#point is. there will always be people making wrong decisions or decisions they regret

[werewolfbneimitzvah]

I get so tired of people saying that underage people are too young to transition in terms of taking hormones or that even the younger adult years might be too young. Turns out your body naturally does irreversible things to itself if left alone even though you're supposedly too young to know what your gender is. But apparently it's evil or abusive or irresponsible to replace those irreversible effects with different irreversible effects. Or even just make them happen slightly later so kids have more time to really think about which irreversible effects they want. No, the only moral choice is to force one kind of irreversible effect on kids and not allow there to be any choice at all ever. Making that potentially wrong choice for them is somehow the only good option. Farquaad-ass "some of you may die, but it's a sacrifice i am willing to make."

[acid-ixx]

ch.5 pt 2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read under the end for an author's note.

tw: talks about death, prostitution, self-harm, trauma & ptsd, suicidal thoughts, and neglect.

the world was still spinning when you had awoken.

you didn't know if that was good or bad news alone. didn't even know what your current state could do now that you're in some room, subconsciously recalling between the gaps of memories that had caused you to be here.

lying down, with the painful throb of the holes within your body pinning you in place.

what happened?

breakdowns, booze, flirting, tears, comfort, gunshots, acceptance and death—

— lots of it.

all in the span of one night. one singular night which reigned in spilled blood and reopened wounds.

maybe you should've never made a stupid decision in the first place, the calculating, smarter, yet easily shut-down part of you scolds yourself. the events of the night were still fresh, enough to make both your heart and your head throb: were you finally sobering up, or does this ache come from a different type of pain, more painful, more heavily emotional than being met with death?

how long has it been since you were out? how long has it been since he saved you? since he...

the name tastes bitter in your tongue, it's been months, maybe even almost a year since you've last encountered him, let alone talked to him without being met with strained eye contact and cruel scoffs; a painful reminder of how your actions were what stuck the final nail in the coffin for your own neglect against the man, the brother you consider closest to you; despite it never being enough.

jason.

your last interaction was particularly unpleasant, an act of teenage hormones swelling in your very veins caused you to be spiteful towards him, ignoring his casual small talks in favor of refusing to offer your homemade treats and grabbing the jar of your favorite sweets - that you always meticulously and willingly give him whenever he'd make his rare visits - away from his prying hands.

you remember his offended tone, the sudden venom in his words as he asked, too mockingly for your own taste,  "what's wrong with you, angel? what's gotten you snappy these days?"

these days?

most days, it was you succumbing to his wants and needs. considering the treats he liked, the books he read, the movies he watched. all an effort painfully done if it meant having his eyes on you for just more than a second.

these days? just what had you done these days that warranted his offense? all you have done, all you ever did, was tag along everyone's tail, watching from the shadows, biting back the poisonous words, the tears that clung at the edge of your throat; ready to uncoil, to pounce the moment your envy unfurls even further.

these days? yeah right, these days, you just wanted to fucking die—

'cause highschool is shit, your life is shit, and you can't- just can't afford to play nice these days. not when they've all been so cruel, not when the people you look up to treat you lesser than the worms they step on when they spend time around the garden- your garden that you've carefully cultivated, all for your efforts to go to waste.

— but Jason won't understand, nobody could. not even alfred could comprehend just how worse your mood has soured. nobody's aware of just how close you are to your breaking point.

you glare at him for a second, wanting to retort, to swear at the sight of his knotted brows and frustrated pose, but the flicker of fight within you has just as quickly extinguished. your shoulders slumped, yet jason remains as rigid as ever in his seat, no amount of softness could be found in his expression, not even the softness he directs at you.

'he doesn't feel the same right now but—'

'there's no point in even trying anymore.'

ignoring the pang of regret in your chest, the urge to apologize with widened eyes, to pretend this was all a dream; you simply turned away in spite of the brimming tears, biting at your raw lips, to escape to another room.

afraid to show anymore weakness, afraid of the consequences, your hurried footsteps had echoed across the hallways.

you left the tooth-achingly sweet treats he originally intended to take by the table.

