

He notices your stillness—of course, he notices—and offers you another kiss on your cheek before turning back to the show.

“I’ll steal his kikufuku as punishment,” you offer, arm shaking with the gentle chuckle he gives in response.

The soup steams in your hands, your hair soft and braided, your body worshiped and clean, Nanami’s heartbeat permeable beneath his clothes as you sink into him and sip your delicious soup.

For the first time in years, you know when the world feels heavy, he’ll be able to lift that weight off of you before it buries you away.

[daisymbin]

promise me ice cream! - jeon wonwoo

warnings: slightly insecure wonwoo?

pairings: jeon wonwoo x reader

genre: drunk confessions, friends to ???

wc: 1.3k

a/n: I'm not quite sure what I did to deserve 223 of yall following me but thank you 🥺

drunken confessions series

check out my masterlist!

your best friend, wonwoo is sprawled on the bed, looking more like a puddle of drunk affection than his usual composed self. he's clinging onto you, he wedges your leg in between his own; hugging it like it was a bolster as his head rests on your lap as if it were a pillow, his arms wrapped around your leg, not wanting to let go as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. his gaze is hazy, eyes blinking slowly as he stares up at you, his lips curving into a drunken smile, “you're so pretty.” he says as you chuckle while you run your hands through his hair; messaging his head a little to relieve the potential headache.

“why'd you drink so much tonight?” you asked, “its not like you, you're not usually like this.” wonwoo lets out a deep sigh at your question, “you were talking to jun all night and…i dont know, i just didn't like it. i got jealous. it's like…you’ll never pick me.” he says with a pout, eyes closing shut. “jealous? of jun?” you frown, trying to make sense of his words. if only he knew, “don't be silly, you know i talk to jun all the time but you'll always be my best friend. there's nothing to be jealous about.” you reassured. “& i’ll always pick you.”

“you're breaking my heart.” wonwoo mumbles so soft, you almost would have missed it if it weren't for a drunk wonwoo clinging onto you for dear life, heightening all your senses & leaving your heart beating so fast. “what do you mean, wonwoo?” 

"you’re my favorite person," he says, his voice soft and slow, like he’s trying to convince himself of something. "i don’t know if i’ll ever be your favorite, but... you're my favorite." his hand gently strokes the inside of your thigh, sending shiver down your spine. his fingers light against your skin as if he’s trying to memorize the feeling of being this close.

you smile as you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach. you’re a little amused yet also, a little taken aback by the way he’s acting; he's never been like this. you gently run your fingers through his hair, trying to coax him to sleep even though you're sure he’s already half asleep. & maybe you're also just taking advantage of the situation and being a little selfish; having him like this.

"i’m just me," he continues, voice drowsy and laced with alcohol. "i’m just wonwoo, you know? just regular, plain ol' wonwoo. but you're... you're perfect. sparkly. i don’t even know why you ever looked my way years ago, let alone be friends with me.”

you laugh softly, but it’s mixed with a hint of sadness, wondering how he could ever think that about himself. "you’re not just wonwoo, you know that, right? you’re more than that."

wonwoo shakes his head, but his grip on your leg tightens. "no, no, no. i’m just me. i’m just wonwoo, and you’re... you’re so pretty and you're so kind. you're such a good person...so much better than I'll ever be. that's why you would never like someone like me."

his words sting more than they should, but you can tell he's too drunk to mean them fully, right? that's what you hoped for at least. you want to tell him how wrong he is, how much you care for him, but instead, you sit in the quiet, letting him speak his mind as he clings onto you, his drunken ramblings the only thing filling the space between you two.

after a moment, he sits up a little, his gaze suddenly lighting up with a burst of energy. "ice cream," he says, as if it’s the most important thing in the world right now. "we should go on an ice cream date. right now. let’s go."

you glance at him, blinking in surprise at the sudden contrast. it’s already past 4AM and he’s drunk, this is not the time for an ice cream run date. "wonwoo," you say softly, trying to get him to focus. "it’s really late. we’re not going for ice cream right now, okay?"

he looks up at you with wide, sad, hopeful eyes, and you can’t help but find it endearing, even if it’s a little ridiculous. "why not?" he asks, his pout deepening, and his grip on your leg tightening again as he drags himself impossibly closer to you. "i want to go on an ice cream date with you, please?” 

you laugh, though it's full of affection and fondness. "wonwoo, you’re drunk & it’s really late. we’re not going anywhere. you can’t go out for ice cream right now, I don't think you can even walk straight, did you forget how I had to haul you back here?"

he pouts even harder, his lower lip trembling slightly & he almost look as if he’s about to start crying any time as he sits back and crosses his arms, looking like a grumpy child. "but i want ice cream. now. i’m hungry."

you can’t help but smile at his stubbornness. "we’ll go tomorrow, okay?" you promise. "i’ll take you out on an ice cream date tomorrow. I'll even let you pick all the flavours you want, even if its 5 of them."

wonwoo tilts his head to the side, staring at you with a suspicious frown. "tomorrow? don’t lie…i’m only asking you now because… this is a dream, you wouldnt reject me in my dream, would you?" he asks, his voice filled with doubt. "because i know you won’t really take me for ice cream tomorrow when I wake up. you don’t like me like that. you’re just humoring me."

"wonwoo, i promise, tomorrow, we’ll get ice cream," you reassure him, your voice gentle and warm as you stroke his hair again, trying to comfort him.

but wonwoo still looks disappointed and doubtful, his shoulders slump. "tomorrow will never come. this is all a dream. you’ll wake up, and i’ll be... i’ll be just me. plain wonwoo. i won’t be good enough for you. you will never pick me.”

your heart aches at the way he’s talking. he doesn’t believe that you like him, doesn’t believe in this moment, in the promise of tomorrow. "wonwoo, i’m not going anywhere," you say, taking his hand in yours. "i'll be right here when you open your eyes when the sun rises & i'll tell you all the reasons why you're more than enough. i really do like you, I love you, and tomorrow, we’ll get ice cream. i promise."

he looks down at your hand, still not fully convinced. "promise?" he asks, his voice small and fragile.

"promise," you say firmly, hands finding his as you lock your pinky around his.

wonwoo hesitates for a moment, then sighs, his expression softening. "okay...okay," he murmurs, closing his eyes as he rests his head back on your lap, your hands instinctively go back to playing with his hair, he's completely content now. "ice cream date tomorrow. i’ll wait for tomorrow...even if it doesn't happen it's okay..at least im laying on your lap now…at least you’re playing with my hair now…at least now i know what it's like to hear you say you like me too.”

you smile, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, watching him drift off to sleep in your lap. even though he’s drunk and unsure, you know he believes you somewhere deep down. & tomorrow, you’ll take him for ice cream, just like you promised. and maybe, just maybe, tomorrow, he’ll realize how much you really do care about him, & how much you really do love him.

[hvnyrt]

Voice in the Wind - ALTERNATE ENDING

JASON TODD X READER

I have never really written angst before, and I was really happy with the way my last work came out, but I couldn't help but want the reader and Jason to end up together in the end ;’) So I wrote a quick alternate ending to the same work, a happy ending this time, enjoy!

SUMMARY: Jason has been struggling with the idea of a relationship, fighting inner battles with himself constantly, you convince him to open up.

The rooftop of a Gotham skyscraper was cold beneath Jason Todd’s boots. His breath formed small clouds in the air, the city’s ever-present hum a background noise to his thoughts. He stood facing the edge, arms crossed, eyes scanning the streets below. It was late — or early, depending on how you looked at it — and the city was bathed in a sickly orange glow from the streetlights. Gotham was always awake, like a predator that never rested, and Jason… Jason was just another hunter in its maze of shadows.

He was trying to focus. ‘Focus, Todd,’ he told himself. ‘Don’t be weak. Stay sharp.’ But there was a problem. Your face kept slipping into his mind. No matter how hard he tried to shove it away, there you were again, with that crooked smile and those damn eyes that could cut straight through his walls.

Your voice rang in his ears. He hated your voice because it followed him everywhere, like an earworm he couldn’t get rid of. And your name. He hated your name because it made him feel like he could say it, like he could speak it aloud and claim it, and he didn’t want to claim anything. Not You. 

"She’s just a distraction," he muttered under his breath, the words lost in the wind. "Just a damn distraction." 

Except you werent. He knew it. 

He didn’t know how you had got under his skin, but you had. It had started innocently enough: a few random meetings while he was on patrol, a conversation here and there. But then something shifted. Something he couldn’t control, couldn’t shake. It wasn’t that he wanted to care about you; he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when he knew better, when he was haunted by the ghosts of his past mistakes. People like him didn’t get to have things like that. People like him didn’t get to have… normal.

It was so fucking frustrating. 

"Stupid." Jason spat the word out as if it could wash away the thoughts, the feelings he didn’t want to deal with. There was no place for feelings in the world he lived in. It was all blood and violence, adrenaline and fear, and you… you were none of that. You were calm. Grounded. Real. You made him feel like he wasn’t constantly running from something.

Nope. Not happening.

"Jason?"

The voice broke through his internal tirade, familiar and warm, cutting through the cold like a blade. Jason didn’t turn around. Didn’t even flinch. But his heart did a strange little lurch. He hated that it did, but it did.

There you were, standing a few feet away, your arms wrapped around yourself to shield against the Gotham night. You didn’t even seem to notice how out of place you were up here — on this rooftop, so far above the city you loved but could never truly understand. You weren't like him. Never would be.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said, his tone as dismissive as he could manage. "Go home, It’s dangerous up here."

Your eyes flickered with that same mixture of concern and defiance he was growing all too familiar with. "And I’m guessing you’re worried about me?" you said, your voice laced with quiet amusement.