'he can have it for all i care.'

but are you sure you don't care? are you truly sure, when your chest spiked with frazzled haste just from hearing a familiar scoff - the one he directs to the people he despises - behind you? is it indifference when your hearing began to wring just to block out whatever vile words he spewed that day?

you want to apologize, you truly do, even if you're aware you're not much at fault, but rather him for being inconsiderate to your feelings, your foreign actions, he calls you his angel, but when his angel shows obvious hurt, he doesn't care?—

hah. but you just can't deal with it, with him any longer.

so you let it be, let him think you're just having your rebellious teenager phase, that you being a piece of shit in his eyes would pass eventually.

he wouldn't know, didn't even notice the bandages plastered across the expanse of your aching arms, the bags dipping below your eyes, or your frizzy, thinning hair.

with your last encounter, there was no more after that.

and if there were, you couldn't even call it that, for he was raging fire, and you a blistering snowstorm.

those were never meant to clash, let alone part.

thinking about it now, recalling what's gotten his mind on a twist, in your little, foreign mattress, with your eyes still shut close, lower abdomen still aching; it makes you want to die a little more at how much you never considered your feelings in the past.

you still don't right now - couldn't even make past your crippling self-esteem - but compared to last time, you at least maintained a flicker of dignity.

jason, meanwhile.

he- maybe he had a terrible day that day, you recalled his argument with bruce fresh on your mind that fateful afternoon. how tense and resounding the tension was in the room they'd fought. something over morals, over his still-burning need for justice by unfairly taking the lives of most criminals, bruce stated.

how it never quite changed, even until now.

it's the norm for all their little spats, the usual dynamic with their bated breaths and venomous words, their pitiful angst. how could you not remember, when it's dick who had to physically rip jason off from plunging a weapon on bruce's chin, whilst alfred's disappointed scolding hung in the air — whilst it's you watching in the corner, witnessing the entire scene unfold, useless when it comes to intervening because your words hold no impact for their dynamic?

maybe, just maybe, you could've been more considerate of his feelings when he'd blown bruce off, throwing him the finger before bursting off to the kitchen's pantry - to stressfully feast on the treats you carefully stored in, for moments like these, because he loves to thrash around the kitchen eating your baked sweets - to ruminate on his raging thoughts.

but if you could recall all the moments of his rage, how could he not recall his promise to bring you home some of your favorite dishes the night before that, then?

how could he not consider his so-called angel's feelings, when you had to adjust to his whims?

yeah, maybe you were boiling with rage that time too, not only due to the pressure of highschool, but at yet another broken promise. maybe you just wanted to hide away the tears, the looming expectations to act normal ultimately failing, which translated to your snappy behavior— but you thought:

'maybe, just maybe, my favorite brother, my closest confidant, could understand.'

you were wrong, you always were.

and for that, when you'd run crying to your room, another fresh scar was soldered in both your skin and your memories.

— a painful reminder of losing the closest thing you had in the world, just because you finally felt brave enough to show an inch of your closeted yet forbidden emotions.

your rebellion caused a permanent rift between your already drifting relationship, you despised yourself for that seemingly small, yet highly impactful mistake.

thinking about it now, in your crippled, nearly paralyzed state, makes you just want to forget.

— and remember the even more painful present.

finally, you compiled the strength to blink away the weight in your eyes. remnants of dry, salty tears were still fresh in the corners of your lids, throat parched, mind thrumming with dull pain and aching limbs— it reminded you of your unbidden nightmare just moment's ago; a stark contrast from its pleasantness compared to the damming reality you're actually in.

it felt like a fading memory, that dream, a looming freckled dust of air you couldn't quite catch in your stretched out fingers. how her gentle touch was like a cure to all your ailments, yet her hurried good-byes an eternal scar to the broken pieces of your heart.

oh, my momma.

how you miss her and her angelic presence already.