Jason’s lip curled slightly, though it wasn’t a smile. More like a reflex. “I worry about everyone, you're no different.” He said flatly, his back still turned.

But even as he said it, the doubt crept in. You had a way of doing that — making him second-guess every cynical, hardened part of himself that wanted to pretend he didn’t care. But he didn’t let it show. He never did.

"I’m not helpless." you said softly, stepping a little closer, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off you. "You don’t need to protect me. You don't have to worry me. Just please, tell me what's on your mind. Talk to me. Let me in." You wanted him so bad to just admit that he wanted you as much as you wanted him. You tried too hard to get him to open up to you, to get him to see what your relationship could be. He never listened.

The words hit him harder than they should have. He wanted to argue, to push you away again. You didn’t understand. You didn’t get what the world was really like, what it could do to someone like him. Someone who had already been destroyed once, who didn’t want to give it a second chance.

Instead, he just shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. "I’m not your protector. Just someone who knows better."

You raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "So you’re telling me I shouldn’t be out here, too, but you’re not protecting me?" 

Jason didn’t answer. His gaze drifted away from her, back to the city lights, to the shadows below. But he didn’t walk away. He never did.

"You really think I can’t handle myself?" Your voice was quieter now, and for a moment, it almost sounded like you were teasing. Almost. 

Jason let out a breath, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. "You think you’re the only one who can handle themselves?" He turned his head just enough to catch her gaze. "This place doesn’t make you stronger. It makes you smarter. And if you’re not smart enough to get the hell out of it, you’ll get crushed. And that’s not something I’m willing to let happen."

The words left his mouth sharper than he’d intended, but he couldn’t stop them now. He never could when it came to you. 

You didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him with those damn eyes that felt like they saw straight through his bullshit. Then, slowly, you took a step closer, not intimidated, but calm.

"Jason, you don’t have to pretend with me. I’m not going anywhere."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, though he’d never admit it. "I’m not pretending," he muttered, too quickly, and too defensively. 

The city stretched out beneath them, vast and indifferent, like a black sea dotted with the flickering lights of a thousand lives he would never touch. Jason stood there, his shoulders tense, his fists clenched. You were still beside him, too close for comfort, your presence a constant reminder of everything he couldn’t afford to feel. 

Focus, he told himself. Don’t let her in. Don’t let her do this to you.

But it was already too late.

You were right. He was pretending. 

Jason’s jaw tightened at the thought, and he could feel the familiar coldness creeping in — the walls he had built so carefully around himself, the ones that were starting to crack and crumble under your quiet, persistent gaze. The feeling of wanting to reach for you, of wanting to say the things that scared him more than anything else in this broken city, gnawed at him like a sickness. 

But no. He couldn’t do it. Not to you. Not again.

"You don’t get it," Jason said, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. He didn’t look at you, but he could feel you staring at him, that soft gaze that always seemed to see straight through him. "This isn’t… this isn’t some fairy tale. You can’t just waltz in here and fix me. I’m not… I’m not someone you can save. You don’t know what it’s like, and you never will."

He finally turned to face you, his eyes burning with something he couldn’t even name. "I’m dangerous. And you think you can handle me? You think you can be around me and still come out unscathed? You have no idea what this world does to people like us."

You didn’t back down. Of course you didn’t. You never did. Instead, you stepped closer, her voice low but steady. "I know enough, Jason. I know you’re scared. You don’t have to push me away—"

"Stop," Jason cut you off, his voice sharp, almost desperate. He took a step back, as if your proximity was suffocating him. "Stop pretending like you know me. Like you understand anything about me."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Jason, I—"

"I’m not the guy you think I am!" He didn’t shout, but his voice trembled with the raw emotion he refused to show. "I’m not the guy you can fix. You think I don’t care about you? That I don’t—" He stopped himself, the words lodged in his throat like broken glass. He could already feel the heat in his chest, the thumping of his heart, the same damn pain that had been there since he came back from the dead. 

His fists clenched tighter. "I’m not your fucking hero. I’m a killer. A broken, fucked-up, damaged thing, and you don’t want to get close to that."

The words came out in a rush, desperate, but also… final. His eyes were wild now, the storm inside him too strong to ignore, the war he’d been fighting with himself spilling out in a way he hadn’t intended. 

You stood there, silent for a moment, your face unreadable. Then your expression softened, a mixture of hurt and understanding flickering behind your eyes.

"I’m not trying to fix you," you said quietly, your voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air between them. "I’m just trying to be here. I’m trying to be someone you don’t have to push away."

Jason didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. The words felt too raw, too close to something real. And that scared him more than anything. 

"You don’t understand," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You can’t understand. I can’t let you in. Not like this. Not after everything."

He took another step back, further into the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. Every instinct in him screamed to get away from you, to run, to push you out of his life before you were swallowed up by the darkness he carried with him.

"Jason," your voice was quiet now, soft, like you were trying to reach him through the thick walls he had built. "Please."

But he couldn’t do it. Not for you.

Jason shook his head, more to himself than to you. He turned his back on you, the weight of his decision heavy in the pit of his stomach. His feet moved automatically, the thought of staying with you—of letting you see him, really see him—was too much to bear. 

Before he could even reach the edge of the rooftop, he heard your voice again, fragile but clear.

"You don’t have to do this alone."

He froze. For a second, everything inside him wanted to turn around, to reach for you, to tell you how much he wanted to believe that. How much he wanted to let you in. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let anyone in.

Jason's gaze lingered on the skyline, the weight of the city pressing down on him. His fists were still clenched, his jaw set tight, but inside, a storm was brewing, one that was just as chaotic as the one in the streets below. His heart was a mess of confusion and fear, and even though he wanted to push you away — needed to push you away — something about your quiet presence beside him made it feel impossible.

When you spoke again, your voice was gentle, almost like a whisper, yet it cut through the thick air between you with the clarity of truth. "You don't have to do this alone, Jason."

His eyes flickered to yours, and for a moment, he could barely breathe. He’d heard those words before, but never with the kind of sincerity that made him feel like he wasn’t alone in the universe. That maybe, just maybe, there was someone who saw through his walls, someone who wasn’t afraid of the darkness he carried.

He shook his head, his voice rough, trying to hold onto the hardness that kept him safe. "I told you, you don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like."

"I don’t need to," you replied softly. "I just need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. Not if you let me stay."

Jason’s heart pounded in his chest, the words stirring something deep inside of him, something that scared him more than anything. He wanted to say something — push you away, explain why this couldn’t happen, why he couldn’t let you in.

But the words stuck in his throat.

You took a step closer, not backing down, but not rushing him either. And for the first time, in the midst of all the noise inside his head, he realized that you weren’t asking him to fix himself. You were just asking him to be real. To stop pretending. To let you in.

Without thinking, without even fully knowing what he was doing, Jason reached out, his hand hovering just inches from yours. The proximity felt like a tug, a pull he couldn’t ignore. You didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, you stood there, looking at him with those eyes that had always been so damn patient, so damn sure.

And in that moment, something inside Jason broke open — a crack in the walls that had kept him safe for so long. He didn’t need to pretend anymore.

He moved before he could stop himself.

One step, then two, and suddenly, he was close enough to feel your breath against his skin, close enough that he could see the way your lips parted slightly, as though you were holding your own breath, waiting for him to make the next move.

And then, like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you, Jason closed the gap.

His lips brushed against yours in a slow, tentative kiss, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he pressed any harder. But you didn’t pull away. Instead, your hand reached up, cupping the side of his face, and you kissed him back, steady and sure.

Jason’s heart skipped a beat, his mind racing, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. The tension that had held him captive for so long unraveled, piece by piece, until all that was left was this — you, here with him, unafraid.

He kissed you deeper this time, a soft but desperate need in the way his mouth met yours. The world felt a little less heavy, like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to carry the weight of it all on his own anymore.

When the kiss finally broke, Jason’s forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing in the same air, your hearts syncing in a way that made everything else fade into the background. He didn’t say anything at first. He couldn’t. But the words he didn’t have to speak were already there — in the way his hands found your waist, in the way his body relaxed against yours.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, his voice rough with the admission. "Scared I’m not… enough. That I’m too broken for anyone to be here. To be what you need."

You leaned into him, your arms wrapping around him, grounding him with the warmth of your touch. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you. And that’s enough for me, Jason. That’s more than enough.”

His chest tightened at your words, the sincerity of them striking deep. He wasn’t used to hearing that — wasn’t used to anyone seeing him for who he really was, not the mask he wore to survive, not the monster he sometimes thought he was.

But you did.

He let out a breath, the weight of everything in him finally beginning to lift. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Jason closed his eyes, his heart a little lighter than before. Maybe he didn’t have to have all the answers. Maybe he didn’t have to be the hero, or the villain, or the broken man he always saw in the mirror.

Maybe he just needed to be someone who didn’t have to face the world alone.

As you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Jason realized that he wasn’t as lost as he thought. Not anymore.

For the first time in a long time, he was ready to face whatever came next.

And he was ready to face it with you.

[hanjiwuver]

Could you maybe do one of seungmin getting mad at you in public for wearing revealing clothes, ty!