it never truly occurred to you how much the heavy weight of missing her stumped you from actually maturing. it was always her you mourn in moments of painful respite. her fading advices, her airy voice, her silent hums and warm presence. it was a whiplash to have her in such a wicked environment, in gotham of a places.

seeing her, in that cottage, in all her glory, wrinkles and aged, sagging skin surrounding the expanse of her angelic appearance. she was so young when she had you, and it was all you ever dreamed of— watching her gracefully age before you like fine wine, rather than those... those flashbacks of those bloodied tiles and the ichor dripping down her lifeless, icy lips.

damn be her reputation, she was your momma first, and prostitute, money laundering scam, second. thinking about her just makes you want to shut your eyes once more, return to that restless dream, and stay there forever.

rather than...

— your eyes switch to shuttering quickly, faded imagery still present in the fog of your vision. everything felt suspended in air except for the mechanical churn of the hanging fan on the ceiling, yet the furniture still present itself in shaped globs rather than actual three-dimensional objects. it took you nearly a minute to regain your sight, to finally hone in on your surroundings. albeit the haze and the adrenaline slowly pumping in your veins, your mind telling you to run despite the lack of sensation in your lower half, you slowly take in this...

this unfamiliar room...

a place displaying artillery, heavy weapons on the four corners of the walls, surrounding the dainty, one person cushion you lay on. there's an array of both fresh and bloodied gauze on the tabletop on your right, it seems to be used just recently, on you, probably. they're tightly wrapped on your lower half, you can see through the dark of your blankets and the feel of its restrictions on your guts.

strange how you're here, recalling the events of the night, yet it's still night now.

have you been out for an entire day?

and your phone and other essentials is on the same tabletop, you can even make out the table napkin containing conner's number still carefully tuckered behind your phone case. the faint waft of your favorite takeout caressed your nostrils, if not for the pain of having to carefully churn around the weighted blanket splayed on top of you; you might've sat up to dig in the savory meal.

but you can't focus on your hunger, not just yet. not when the dread overpowers your bodily urges, not when this entire thing feels like it's imitating a sense of normalcy; a room, reflecting the danger of the inhabitant living within, despite your foggy vision still, trying it's best to placate you into feeling safe.

but worse yet, the most dreaded of them all—

a room with your brother in it.

a room with the person you'd least want to deal with, not with just how much you haven't calmed down, how your final resolve was to avoid the very same people who'd always avoided you.

you couldn't possibly face them now, not ever.

not even the man you once came to call your favorite.

the holes in your body, now wrapped tight with gauze, throbs noisily, as if it senses the resounding doom wrapping around your heart, until it spreads across your entire body, now cold with caution. through your careful inspection of your belongings, through the noise of your frazzled thoughts, you haven't felt the dip on the bed you lay on. dim lights surrounded your vision afterall, the same ones still clearing up after hours of restless slumber.

and everything around you was unlike the specks of sun you were greeted with when you'd awoken from that dream.

dark and heavy.

your fingertips, your head, your injuries, the dip of the bed just now, his breathless haste; as if he waited for this moment, for you to slowly awaken, to return to consciousness.

an overbearing sense of desperation: his manic trance, the tusled locks of black and white hair, the faint shiver in his breathing.

and it's not as if you needed to second-guess the man now seated on the bed, he's so easily recognizable with his toughened form and muscles churning beneath his ashy jacket.

no, no, you want to close your eyes, pretend you're still asleep.

— but you can't, it's too late now that he noticed.