Seungmin Drabble #1

*~Disobeying Dom Seungmin~*

pairing: hard dom!seungmin x sub!reader

warnings: MEANIE PANTS SEUNG! no smut but very suggestive, lots of degredation, reader is called a bitch, i think thats it.

note: personally…i could never disobey him but thats just me🐶 good luck with that tho!

heres ur order!! smut under the cut!!!!!!!!!!!

it was going to be a perfect night. your boyfriend seungmin finally got reservations for that fancy, expensive diner you’ve been dying to go to.

the only problem was..you were running a little late.

you took a nice, long shower beforehand, using all the scents you know he loves on you. laying out three different dresses on your bed, you quickly tried to decide which one would be the best fit for tonight’s important date.

one was grey, and wrapped your body elegantly with silk fabric. the second was light pink, with a high cut waist and a frilly bottom, seungmin loves that one. and the third…oh.

seungmin hates this dress. he specifically told you not to wear it in public anymore. its was a black, hollow out dress with sheer fabric and strings where there wasn’t your boobs or your ass showing. nothing different than a stripper dress.

now, you know seungmin better than anyone. and when he says he hates that dress, its not because its ugly in any way, shape, or form. no. the way you look in that dress could make even him fall to his knees for you.

it’s because of the attention it brings to HIS precious girl. seungmin isn’t an insecure man either, he obviously wants to show you off on his arm when you get all dolled up for him, but with THAT dress? you couldn’t even get a few feet away from him without being approached or even made a pass at.

he knows you would never leave him for another guy, he just can’t stand people sizing up his pretty little prey like wild beasts. so, you aren’t allowed to wear it per his rules, fine. but honestly, you’ve always wondered what would happen if you disobeyed him.

so..maybe you wore the dress anyway..how bad could this go, right? now the problem was, how to get there.

normally he would pick you up in his car, but you know for a fact he would make you change immediately. so that was out. maybe you could just text him?

minnieeee?

hi, sweet baby🩷 you ready to be picked up?

uhhh

hm?

actually min, can i drive myself and meet you there? i have a suprise for you.

uh oh.

WDYM UH OH

that can’t be good. you’re scaring me💀

ITS JUST A SUPRISE OKAY

…its the dress isn’t it?

..no actually! its a secret so you’ll know when i get there so i actually have to go now and walk my fish see you soon love you bye-

we’ll see.

your nerves are alight as you pull into the parking lot, biting your lip in fear and arousal at how seungmin will deal with you. you’ve never disobeyed him before, always wanting to recieve his sparing praise and not cause a fuss.

your heels click against the floor as you step into the new diner, looking like the most expensive thing there. the confidence you’re radiating is only surface level though, the truth is, if you had a tail right now it would be tightly tucked between your legs.

when the host tells you where seungmin is sitting, you hesitantly make your way over. he is indeed there, he smiles at you sweetly before looking down at that dress. that stupid fucking dress.

he looks back up into your eyes with a dissapointed, mean glare in his. if you were at home, that look would have you begging for forgiveness. you immediately look down, shying away from his gaze as you put your purse down and bow slightly at him.

“hey, seungmin..”

“sit down.”

the demand has you plopping down in your seat without hesitation. his tone is clear and calm, but equally cold.

“i thought i told you not to wear that dress. hm? or are you just too dumb and slutty to remember my rules?

oh. his harsh words make your thighs rub together, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“m’sorry..”

“sorry what.”

“so..so sorry, sir.”

“look at you. i do all these nice things for you, give you all my attention and look where it gets me. is my attention not enough? need it from the other manwhores here? i think you’re just too much of a slut to be thankful.”

his words have bite, making you equally feel bad for disobeying and almost drool from the degradation.

“yes sir, im a slut, sir.”

“i know you are.”

“just..wanted to see what you’d do..”

“want a punishment? is that what the dumb whore wants? hm?”

“um..depends what it is?”

“you don’t get to choose, stupid.”

“…well, what are you gonna do then?”

seungmin leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and looking at you with an amused expression. only this time do you meet his gaze, looking up at him through your lashes expectantly. seungmin scoffs.

“don’t fucking look at me.”

your eyes shoot down, just listening to him obediently. he leans forward to whisper in your ear.

“..when we get home, im ripping that slutty stripper dress off of you for good this time. then, im gonna muzzle you and make you beg for me to pound that slutty pussy like a good bitch. then lastly..you’re writing lines, sweetheart.”

sorry for ending it there..u just look so cute when ur teased<3 order again soon!🐶

[mistymisfit]

short hurt/comfort blurb

summary: reader is taken as hostage, Red Hodd comes to save her (roughly I'll write a better summary later lol)

wc: 2k

warnings: fem!reader, pre-established relationship ,reader being kidnapped (duh) and drugged, one nasty comment from the intentionally vague bad guy, mentions of blood, lots of violence, guns, etc, etc. (not beta read as always, so ill fix typos tomorrow lol) and non sexual nudity !

a/n: lowkey hate how this turned out, but have this as I'm finishing an actual fic.

You were cold, you have been cold for a while now. You don't know how long it's been or why you were kidnapped to begin with. They've always kept you in the same dark room, there are no windows and no light except for the one that shines through the space between the door and the floor. Your hands were chained in front of you to the floor, and they left some fabric tied around your mouth to keep you from screaming. Not like you had any strength in you to even do anything but hope and pray Jason could find you soon. You discarded the theory of it being human trafficking after the first few hours since they never touched you. In fact, you hadn't even seen the face of your captors. You've only heard faint voices in the distance, just enough to identify their accent but not enough to decipher what they said.

Or that was until you heard an argument right outside the door. One man, who sounded older, was chastising the other. You hear the words "die" and "overdose", but it is hard to keep your focus. Your own thoughts feel slow, having come to the realization way too late that they'd probably drugged you, and that's why your body felt so heavy. Then the door opens, and you have to close your eyes because it feels like the light is burning them. You barely manage to move your head away when some hands grab your shoulders. They sit you on the floor and shake you, and you want to react, but your body's barely able to move on its own.

"Kid? You alive?" One of them asks, and when they get no answer, they resort to shaking you harder. When that doesn't work either, a heavy hand delivers a hard slap to your face.

To that you finally let out a pained grunt, and you blink slowly until you open your eyes. The younger one sighs in relief, and the older says something about their boss killing them if you were dead. That leads you to believe you were there for a reason, maybe they found out you technically work with Red Hood and they're using you to get to him. Or worse, they found out you were dating.  

"That's it, stay awake" He lays you down on the floor again.

"What are we doing this for?" The younger one asks. He looks on edge, shaky with nerves. It may be his first time henching, or so you could guess.

"Dunno, boss told us to keep an eye on her until he needs her"

You're left again in the dark before you can even process what they looked like. And you're slightly grateful for it, at least your head didn't feel like exploding once they shut the door again. It feels like an eternity passes while you're still in that room. So you try to notice all the details you can, there's no traffic noise or any other type of noise for that matter. Once you get used to the dark, you also see the small puddle forming from the leak coming through the ceiling. Then you also try to remember how you got there, you were leaving... someplace, it's all fuzzy. But you do remember the hard blow to your head, and then waking up here.

You guess it must have been a couple of hours, that just felt longer to you, when you hear some commotion outside. Running, and clicking, probably from loading guns. The gunshots came later, and did not stop for long. The noise was incessant, along with yelling and words you couldn't make out. You weakly managed to curl up and cover your ears with your hands. And you stay tense in that position until you hear the creak of the door once more. You don't dare to move even when you hear the footsteps getting closer to you.

"Not a step closer" A man grabs your hair, pulling you up, and pressing the nuzzle of his gun to your temple. It feels hot against your skin, almost burning, so you could only assume it's been fired recently. You finally lay your eyes on Jason, or rather Red Hood, he's covered in blood, and you could swear his eyes were shining red under the hood and domino mask.

"Let her go" He's practically barking, you know he gets like this when he's scared. He starts attacking even when he's backed against a corner. You wouldn't notice, but he immediately recognized your lost gaze and weakened mobility. It was like seeing his mother all over again. And that, along with the red imprint across your face, made him even angrier.

"You sure she only works for you?" He taunts, and before Jason can do anything, he presses the gun harder into you as if daring him to try to make a move. "'cause if I had such a hot piece of ass on my payroll..."

You close your eyes tightly, tears falling from them. You're sure you hear Jason replying, telling him off, but you're too scared to pay attention to anything but the metal on your skin. That is until he uses it to push down the fabric against your mouth, he probably asked you something you didn't listen to.

He laughs, and adds: "Maybe my guys gave her a little too much to keep her calm"

Jason is about to explode with anger, the way he talks about you, and what he's done to you. The way he so easily messed with his people, his territory, and with his partner out of everyone. He'll make sure to make an example out of him for anyone who decides to mess with him in the future. So when the man pulls the trigger, only for a click to come out of his weapon, you let out a sigh in relief. And Jason charges at the guy, dragging him away from you and out of the room to deliver the beat down of his life. Hitting as hard as he could until he made sure the guy would stop breathing, and making it as painful as possible. Then, for good measure, he empties what's left of his magazine on his head and multiple parts of his body. The body's beaten beyond recognition, and now he's got even more blood splattered over him. But him, and everyone who works for him, were now dead, so at least you could rest assured no one could harm you and go unpunished.

He goes back, only to find you curled up once more, and holding your head. You flinch when his hand touches you, but he tries not to take it personally, he reminds you it's him and that you're okay as he unties the black bandanna pulled down on your neck. He removes the muzzle from his face and pulls down the hood when you raise your head to look at him, giving you a reassuring nod.

"Get me out of here" You beg, pulling on your chains. He nods, picking the lock as quick as he can. You cling to him once you're freed, and he notices how despite your effort, your grip is weak. Even when you pull on his clothes to get him close enough to kiss him.

He freezes for a second before tightly holding the back of your head with one hand, the other resting on your back to support you. He shouldn't, he should stop you and tell you to do this when you're in the right head space so he wouldn't feel as if he was taking advantage of you. But being so close to losing you, he can't find the will to tell you no. And he melts into your lips, red smearing both of you now. Violence is rewarded with affection, that's a first for him. You don't seem to care about what he's done to get to you, all that matters is that he did, and now you're with him.

"I'll take you to the ER" He runs his hand up and down your back to soothe you, but you start sobbing into his blood-soaked clothes anyways.