"... mornin', angel. you alright?"

he asks, silent and unsure, the question drifting off his tongue so gently, so hesitatingly as if he couldn't believe witnessing you breathing in front of him. warm yet burning with need for answers. and for a second, for a measly, quintessential span of time, you might've thought his raspy words were an aftermath of some tears.

he sounded so...

broken.

like a man torn from the inside out. the last you've seen of him, he'd already sported eyebags— but not too sunken, too tired like the current one you're staring at. like a washed out ember amidst winter, everything about him felt vulnerable...

it just makes you want to die on the inside— that- that you feel a semblance of care for someone who's hurt you far more than loved you.

the gentleness in his question, the hesitant stumble of his hands that came to bury itself into your tangled hair. the warmth that emits from his raggedy fingers hovering over the scalp of your head; it just made you feel fuzzy yet awful. the image of a brother and a stranger in front of you just blurs into a singular mess.

your vision spins, his hands are still awkwardly patting your head, as if urging you to speak, yet no reply escaped from your parched throat, from your dry, cracked lips. you fear whatever words might come next will just be a product of your impulsiveness— like the last time you met, like- like how you always fucked everything up, and you just did so the other night, and you're afraid of everything that might come after—

"i tried fixin' my apartment up just before you woke up... got us some takeout for dinner, too. it's your favorite..."

a hesitant smile, teethering on near gentleness that seemed impossible for a cruel man like him. jason looked almost like the brother you once knew as he coughs to himself, a poor attempt to wash away the awkward tension between you two. you're still silent between it all, not a single word mustered from your gaping mouth.

no.

your breath hitches—

your cold hands drive away his fingers entangled with your hair, shaky breaths make up the silent space between you two. he's not- not going to go about this way, would he? how could he?

no, this was not a moment to pretend. he saw you cry out there, under the moonlit night when the world was out for your life— you begged him, implied you'd rather die than let your savior be him.

you're hurt, everything still isn't fine between you two. not a single thread of softness will make up for the broken remnants of love he left you with. he can't act like the last time you met was a warm memory; not when it was filled with icy words and barely disguised contempt.

for a moment, you swore you could see a flash of heartbreak filling his stare. for a moment, you want to take your actions back like last time and become the younger you, but it's just for a moment.

these feelings don't last for a lifeline, not anymore.

"look, angel. i'm- you're not fine, still. it's the doctor's orders that you you need to eat, especially since you just got discharged and got all drunk on an empty stomach."

since when did he care?

ignoring him, your eyes dart elsewhere, ears purposely blocking out the meaning of his words, senses entangled with anything but his vulnerable stare. you look at the rickety fan barely blowing air on your messy hair, buzzing on top of dusty ceilings and shadowing dimly lit walls, at the spare armory scattered actoss the room - he could kill you with them, could end you with just a snap of his fingers - at the spider webs housing the corners of the apartment boxing you in with a man you dread meeting, let alone facing in a space you're far too unfamiliar with.

trapped and vulnerable; like a doe locked in place in a vast forest, surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves, ready to devour the closest thing in sight.

there may only be one you're dealing with now, but they're out there. dick and the others are out there with intentions to face you too.

and you don't know which part of you triggered this sudden desperation, this sudden link between you and your estranged siblings, but you hate it.

you hate this unfamiliar care. you hate the concern laced in every sentiment of jason's. it's unlike them, it's not them in your eyes.

and you hate how this resentment is overpowered by the shadowed by something more sinister, the one thing that dictated the course of your life—

one word: fear.

it wraps around your throat tighter than the bandages adorning your body. traps you in its clawing grip and molds itself in the form of your family.

fear of how to deal with their foreign worry, their questions lingering in the air with patience in its virtue rather than disdain. jason's unmasked face, thumbs softly massaging your unfeeling, cold fingers.

where you show a hitch of a breath, the widening of eyes, and the slightest of shivers. a hint of vulnerability, the softest of hiccups, the deep intakes of air—

instead of being met with a scoff, an offensive remark about your weakness, or a flick of worry immediately wearing away as dismissiveness takes place.

you're met with unfamiliar worry, the heavier dip of the bed, the splaying of bedsheets as jason's body moves closer to yours, the quick succession of movement as he takes off his jacket to loom over your- your shivering form.