"No, no, please," you shake your head "I just wanna go home"

He agrees with just a nod, picking you up as he tries to shield you from seeing the bloodbath he left on his way to you. If anyone knew how to take care of a person in your state, it'd be him. The gruesome scene and trail of bodies were bound to get him in deep family trouble, but he couldn't seem to care about it. Not when it assured your safety. Once he's made sure you're holding tightly and buckled your helmet right, he speeds to his nearest safe house. Regretting getting there in his bike instead of a car, even if it allowed him to get there faster.

"I know you said home, but I can't risk anyone following-" He rambled while taking off your helmet.

"I get it" You cut him off, trying your best to smile and not look like you were about to throw up.

He's quiet leading you up to the apartment, it's an old building and it looks more or less abandoned. That's probably why he picked it, no nosy neighbors. The place is on the first floor, luckily since it had no elevator. Even though he still carried you up the stairs, and only set you down when you were in the bathroom.

"Right, I'll wait outside " His eyes avoid you as he leaves some clean towels near the shower.

"Wait,"Your voice is meek, almost scared. You stop him from leaving by hooking a finger on one of his belt loops  "stay with me, what if I pass out?"

He nods, helping you pull up your shirt. You look up at him, not uttering a word but willing him to take the mask off. Luckily, he understands your staring and does so, leaving it on the floor next to your discarded clothes. Then he kneels in front of you, pulling your pants down, and you hold onto his shoulders as you step out of them. You mouth a quiet thank you when he looks up to you, right before he leaves a soft kiss on your hip and then on your stomach. His grip on your waist feels desperate, clinging not to let you go ever again.

"I'm okay," You reassure, but when his eyes meet yours again, they're brimmed with tears. You untie the bandages around his forearms, guiding him to take his clothes off too.

Jason's trying really hard not to cry right now, and you know it so when you walk in the the shower you turn your back to him to give him some space. But don't fail to notice how the water running down the drain turns red when he kisses the top of your head and stays close to you. He does a great job of gently cleaning you up, and so do you, washing the blood off him once you do turn around. You don't say anything about it or the bruised knuckles or any other bruise for that matter. He's thankful for that, thankful he didn't lose you or that you haven't opposed his methods. You stay under the warm water for a little longer after you're done, holding on to him and breathing slowly as his hand soothes you by tracing circles on your back.

"Jay?" You look up to him.

"Hm?"

"It's not your fault"

"I know," He replies, and you immediately think liar, you do think it's your fault. But don't have the will to argue with him, yet, so you settle for leaving a kiss on his bicep. "You wanna go to bed now?"

"You'll lay down with me?" He hums in response, closing the faucet behind you.He wraps you in a surprisingly soft and warm towel, then helps you dry off and put on some of the spare clothes he kept there. For the rest of the night, he'd watch you until you get down from whatever they gave you, make sure you don't stop breathing or choke on your own vomit. He'd worry and insist on breaking up tomorrow when you feel better and have the strength to argue and call him an idiot for it, when you are able to think better than him and insist you'd always be safer with him rather than without him.

[lvmoure]

Before It's Too Late CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x wife!reader

Summary: When he realized it when it's too late.

Warnings: angst, death

The house was too large for just the two of them. Despite the warmth of the afternoon sun streaming through the massive glass windows, the atmosphere was cold, distant, like a room frozen in time. The walls were adorned with family portraits and lavish decorations, but none of them held any warmth, no laughter, no joy. It was just the echo of a marriage, one that had never truly been lived.

You sat at the long dinner table, your hands folded in your lap, eyes downcast as Carlos Sainz entered the room. His presence, though undeniably commanding, did nothing to comfort you. He didn’t notice the way your chest tightened with each breath you took, the way your skin felt too thin, as though it could tear apart under the weight of your own body. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts, too cold to ever notice the way your body betrayed you in silence.

You had never asked for this life, for this arranged marriage that was meant to appease your families and bind two powerful legacies. You had never asked for a life of quiet suffering. Yet, here you were.

Carlos took his seat at the head of the table, his sharp features obscured by a faint, unreadable mask. He greeted you with the same indifference he always did, a polite nod, a fleeting glance, before turning his attention to his phone. You knew better than to speak. He would only respond with monosyllables, his mind elsewhere, as it had been for months.

"How was your day?" you asked, your voice soft but carrying an unfamiliar tenderness, an attempt to break the ice, to forge a connection. But you already knew the answer before the words left your lips. Carlos would give you nothing.

"Fine," he muttered, eyes still glued to the screen, fingers swiping through some images of race cars or corporate emails, his focus never straying from his work, never reaching you.

Your heart sank. You had known from the very beginning that this wasn’t love, not the kind you’d dreamed about, anyway. But there was a quiet ache, a pang that came from the realization that your life had been reduced to this. Just a contract. Just a duty. And the pain in your chest wasn't just physical; it was emotional. It was the kind of pain you couldn't escape, even in your sleep.

Each day was harder to bear than the last. Each step felt heavier. The weight of the world was pressing down on you. But it wasn’t just your family legacy on your shoulders; it was your sickness. The leukemia was already making its presence known, like a shadow lurking just behind your ribs, making your bones ache, making your body weaker, slower. But you hid it from everyone. You hid it from Carlos because he didn’t care enough to notice. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care.

You excused yourself from dinner, your legs unsteady beneath you as you made your way to the bathroom. You could feel the familiar warmth creeping up your throat, a bitter metallic taste that signaled the start of another episode. The blood in your mouth tasted like iron. It was becoming a part of your life now—sickening, unyielding, relentless. But there was no one to see it. No one to understand.

Carlos would never know the torment you faced every day, not unless he cared to look beyond his own cold indifference. But he wouldn’t. You had accepted that. He wouldn’t care, because this marriage had been nothing more than an obligation for him, an arrangement for convenience. You were just a name, a title, nothing more.

But then, why did your heart ache when you saw him so distant? Why did you still long for something more, even when you knew deep down that it was never going to come?

It wasn’t until weeks later that Carlos started to notice the change. You were slipping away, little by little.

He wasn’t an idiot. He could see the signs—how your hands trembled slightly when you reached for a glass of water, how your face had become pale and drawn, like the color had been drained from your skin. It wasn’t just the tiredness that came with the burden of your marriage; it was something else, something deeper. Something he couldn’t name.

But still, he chose to ignore it. The coldness between you was a kind of armor, a shield against something he didn’t want to understand. He had his own life, his own race schedule, his own ambitions. And yet, as much as he tried to focus on them, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was something more to you than the perfect, distant wife he had married.

One evening, as you struggled to make it from your room to the kitchen, Carlos couldn’t help but follow you. He had been waiting for you to ask for help, waiting for you to show any sign of weakness that would break through the carefully constructed walls of your relationship. But that day, you didn’t.

You hadn’t asked for help, but you were struggling, your movements slow, deliberate. It was so subtle, but it was enough for him to finally act.

He followed you out of the house, keeping his distance, and watched as you entered a small, private clinic just down the street. Something in his gut twisted. He didn’t know why he was so drawn to this, why he couldn’t just let it go and keep pretending like everything was fine. But he followed you anyway.

He waited outside for what felt like hours, pacing the sidewalk, his mind racing. Eventually, he saw you emerge, looking even more fragile than before. He wanted to approach you, to ask if you were alright, but something stopped him. He stayed hidden, watching you as you spoke to a doctor in hushed tones.

You didn’t know he was there.

"I don’t have much time left, do I?" you whispered, voice breaking. The doctor hesitated before answering, but it was clear what the prognosis was. You only had a month to live.

Carlos felt his heart stop. A cold, heavy weight settled in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He didn’t know what to think. You, his wife—the woman he had ignored, treated like a stranger, was dying. And he hadn’t even noticed.

What kind of man was he?

He stayed in the shadows, listening as the doctor explained the severity of your condition, and all the while, his chest tightened. He had always thought of you as a distant figure, a woman whose emotions were locked away behind a facade of grace. But now, he realized the depth of your suffering. He had ignored it, ignored you. And now time was running out.

The days dragged on, and you grew weaker with each passing moment. Carlos could no longer ignore it. He had been trying to maintain the cold distance between you both, but now he felt the weight of his own guilt. Every time he saw you struggle, every time you gasped for breath or clutched your chest, it was like a knife to his heart.

But he pretended. He pretended like nothing had changed, like he didn’t know. He treated you as if everything was fine, as if the knowledge of your illness hadn’t completely altered the way he saw the world.

It was the only way he could cope. The only way he could feel like he wasn’t drowning in his own regret.

The last day came without warning. You were lying in the hospital bed, your breath shallow, your body frail, and Carlos sat beside you, trying to look composed, trying to look unaffected. But on the inside, he was breaking.

He had tried to make amends, but it felt like too little, too late. He was here now, but you were slipping away from him, and there was nothing he could do.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Carlos asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

You smiled weakly, though it didn’t reach your eyes. "You wouldn’t have cared," you whispered. "You never did."

Carlos felt a lump form in his throat, and he struggled to speak through the pain. "I’m sorry... I should’ve noticed. I should’ve been there."

But you were already fading, your hand gripping his weakly. "You didn’t know... but I... I still hoped... I still... wanted..." The words were barely audible, and before he could say anything more, you were gone.

And in that moment, all the regret, all the guilt, all the missed chances came crashing down on him.

At your funeral, Carlos stood alone at your grave, his face buried in his hands, sobs wracking his body. He had been the one who had built the wall between you, and now he was the one left to mourn the wife he had never truly known.

It was too late. The cruel irony twisted the knife in his chest, and he couldn’t escape it.

You had been a mystery to him, but now, as he stood before your grave, he realized how much he had lost.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking, his words carried away by the wind. "I didn’t know how much I loved you until it was too late."

The world around him was silent, the only sound the rustling of the trees. But in that moment, Carlos finally understood. He had loved you in a way he never could have imagined. Too late. Too little.

And all that was left was an endless ache in his heart, the memory of a love that never had a chance to bloom.

[goodolddumbbanana]

The talk ( Moon meets Dark Sun in the dream.)

Moon had not dreamed much since his resurrection.

Perhaps it was the effect of being in a coma for so long, (Moon ignored the thought that someone had taken his place for over a year), or simply purely the fact that he rarely slept, but Moon often ended his days in dreamless sleep.

But rarely did not mean never, and often, unpleasant dreams were the ones that came unexpectedly.

The mysterious black mixed with purple and blue, lively with a thousand stars, filled with nebulae that sparkled like fireflies.

Books and blackboards filled with words drifted everywhere, filled with digital symbols and quantum physics formulas.

The white curtains floated without bars, fluttering as if blown by the wind, pulling the silk to reveal the person opposite Moon, flowing with soft lines and red flashes like the color of a melting sunset.

Cakes and honey were scattered around the milky wooden table, with the sharp pieces of a shattered vase that had long since stopped leaking, jagged glass shards that flashed purple, like someone’s crime scene.

A clanging sound of a honey-yellow porcelain vase and cup rang out in front of Moon, someone’s hand deftly pouring butterfly pea flower tea into the cup’s mouth, blowing out steaming steam leisurely.

They looked at Moon, who was sitting stiffly on a floating armchair, the only ones present at this unwanted tea party, smiling blandly.

“It’s more Wonderland themed than your shitty Kingdom Hearts 4, right?”

He could have replied, “First off all, How dare you, asshole. Kingdom Hearts is awesome.”

He could have also gotten straight to the point, “Where am I? Who the hell are you?”

Or Moon could—

His claws dug into the wood, accidentally crushing an orange macaroon that had been accidentally hit by a stray bullet. A few shards of glass stuck into the plastic of Moon’s palm, evoking a strange tingling sensation that had been constantly scratching at his train of thought lately before it shattered and sparkled like shooting stars in the air.

The flowers were the first to fly, followed by the cake and the shards of glass. The honey rippled out of the mouth of the jar, flying along with the tabletop straight into the face of the person he hated so much he couldn’t tear into a hundred pieces.

If it could reach that bastard’s face, Moon’s life would be truly good.

Unfortunately, nothing in his miserable life went his way.

Time frozen.

The four wooden legs stuck in the air, hovering as if to tease Moon about his own failure. Dark Sun still looked unharmed, the bastard wearing his brother's face like his favorite skinsuit, still languidly blowing on the teacup in his palm.

They looked so peaceful, with the way their ten fingers carefully hugged their torsos, while their elbows curled up as if afraid of the cold.

They painfully resembled Sun, from their movements to their voices, with the way their fingertips tapped the rim of their cups in 2/4 time, or their rays of light occasionally fluttering as if breathing.

The tassels and ribbons were too long, spreading to the ground, adding to the dust, yet they did not complain at all.

Red eyes stared at the mess that Moon had made without the slightest displeasure, only returning it with a soft sigh.

"You always know how to let others clean up for you, don't you?"

A snap of the fingers was all it took to return everything to its original state. The deep green color entered Moon’s eyes, a few butterfly pea petals still stuck to the rim of the steaming cup of tea in front of Moon.

“Lemons?” A few lemons rolled and fell into Moon’s arms. The green color was shiny and smooth, the cool sensation transmitted through Moon’s fingertips made him shiver. “Better for your health than all those times you went on a murderous rampage, right?”

“Shut it.”

He didn’t know what the hell Dark Sun expected of him with this fruit, did they think he could crush it with his bare hands?

And at the same time, even if he died again, Moon wouldn’t be stupid enough to drink anything this bastard made.

“Why are you here?”

Moon asked grumpily, squeezing the lemon in his hand unconsciously. It was a kind of stress relief he didn’t know he needed, especially when the other party was someone unknown to heaven or ghost.

The size fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, the lemon scent wafted up Moon’s nose.

A condescending chuckle answered him. Their bloodshot eyes looked at him pitifully, as their hands set down their cups.

The faint clicking sound echoed in the empty, hazy space.

“I could just bullshit my way out, couldn't I? Just take a guess.” Dark Sun tilted his head, as demure and beautiful as a still painting. The silk draped over them like royalty, as shy and clean as a rose. “Isn’t that what you’re good at? Solving puzzles?”

“This is a dream—” Moon hummed, scratching his fingers against the lemon peel, tracing the ripples in the flesh, ignoring the arrogant bastard’s shouts of agreement. “So you can’t really be Dark Sun.”

Dark Sun nodded, their voices flat, sore and dry like the way fingernails scratched a chalkboard after dipping in lemon juice.

the water of a cold winter day. They said, with empty chuckles and appreciation in their eyes like the way a snake opens its mouth wide at its prey.

“I could just be fragments, created from all the collected information you have gathered from Dark Sun. It just happens now because you’re under too much stress.” They chanted, as gracefully as if they could weave silks of words right in front of Moon. “--I could also be what your subconscious is trying to warn you about, what’s buried beneath layers and layers of self-loathing.”

“--or I could be something Nexus planted in your head,” their fingers curled as they unconsciously pushed the cup further away, “-a virus that accelerates the effects of the Kill code,” the table suddenly shook, the space seemed darker, with the only color being the red of Dark Sun’s eyes flickering in Moon’s night vision, “--to drive you insane like some beast you actually are.”

It was like the rustling of the wind and the shaking of the sea, when he could do nothing and they had all the control in his damn dream.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Moon brushed off the chill that was running down his spine now, he threw the lemon at them with disgust, only for it to bounce off like it had hit a barrier.

He threw it again.

And again.

“Why the hell are you in this place!?”

“I don’t know Moon.” They spoke slowly, like Sun coaxing a three-year-old to stop sucking his toes. “The reason I’m here, it’s all up to you.”

“What do you mean?” Moon snorted in disgust. He threw another lemon.

It didn’t hit.

“I could be the worst nightmare, the biggest embarrassment you’ve ever created.”

Dark Sun stood up, their steps leisurely moving closer to Moon. Smoke wrapped around their bodies before slowly releasing a Moon model, revealing KC’s monstrously tall, slender figure, then in a flash the blue faded to bright yellow as their arms fell limp.

Bright as the darkness melted away, bright as the evil laughter that echoed like pins to the skin, painful as a phantom pain, painful as the time he’d been trapped in his own head for a month.

“-or I could be your heart, a precious memory you’ve been trying to avoid.”

The colors melted, fading into a soft metallic gold and the pearly clarity of their eyes was so soft that if it weren’t for some invisible force holding Moon to the chair, he would have pounced and broken their rays.

They dropped a ragged, dusty doll in the shape of Sun into Moon’s lap, and left him staring at it, not knowing how to react before their cold monotones were as flat and echoing as a piano that could only be played to a minor key.

“I am me, and I am you. I am the misery you create in that invisible prison you exile yourself to.”

“I am the truth in every lie you build, the helpless feeling of knowing you can’t do anything, can never reach it, with all the intelligence you possess.

“And I am the terror.” Their faces looked at him tenderly, their cold hands pressed to his cheeks with the impassivity of ice and plastic before they stepped back and wiped their hands with a clean handkerchief “--the way you look at Sun in horror whenever our brother acts differently.”

The ground shook and the universe melted. Darkness rushed at Moon and pushed him down.

And Moon fell.

Down a rabbit hole, past bolts and steaming machines and shuddering bells and the smell of concentrated disinfectant.

Falling like his feet had never touched the ground.

Falling like time was eternal, eternal, like the color of the sunset he learned to hate and love.

Thump.

The soft surface caressed Moon.

The brick red of the sofa caught Moon’s eye, followed by the smooth cream and patterns of the wallpaper.

He was in Earth’s office, but instead of his sister, it was Dark Sun, who was writing notes intently, wearing glasses and a warm brown suit that looked both old-fashioned and professional.

They were even wearing black pencil skirts, their legs crossed like real therapists, which was strange and Moon never wanted to think about it again.

The pen scratched on paper.

The Sun doll was still nestled in Moon’s palm, with its tiny bells and even tinier ribbons that looked like they were real.

Their voices rang out, hoarse and soft, like bubbles and waves crashing against the shore.

“Tell me, Moon. Why don’t you talk to Sun?”

“What?” Moon jerked his head up. Hearing that question from the bastard who had caused almost of it, even if it was a dream, felt almost unreal.

Dark Sun put down the notebook, their fingertips tapping the chair strap, the sound of wind chimes ringing in Moon’s ears. “--what are you afraid of, exactly?”

“Wh–” Moon stammered. The heat was coming from his face, pouring down his chest. The heat was building up to the point where his fan was humming so loudly that it seemed to melt his metal shell.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about? You can kill me or do anything to get me away from your fucking face right now?” Moon gritted his teeth, claws digging into each other, almost breaking the doll with the way he gripped it so tightly it was almost strangling.

A rumble and the rustle of folded paper.

“Always running away from the problem.” Dark Sun sighed. “Can’t you tell the truth? Even to yourself?”

Moon let out a mocking laugh. He looked defiantly at Dark Sun’s unimpressed face, leaning back in his chair in the most dignified manner possible.

“Aren’t you in my head, genius?” He mimicked their voice. “Then take a guess why I did it?”

A clock ticked steadily. Moon ignored them and glanced up at the clock, none of the hands moving. But the gears continued to creak together, almost like the ticking of a bomb.

The itching and restlessness still drove him crazy. Why had the dream lasted so long, perhaps it was the bad karma of all the things he had done before, that now he was being psychologically tested by this bastard.