just a little more, then your teary eyes meet its gaze on his crumpled jacket with its stench of cigarettes clinging in the air. your tired eyes shakily gaze at the layers of gauze wrapping your ever-bleeding body, and feel the ache nesting in its abode.

panic, unyielding; so much fear which rattles your bones and turns your muscles into useless jelly; which worries the perpetrator of these complicated emotions—

jason.

how do you pretend you're fine? how can you act so carelessly vulnerable in the domain of unknown territory; in a room, alone, but not quite?

it takes you back to when you were at your apartment, takes you back to when you try your damned best to ignore the sensation of panic and bile rising up your throat when you saw dick's messages. all in the span of less than a week.

your life is so fucked.

yet you choose to be inactive in facing these struggles, you choose not to run, or fight, but to ignore.

it's the only common symptom you share with your... your family.

just like now: anywhere but him.

you can't expend anymore hope—

"why, angel?"

confused, pleading, perhaps struck with grief. so unlike the man who scoffed at your lack of reply months ago. maybe he'd truly change, or maybe he felt pity at watching you nearly die before he could redeem himself.

it was his voice that cuts through the tension in the air. this time, he sounds like he's begging. for a second, your tired eyes run to him: him and his stupid worry. the nonchalant buzz in his words were no more, replaced by... betrayal.

for a second, you're reminded of your last meeting. the contrast of the cold past and now this burning sensation within your chest. then suddenly, everything hurts just a little more.

suddenly, you're back at the start. just the little kid looking for answers in a world too big for them. just the little kid who wanted to be good enough for their newfound family.

"for-for wh— what?"

god, even now the past still haunts you, the present crueler too. you and your stupid stuttering, your exposed and vulnerable aching heart that yearns for answers. why is jason hurt over seeing you hurt? why does he... care?

it's just so incomprehensible for you.

his worry is just too foreign.

under the pressure of his boiling gaze, which renders you useless and pinned in damp bedsheets, you simply feel bile rise up your throat. feel anything but comfort when both your eyes met. your teeth nibbles on your sore lips, and you find jason's wince, his almost tense fingers about to stop you from drawing out blood.

"you know what i mean." you don't. or rather, you don't want to know what he means. "why were you..."

'why am i out of the manor, right? in an unknown place in the middle of the night, drunk and alone? almost killed by my own stupidity? why? you know why, jason?'

you bite your lips, its raw, peeling skin opens up old scars anyways, and it bleeds like your raging heart.

'—it's because of you and all the others.'

you don't want to explain how they're the reason for all your burdens. how his sudden presence in that fucking alleyway caused more distress than nearly dying. why you're out in public wasting away at your life, avoiding anything that you can associate with them because, just because you're always hurting.

you don't want to be reminded of the past anymore. you never expected to be in one of your sibling's damn apartment, being interrogated, almost scolded for your impulsive decisions and forced to listen to his sickly bitter worries over your health as if he actually cared for you.

sweat ran down your bobbed throat. your tongue, your lips and your skin felt damp yet dry. cold and crisp air was a commodity, everything felt blazing hot under jason's expectant stare.

an uncomfortable heat, almost burning you, turning your bones to ashes and organs to dust.

"just—" his presence almost felt ghastly, fingers hovering over your downturned chin to softly tilt it up. your eyes felt blurry, and the world felt so... just so cruel when his other hands made its way to wipe away your damp cheeks.

were you... crying?

"just answer me, please."

jason todd, no, the red hood doesn't beg. he doesn't plead. the infamous crime lord doesn't gently swipe your sweaty hair to the side so it doesn't disrupt your already blurry vision. he hurts others, cuts their skin and veins, shoots their bones, rips their limbs one by one, tortures them until all they could beg for is the sweet release of death—

but he doesn't just care for somebody easily, right? he shouldn't burden himself with your own personal issues. he never has done so, only coming to you for casual talk.

what changed?

"i—" you gulp, but the lump in your throat remains everlasting. do you tell him of your worries? do you even trust him? can you even trust him?

"i don't know..."