“Avoiding it again.” Dark Sun sighed. “You know what you’re doing right now is wrong. But instead of trying to ‘fix it’ like you so pride yourself on,” Dark Sun double-crossed their index and middle fingers in the air, “—you hid, diving deeper into paperwork and projects that you knew you would never succeed at.”

“And how do you know I won’t succeed?” Moon narrowed his eyes, daring them to say more. The fabric of his shirt suddenly felt too itchy, too uncomfortable. It rubbed against his fingers too much, and the doll felt too heavy.

“Because that’s how it usually works.” Dark Sun tilted his head like a curious duck looking to see if it was a worm or a grain. “You’ve never won against your enemies. Always reacting too slowly, too fiercely, too stupidly. Always putting your ego first. You never figured anything out, and everything was just handed to you on a silver platter.”

“That’s not true!” Moon interrupted, only to be stopped by Dark Sun’s hand.

“I’m not done yet.” Their words were heavy as steel.

“Because of Monty you were able to split up successfully. Because of Lunar you were able to escape your prison, because of Sun Eclipse was blown away. And KC?” A soft chuckle seemed to pat his head. “If your little virus hadn’t had a sudden mind change, would you have defeated him? Oh who am I kidding. You still died, and let someone live your life before driving them crazy with having to deal with everything you did.” Dark Sun’s red eyes seemed to bore into Moon’s mind.

“You were destined to fail at everything you did.”

They pulled out their chairs, slowly standing up. Their hands slid over the notebook lovingly, before looking at him smugly.

“Can’t be a good cold-blooded killer. Can’t be a brother to Sun. You ruin everything you touch—”

“Yes, I know!” Moon cut in. His voice grew louder and louder until he could no longer hear anyone but his own. “I know I’m terrible! I know I shouldn’t exist! I know no matter how hard I try, I always mess things up!! I’m useless okay!?? Is that what you want me to admit?” Moon laughed maniacally, drops of oil dripping down his chin. The stormy emotions were instantly washed away, followed by the fatigue that had been oozing from his bones, the fatigue that had been there since the day he woke up.

Drawing a line across his cheek, he flicked the drops onto the floor, watching them soak into the red carpet.

Dark Sun’s shadow hovered above him, watching him with silent disdain. They were always like that, cold, indifferent, as if they were above everything.

A bastard who was always more than ten steps ahead of him, making Mooon at first it was so hard to understand why they were another version of Sun. One who… stared at the doll placed neatly next to him, despite everything that had happened, was still too kind, too merciful to the point that Moon never felt he deserved it.

“Are you done?”

They asked gloomily, adjusting their lapels, seemingly disgusted and unclean with themselves just by hearing him burst out.

“Yeah, I’m done.” Moon looked to the side, the wallpaper looked even more beautiful than Dark Sun’s annoying face.

The bell rang with each step they took, until they were right in front of him.

“You know what’s the worst thing about you, Moon?” Their voices were low, as if they were reciting poetry rather than speaking. Like they were scooping up the mud from the stinking sewer, and throwing it in Moon’s face. As if instead of looking into their eyes, he was looking into the mirror.

“It’s never because you're not aware of the problem. It’s that you always know where you’ve messed up but you never bother to fix it. The most horrible and cruel words from others, from your enemies, can’t affect you because you’re always your worst enemy.”

The smell of ink was too strong in the air, along with the salty, acrid taste of old blood.

“You hate yourself so much that you can’t get through your thick head that your actions did affect others.”

“Is that why you avoid Sun? Because you think you’ll hurt them more?” Their words were soft, but sharp and sharp, like an arrow was tearing his heart to pieces and someone was holding his head underwater.

“No..” Moon whispered. He closed his eyes, grinding each word. “It’s because I’m not good at–”

“Emotional things?” Dark Sun raised an eyebrow. They turned on their heels, returning to their chairs, running their fingers over the worn brown cushions.

“Really, Moon? Because you handle everyone else pretty well. Lunar, Monty, Molten, heck even Foxy and all the other Suns. Your brother’s the exception, right?”

“He is alway the exception for you, right?”

They sounded tired, as they used the metaphorical hammer to bash Moon’s head in.

“I’ll ask you again Moon… What exactly are you afraid of?”

Their voices echoed evenly in the quiet space.

“You know Sun, you understand Sun, even though your brother has changed a lot.” Their voices trailed off as if they were drowning in water bubbles as Moon’s eyes landed on the grinning sun doll, its beam resting against Moon’s thigh. “--No matter how badly you comfort him, Sun will always appreciate every effort you make.”

“Your brother will even comfort you back, will ask if you’re okay. Even in this state, he always thinks of others before himself.”

The armchair creaked as Dark Sun sat on it, the wheels creaking as they pulled it closer to the table.

“But you still stubbornly left and left everything to Solar. Why?” The red glowed like a lantern on Halloween night, looking at Moon maliciously. The silence stretched on, a battle between two bastards, and then Dark Sun let out a soft sigh.

Oh.

The realization on their faces when Moon couldn't form a word, satisfied like a cat catching its prey.

"It's not that you don't trust Sun, it's that you don't trust yourself."

It was like a thunderclap in Moon's ears, like rain soaking his lapels, like he was back in the damp bunker, Sun's cold and disappointed gaze...

"You're afraid that you'll say something stupid. You're afraid that you won't be able to control your own emotions and yell back at Sun."

They whispered, mixing with the sound of rain and metal.

"You're afraid that you'll say something wrong, you're afraid that Sun will admit that he loves Nexus more than you, you're afraid that the choice Sun made was just pity..."

[---"Why didn't you choose Nexus?!! Huh!! If you liked him so much." Moon shouted, like so many times before, he was irritated and Sun was the center of all his outbursts.

And his brother, with a tired expression and a blank look, just refused to meet his eyes.--]

“You’re afraid that Sun will regret choosing you.”

He could no longer hear Dark Sun’s voice. The doll collapsed into Moon's palm.

“But that’s not true either. Sun would never be cruel enough to say such things. Or act like that, like the terrible scenario you just imagined.”

“Shut up…” Moon muttered. He pulled his head back into his knees, covering his ears. He didn’t want or could hear any more noise. But Dark Sun continued, the mocking venom in their words growing thicker and thicker.

“No… What you’re afraid of is realizing that you can’t fix Sun. You’re afraid that you’ll make the situation worse again, and Sun will stay stuck like this forever. Your brother is sinking and there’s nothing you can do but stuff more pebbles.”

“Shut up…”

“You’re afraid that Sun will realize how worthless you are and just leave.”

“Please shut up…!”

“You’re afraid that Sun will abandon you.”

“Why are you talking so much!!”

“Compared to someone who always says he lives for Sun, you actually find every opportunity to leave him. Sun’s love for you is like a burden, and you think they’re suffocating you.”

“I don’t care!! Just shut up!! Shut up!!” Moon yelled at the air.

“You say you love Sun, you say you care about him, but do you love Sun enough to stay with Sun?”

“Do you want to be with your twin anymore? Or you just want to end up dead again after abusing Sun’s forgiveness?”

“I said SHUT UP!!!” Moon shouted. He stood up from his chair, accidentally dropping the doll to the ground. Its neck snapped to one side, torn to pieces, revealing cotton like circuit boards and wires. His eyes narrowed before he realized what he had done. He knelt down, trying to pick up the doll but only made things worse, his claws scratching its body and slicing another line across its face.

The only thing he could save were the small bell shells.

Dark Sun’s feet appeared before Moon’s eyes. Like sand sliding away, their voices faded… thinned in the air and slid into the thin blanket.

“If you’re not careful, you’ll get your wish.”

“You will be alone, Moon.”

And then Moon woke up.

[boom-butterflyeffect]

WARNING/S - smut, mentions of killing/stabbing, knife play, choking, mr.ghostface kink?, mask kink?, <3

you heard a bang as the lodge door slammed shut, instantly getting your attention as you shot up from the bed. you swore youd locked all the doors before getting into bed and the only other person with a key was josh but hed had to stay late at the smaller cabin, Jessica and Mike's "love den", as he called it. "last minute preparations, babe", he said.

slowly creeping around the corner of the bedroom door you peaked out to see.. nobody. the long hallway was completely.. empty. so you went back into the room and grabbed your boyfriends baseball bat, then made your way into the kitchen followed by the living room. once again seeing.. nothing.

hand falling to the side as you sighed to yourself. maybe you were just way too tired and imagining things, the religious watching and study of horror media finally getting to you, you thought, just before you felt two hands reach around you, grabbing your mouth to silence you and your waist to hold you against them.

you tried as hard as you could to fight them off, not even being able to see who it was that had grabbed you until you heard the familiar laugh of your boyfriend as he let go of you.

“its me, kitten!” he lifted the ghostface mask to reveal a very amused grin on his face and you shook your head at him.

“JOSH! you scared me to death!” you yelled at him, looking down at his baseball bat still in your hand.

“if i was a real intruder id definitely have had to kidnap you.” he said, using the knife he was holding to motion to your clothes. or lack of.

as youd been in bed you were literally in just a small thong and a cropped scream t shirt, how ironic. you roll your eyes, moving closer to him as his arms wrap around you and you pull the mask back down over his face.

“you look.. hot.” you told him and heard a laugh from under the mask.

“you want me to fuck you like this?” he jokes but quickly notices as your eyes change at his words. “oh you do.. you want me to put this knife against your throat and make you beg for you life, kitten?”

“josh..” you whisper out, barely being able to find your voice over the shock you were in from your boyfriends words. youd always had a thing for the ghostface character, among others, and hearing your boyfriend speaking this way was doing something to you.

his hand reaches out and grips onto your throat, pinning you against the nearest wall as he presses the knife above his hand. “what kitten?” he asks and you cant even think, never mind speak to reply to him.