'i don't know, jason... i'd rather not let you know anymore than you should have.'

"i-it's fine... don't worry about it." you added to your pile of excusing, shrinking in on yourself when his eyes squint at your words.

small. you feel like an ant taking in everything that felt particularly enormous against you. jason's body blocking out the city's skyline and the moon's watchful glow made everything dimmer, made it feel like your only choice was to go through him.

it doesn't help that it feels like every word you mutter, every breath you take, feels like a daunting action devoured by the inner workings of his mind.

why should you worry? jason never— he never truly cared this much.

whether you lie or not wouldn't change the outcome. just a little slip up and he'll leave you alone once more. just a few more minutes and he'll eventually give up, right?

so why are you nervous? why are your fingers picking at the skin of your palms? why do the tears just keep leaking like a faulty pipe? why is he— why can't he just stop staring at you—?

"you're lying."

"h—huh?"

"you're lying and it's obvious, angel."

he reiterates, this time, the tremor in his voice reaches the depths of the ocean. and just like an ocean, you feel yourself drowning in the pressure of his answers. you feel the heaviness of his words, feel it pinning you in place and locking your joints, until all you could hear are his paced breathing and the subtle agitation in his voice.

"wh—"

"why? why were you out alone, huh? what were you doing all alone at night? alfred wasn't even with you— you're drunk out of your mind, you're not even old enough to drink, angel. you weren't with- with anybody by the time i reached you— so why... just why?" this time, he demands. even if his questions were mere whispers against the blaring sounds of traffic from below; it still reaches out and buries itself into your skin, tickles the inside of your ears and nips at delicate skin.

until all you could focus on were his questions.

why?

'isn't it obvious, brother? or do you still see me as a little child?'

"when's my birthday, jason?"

it doesn't take much to know when you've turned the course of the tides to side with you. it doesn't take much to watch jason stumble between befuddled thoughts until he crosses a hurdle he couldn't jump through.

'it shouldn't be a surprise to you, jay. i thought you truly changed.'

nobody... nobody except alfred knew when you were born. not even your closest brother, no. you almost genuinely convinced yourself he cared, but the delusion quickly breaks when you find him wide-eyed as the thoughts churn in his head.

"what...?"

if he truly cared, then he should've known, right?

"—you... i'll answer you if you answer me back. when's my birthday?"

you call him out in that sickly, sweet nickname. it was what that past you called him. it's the same verse you chirp over and over again just to gain a traction of his attention when you feel his eyes drift over the book he's read rather than on you. the name you oh-so carefully drawl out so that he doesn't drift to sleep just so you'll be given temporary respite from the loneliness, so he could rest his fingers on your scalp and promptly hug you from the side.

it feels so foreign on your tongue now, after all, you haven't spoken to him in months.

the last note you left each other with was pure bitterness.

it feels even more strange that you realized how you know all their birthdays, but they never knew yours.

never knew it passed by so quickly under their radar. how you're free from the shackles of their ownership over your name. he doesn't... doesn't even know you're not a wayne now, no?

"do you even know how old i am now?"

"it's... you know, shit—!" he mutters under his breath. it's like he just realized how much he doesn't... couldn't even remember a crucial detail of you when it's you who knows all his favorite books, his favorite author, how his comfort snacks are different for every feeling he feels; hell, even his preferred places to smoke.

yet he doesn't even remember your birthday? couldn't even recall a single moment where you blew out a candle? in all the moments he visited, spending nights with you under the moonlight or through the shine of the library's chandelier; he never even thought of giving you a present, let alone wonder why how within those years of knowing you— jason couldn't even remember the most important occasion of your life?

he bites his lips, and this time, it's him who buries the tips of his fingers on the hastily crumpled bedsheets.

if he calls himself your brother, who thinks he has the right to worry over you, then is a brother someone who couldn't remember your birthday?

now that his eyes aren't on you, you're spared a moment to take him in through the hastening of your heart and the neverending rivulets of tears escaping your blurry gaze.