“you better start talking or im gonna have to make you, and im sure you dont want that do you kitten?” he asks, moving the knife to trail down your tummy causing a whine to slip from your lips. “oh maybe you do.. hm? you like how my knife feels against your pretty skin?”

“josh please..” you whine and he laughs, shaking his head at your reaction.

“youre such a little whore. i bet you loved how you felt when you thought i was someone else hm? did it make your little pussy wet to think about me forcing this knife into your skin.. making you beg for your life?”

your breath fell from your lips in a scattered fashion as your chest rose and fell quickly. you couldnt even imagine, he couldnt even imagine, how wet you were right now, how wet he was making you. cheeks reddening as he spoke to you.

“go on kitten, b.e.g.” the knife was pointed in to your skin, pushing hard enough to draw a little blood on to it.

“please jos-please dont kill me mr ghostface, i really want to be in the sequel.. ,you can do anything you want to me,.. ill do anything.” you pleaded so desperate and you could practically feel his smirk as he pressed a leg between your aching thighs.

“i know you will but its cute of you to remind me.. now shut the fuck up and go sit on the bed.” he ordered and you quickly did as he told.

you walked back into the room and sat on your knees on the bed, facing him as he walked over to you with a smirk before pulling the mask back down. his hand palmed himself through his pants as he made his way over, your mouth almost watering at the sight.

“you wanna suck my cock?” he asks and you nod your head, already desperate to please and he chuckles. “good slut.”

he undoes his pants, leaving them around his thighs before he grabs a fistful of your hair, dragging your face to meet with his already hard dick.

“s.u.c.k. now”.

you immediately take him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip before your head dips lower taking in more of him.

he groans as your cheeks hollow, and you look up at him,.. well the mask.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.” he grunts out, pushing your head down to choke on his cock. “good fucking kitten gag on my cock.”

you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second as he continued. josh had never yet been this rough with you and you couldnt lie. you really liked it and you could tell that he did too.

he drags you off and your head up to meet his mask. "you want me to cum down your slutty little throat before i slit it open? hm is that what you want little whore?" he asks and you practically whimper.

"please mr.ghostface." you nod and he pushes you back down, you latching back onto his cock instantly.

he holds you hair again, fucking into your face due to his desperate state now. he twitches in your mouth before spilling down your throat and you swallow without hesitation.

"thank you mr.ghostface." you smile up at him in the most innocent way possible, attempting to rub your thighs together for some release.

"stand." he orders and you scramble to your feet in front of him and with no warning he rips off your top and drags down your underwear. "so fucking perfect, id be insane not to want to cut your pretty little throat wouldnt i? hm?" he asks and you nod.

"stupid slut." he laughs before pulling you to sit on his lap, his cock directly below your aching cunt.

"what do you want babe? tell me what you want." he coos, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and you sigh.

"i want to ride you.. please." you almost moan just at the thought he nods.

"go on then kitten, maybe if youre good i wont have to kill you, hm? ill keep you around as my own little toy." he questions and you dont even answer.

you quickly sink down on his cock, moaning out loudly as you finally feel him inside of you. "josh o.h m.y g.o.d." he groans, gripping at your hips and forcing you to move.

you bounce up and down as he uses a hand to grab at one of your boobs. "perfect, youre so fucking perfect." he grunts and you smile down at him, pressing a kiss to his mask. "and so so cute." his hand trails up your back to tug at your hair.

"mi..-mister im close." you moan out, your eyes squeezing shut as you feel that familiar feeling in your stomach.

"hold it." he spits, his nail digging into your hip as he begins to thrust up into you, helping both of you to get closer.

his free hand grabs your throat, fingers tightening around it as he fucks you both to your highs.

"go on kitten show me how much of a good girl you are cum all over my cock." he tells you and you cum immediately, your nails dragging over his all black clothed chest as you moan loudly, screaming his name over and over.

"fuck." he grunts, as he lets go of your throat letting you fall against him as the two of you come down, breathing heavily for a few minutes.

"babe.." josh asks, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear and you hum, tracing patterns over his chest. "you okay?" he asks, continuing to play with your hair and you nod, exhausted.

“you never told me you into ghostface hm?” he laughs and you shrug.

“i got too many horror crushes.” you confess.

“oh yeah?"

"wait.. does beetlejuice count as horror too?" you quiz to no one really.

josh laughs.

__

idk im bored

jesus fucking christ anon.

Josh definitely would, especially around Halloween time since he has an excuse for dressing up in the costumes.

was not expecting a smut oneshot in my inbox, but i am not mad about it at all, good lord.

[roguemonsterfucker]

Content Warnings: Transphobia, religion, shaming, misgendering, deadnaming, etc etc. Everything you would expect from two people trying to convince a bisexual trans person not to be bisexual and trans.

The context for this is that I had just come out as bisexual on facebook. Not trans/nonbinary. But my aunt and uncle apparently knew I was nonbinary because of my tumblr. I didn't know this at the time, so it was very confusing for them to be talking about trans stuff in regards to my post about being bisexual.

My dad's brother

You are being deceived by the Deceiver; You are being lied to by Satan himself by others who look for dark things in dark places. You are [deadname], created in the image of God, named by your Godly parents. You are created a beautiful female; You are one person, one soul, not they, them or otherwise. There is a man in the bible named Legion who was possessed by demons in Mark chapter 5 that is named so because “we are many” That kind of language is for the demons. The world may tell you its ok to change that, or behave another way. That is not the truth. It is not ok to become something different than what you were created. It’s not ok to change the natural order of our physical beings. People tend to find what they are looking for. Looking for worldly things in dark worldly places will lead you to find darkness. Looking for good and holy things will lead you to the light. Those who walk in the light will find forgiveness; Those who walk in the darkness will find destruction. There is a way out. There is hope out there for you. But you must turn from the darkness and seek the light. Its not too late. We love you and are praying for you. Please let us help you. We’ve all sinned and fall short of the glory of God. We’re not perfect people. If I didn’t care I would just say nothing.

My dad's sister

”A song we’ve sung at church services since I was small goes like this “You never mentioned Him to me, You helped me not the way to see; You met me day by day and knew I was astray, Yet never mentioned Him to me.” Just the thought of hearing anyone I’ve known in my lifetime saying this on Judgement day gives me the courage to reach out. [deadname] I do not even pretend to know what you are going thru but I do know WHO has the answers. I do know who can give you Peace. Don’t you still love the Lord [deadname]? Not even referring just to your recent post, like you were the only niece not interested in any of the family heirloom Bibles. I feel you are turning to the world instead to the Lord. There is only One God. One Creator. 1 Corinthians 8:6 "But we know that there is only one God, the Father, who created everything, and we live for him. And there is only one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom God made everything and through whom we have been given life.” Please look to the Lord for answers not to the world. Maybe you don’t even know where to start - here is a prayer I found: Psalms 25:4-5 “Show me the right path, O LORD; point out the road for me to follow. Lead me by your truth and teach me, for you are the God who saves me. All day long I put my hope in you.” What better way can we start each day than with this prayer. Also a song I love that keeps me centered every day is “My only hope is you Jesus” “from early in the morning til late at night my only hope is you” We all have to spend time in prayer to the Father and time in His inspired Word to know our Father and to learn to love Him and to learn to follow Him. Please [deadname] look to the Lord - please don’t turn from the Only One who has the answer the Only One who can save us.”

What always has struck me as funny about my aunt's message is her mention of the heirloom bibles. When my grandpa died, they started going through all the stuff at his house and giving it out to the family. There was a whole bunch of old ratty bibles that she was offering to nieces. And like... even if I was religious, why would I care about a bunch of bibles I'd never even seen before?

Anyways, feel free to roast these people. I think it's safe to say they aren't stalking this tumblr blog since no one knows about it (except my mom... my mom could find it if she wanted lol). But it is funny to think of my conservative aunt angrily scrolling through pages of werewolf porn.

It's just so ridiculous to me that she spent so much time stalking my old tumblr account. I reblogged things way more than I talked and I don't think she would have the technical know-how to filter my blog to just my original posts. So she HAD to have been scrolling through pages of reblogged fan art and social justice and DnD stuff to find the few posts I wrote myself. And she did this over the course of AT LEAST a year. Why would you even do that to yourself? Why spend so much time reading through a blog full of content that was upsetting to you? Like... why?

To me, that act speaks to malice. It was worth doing because she wanted things to use against me. She wanted evidence that I was "sinning."

She and my uncle don't care about me, they just wanted to feel good about themselves for reaching out to someone who they viewed as lesser than them.

Don’t wanna add it to a post that was meant to be a good story but I can’t get over the fact that my uncle said I had a “beautiful female body” when trying to talk me out of being trans. 😬

Like. I don’t think this uncle is a creep or anything but maybe don’t say that about your brother’s child?

Anyways yeah my dad’s sister and brother stalked my tumblr for years despite my activism there (not this blog) clearly upsetting them. We didn’t know why at the time but they were very cold to me and my family while my grandpa was dying and now I think it’s because of my blog.

My aunt apparently emailed my dad a few times regarding the content of my blog, potentially outing me to my conservative family while I was reliant on them to live.

[turnedpalefromlackofsun]

list of things i can depend on to make me cry

feathers across the seasons

starscream's confession + sentence at the end of till all are one

shigechi's death in jojos

the director watching allison's last words on repeat until he died

[sskk-manifesto]

(*・ω・*)b♪

[hecksupremechips]

Minor thing that really irks me is when people treat the femc route in p3 portable as like the lesser story or like it’s a fanfic where nothing that happens in it is the “true” canon like. Bitch. The femc and everything that happens in her version of the story is just as canon as the male protagonist and everything that happens in his story. And there’s literally been so many fucking versions of p3 at this point like the base game, fes, portable, the movies, stage plays, reload, as well as spinoffs and manga and they all do things differently. I don’t see anyone acting like the base game is more canon than, say, reload so why do they do this with portable? Why can’t the (infinitely superior) version with the female protagonist just be respected for five fucking minutes goddamn

[silverselfshippingchaos]

goodnight gamers!

[hvnyrt]

Request/idea: Jason pining for reader, although he’ll never admit it

Voice in the Wind

Hi Anon! Thank you so much for submitting a request! Luckily for you I have no class or work today and was able to get this out same-day for you. :) I went angsty for this request, I hope it's to your liking!

SUMMARY: You have been in love with Jason Todd for a while now, and he had been too, yet he was too trapped in his mind to even take your relationship into consideration.

WARNINGS: Angst, non happy ending :(

WC: 1.9k

The rooftop of a Gotham skyscraper was cold beneath Jason Todd’s boots. His breath formed small clouds in the air, the city’s ever-present hum a background noise to his thoughts. He stood facing the edge, arms crossed, eyes scanning the streets below. It was late — or early, depending on how you looked at it — and the city was bathed in a sickly orange glow from the streetlights. Gotham was always awake, like a predator that never rested, and Jason… Jason was just another hunter in its maze of shadows.

He was trying to focus. ‘Focus, Todd,’ he told himself. ‘Don’t be weak. Stay sharp.’ But there was a problem. Your face kept slipping into his mind. No matter how hard he tried to shove it away, there you were again, with that crooked smile and those damn eyes that could cut straight through his walls.

Your voice rang in his ears. He hated your voice because it followed him everywhere, like an earworm he couldn’t get rid of. And your name. He hated your name because it made him feel like he could say it, like he could speak it aloud and claim it, and he didn’t want to claim anything. Not You. 

"She’s just a distraction," he muttered under his breath, the words lost in the wind. "Just a damn distraction." 

Except you werent. He knew it. 

He didn’t know how you had got under his skin, but you had. It had started innocently enough: a few random meetings while he was on patrol, a conversation here and there. But then something shifted. Something he couldn’t control, couldn’t shake. It wasn’t that he wanted to care about you; he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when he knew better, when he was haunted by the ghosts of his past mistakes. People like him didn’t get to have things like that. People like him didn’t get to have… normal.

It was so fucking frustrating. 

"Stupid." Jason spat the word out as if it could wash away the thoughts, the feelings he didn’t want to deal with. There was no place for feelings in the world he lived in. It was all blood and violence, adrenaline and fear, and you… you were none of that. You were calm. Grounded. Real. You made him feel like he wasn’t constantly running from something.

Nope. Not happening.

"Jason?"

The voice broke through his internal tirade, familiar and warm, cutting through the cold like a blade. Jason didn’t turn around. Didn’t even flinch. But his heart did a strange little lurch. He hated that it did, but it did.

There you were, standing a few feet away, your arms wrapped around yourself to shield against the Gotham night. You didn’t even seem to notice how out of place you were up here — on this rooftop, so far above the city you loved but could never truly understand. You weren't like him. Never would be.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said, his tone as dismissive as he could manage. "Go home, It’s dangerous up here."

Your eyes flickered with that same mixture of concern and defiance he was growing all too familiar with. "And I’m guessing you’re worried about me?" you said, your voice laced with quiet amusement.

Jason’s lip curled slightly, though it wasn’t a smile. More like a reflex. “I worry about everyone, you're no different.” He said flatly, his back still turned.

But even as he said it, the doubt crept in. You had a way of doing that — making him second-guess every cynical, hardened part of himself that wanted to pretend he didn’t care. But he didn’t let it show. He never did.

"I’m not helpless." you said softly, stepping a little closer, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off you. "You don’t need to protect me. You don't have to worry me. Just please, tell me what's on your mind. Talk to me. Let me in." You wanted him so bad to just admit that he wanted you as much as you wanted him. You tried too hard to get him to open up to you, to get him to see what your relationship could be. He never listened.

The words hit him harder than they should have. He wanted to argue, to push you away again. You didn’t understand. You didn’t get what the world was really like, what it could do to someone like him. Someone who had already been destroyed once, who didn’t want to give it a second chance.

Instead, he just shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. "I’m not your protector. Just someone who knows better."

You raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "So you’re telling me I shouldn’t be out here, too, but you’re not protecting me?" 

Jason didn’t answer. His gaze drifted away from her, back to the city lights, to the shadows below. But he didn’t walk away. He never did.

"You really think I can’t handle myself?" Your voice was quieter now, and for a moment, it almost sounded like you were teasing. Almost. 

Jason let out a breath, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. "You think you’re the only one who can handle themselves?" He turned his head just enough to catch her gaze. "This place doesn’t make you stronger. It makes you smarter. And if you’re not smart enough to get the hell out of it, you’ll get crushed. And that’s not something I’m willing to let happen."

The words left his mouth sharper than he’d intended, but he couldn’t stop them now. He never could when it came to you. 

You didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him with those damn eyes that felt like they saw straight through his bullshit. Then, slowly, you took a step closer, not intimidated, but calm.

"Jason, you don’t have to pretend with me. I’m not going anywhere."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, though he’d never admit it. "I’m not pretending," he muttered, too quickly, and too defensively. 

The city stretched out beneath them, vast and indifferent, like a black sea dotted with the flickering lights of a thousand lives he would never touch. Jason stood there, his shoulders tense, his fists clenched. You were still beside him, too close for comfort, your presence a constant reminder of everything he couldn’t afford to feel. 

Focus, he told himself. Don’t let her in. Don’t let her do this to you.

But it was already too late.

You were right. He was pretending. 

Jason’s jaw tightened at the thought, and he could feel the familiar coldness creeping in — the walls he had built so carefully around himself, the ones that were starting to crack and crumble under your quiet, persistent gaze. The feeling of wanting to reach for you, of wanting to say the things that scared him more than anything else in this broken city, gnawed at him like a sickness. 

But no. He couldn’t do it. Not to you. Not again.

"You don’t get it," Jason said, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. He didn’t look at you, but he could feel you staring at him, that soft gaze that always seemed to see straight through him. "This isn’t… this isn’t some fairy tale. You can’t just waltz in here and fix me. I’m not… I’m not someone you can save. You don’t know what it’s like, and you never will."

He finally turned to face you, his eyes burning with something he couldn’t even name. "I’m dangerous. And you think you can handle me? You think you can be around me and still come out unscathed? You have no idea what this world does to people like us."

You didn’t back down. Of course you didn’t. You never did. Instead, you stepped closer, her voice low but steady. "I know enough, Jason. I know you’re scared. You don’t have to push me away—"

"Stop," Jason cut you off, his voice sharp, almost desperate. He took a step back, as if your proximity was suffocating him. "Stop pretending like you know me. Like you understand anything about me."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Jason, I—"

"I’m not the guy you think I am!" He didn’t shout, but his voice trembled with the raw emotion he refused to show. "I’m not the guy you can fix. You think I don’t care about you? That I don’t—" He stopped himself, the words lodged in his throat like broken glass. He could already feel the heat in his chest, the thumping of his heart, the same damn pain that had been there since he came back from the dead. 

His fists clenched tighter. "I’m not your fucking hero. I’m a killer. A broken, fucked-up, damaged thing, and you don’t want to get close to that."

The words came out in a rush, desperate, but also… final. His eyes were wild now, the storm inside him too strong to ignore, the war he’d been fighting with himself spilling out in a way he hadn’t intended. 

You stood there, silent for a moment, your face unreadable. Then your expression softened, a mixture of hurt and understanding flickering behind your eyes.

"I’m not trying to fix you," you said quietly, your voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air between them. "I’m just trying to be here. I’m trying to be someone you don’t have to push away."

Jason didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. The words felt too raw, too close to something real. And that scared him more than anything. 

"You don’t understand," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You can’t understand. I can’t let you in. Not like this. Not after everything."

He took another step back, further into the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. Every instinct in him screamed to get away from you, to run, to push you out of his life before you were swallowed up by the darkness he carried with him.

"Jason," your voice was quiet now, soft, like you were trying to reach him through the thick walls he had built. "Please."

But he couldn’t do it. Not for you.

Jason shook his head, more to himself than to you. He turned his back on you, the weight of his decision heavy in the pit of his stomach. His feet moved automatically, the thought of staying with you—of letting you see him, really see him—was too much to bear. 

Before he could even reach the edge of the rooftop, he heard your voice again, fragile but clear.

"You don’t have to do this alone."

He froze. For a second, everything inside him wanted to turn around, to reach for you, to tell you how much he wanted to believe that. How much he wanted to let you in. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let anyone in.

Because when you let someone in, you gave them the power to break you. And Jason was already broken. He couldn’t let anyone else be hurt because of him. Not again.

Without another word, he jumped off the rooftop, vanishing into the night, leaving only the sound of his footsteps echoing in the cold air.

You stood there for a long time, staring into the empty space he had left behind. Your heart felt like it had been crushed under the weight of everything unsaid, everything unacknowledged.

You weren't stupid. You knew what had happened. 

Jason had chosen the darkness. He’d chosen it over you. Over them.

And the worst part was, you didn’t know if you could ever change his mind. 

But one thing was certain: you weren't going to forget him. Not now. Not ever.

Jason thinks people who reblog/like the fics they enjoy deserve a good time :)

[the-chaos-crew]

when you've had a ship for years that no one in your (possibly) dead fandom knows or heard of or even thought of and you're starved for content on them cause they're like so separated from the fandom in your head now

is this just me

[butchlifeguard]

when yr having fun with yr dad but remember he doesnt respect young people or women and will never fully see you as a person