'ignore the pain, (name). you shouldn't be hurt anymore. you shouldn't feel surprised that he doesn't even know when you were fucking born."

but you can't bear the thought of him stumbling through his words, formulating excuses he knows you know you could easily reject. it just makes everything hurt even more, makes the endless ache in your heart thrum at the implications that this person— his worries were nothing when he has nothing, no care in the past to bare to you now.

"i'm eighteen now, jay..." his eyes quickly flit up to stare at you, mouth agape at the newfound information. what's the use in being shocked now? when all your other birthdays were dismissed and breezed by like a normal day for them— for your family?

and yet you know the answers to your very own questions.

eighteen is a quintessential part of someone's life.

it marks the path of adolescence, the descent to maturity as you learn to grow, to make your own decisions. some children move out of their parent's home to build a nest of their own, they find jobs, maybe even a partner to make or break a life with. people in america who turn 18 are still restricted from drinking, but most still choose to break some laws, fuck up with their decision, get shit-faced and party off with some fraternities and friends who'll turn their backs on you; and then regret it all later.

they build their lives, they go through ups and downs, and slowly bring themself back up again. there's no more gentle approaches, no more excuses for a developing mind. they go through so much in just a year.

and the most important of it all, is that most graduate.

and they weren't there for you, nobody was, save for alfred.

bruce wasn't there when you graduated, so it's no surprise that jason, or even the others, wouldn't come.

jason's still a dead man in the public's eyes, after all.

and even if he wasn't, what would've guaranteed that he'll still come to watch you walk up that stage? what would've changed, when the weight of your graduation and the future to come was thwarted by their worries over damian's? it was always him they— bruce prioritized, when he'd first enter the manor, all eyes were on the brazen boy.

when you first entered the manor, it was a rainy, desolate day. bruce was busy, of course he was, why wouldn't he be when he drowns himself in paperwork to distract the horrid reminders that his second son had passed?

and you don't know what hurts even more, the heartbreak in his stare, or the thumps in your heart that felt like footsteps stepping on the beating organ until all its blood is drained?

"shit, angel. i never knew... i'm— you're eighteen now and i didn't even know? fuck, how could i have forgotten it—"

"just, please save your excuses, jason..."

it's like he couldn't even believe you were old enough now, mature enough to comprehend how his excuses don't mean shit if his lack of knowledge towards your birthday ran on for years.

your sniffles weren't as silent as your words, it hurts, everything felt like fire. the world wants you to burn as your body felt like betrayal, your vulnerabilities stripped bare in front of him.

"i... appreciate your concern, but," it hurts to lie under your breath, hurts to hesitate, let alone voice out what you truly feel. it hurts to wonder why you're unsure if what he felt for you was worry, or just mere guilt over the situation you're both in.

the lines between all your emotions were blurred, you don't even wait to see his expressions anymore. you fear you'll revert back to the younger you, who considers the others before yourself, even when you've disillusioned yourself countless of times that you've changed.

you did, didn't you?

"you don't— you have no excuse to patronize my health when... when i know my limits and..."

"—i have to go, jason..."

barely a whisper. your words were barely a whisper, like the haste of thunder striking through metal rods though without sound, without thought, without hesitation; before your hands suddenly push all your weight to straighten your slumped form. your legs, which felt like blazing jelly, made an attempt to stand despite the burning sensation. you don't offer jason a second to register what you were doing, don't even let him see how your stomach bent enough to nearly reopen wounds—

god, fuck—!

it hurts, it fucking hurts so much.

your heart, your head, your entire body.

one second, you stumble, the gravity of your body fighting against the blistering, aching pain which shoots through your veins. all in one second, seering in your abdomen, like fingers digging deep into your injuries, twisting and churning until all you could feel is pain so absolutely revolting, so mercilessly cripping in your lower abdomen, that it seizes you useless, so utterly unable to capture your balance in the midst of standing, that your legs quickly give out on you.

then another second passes like a beat, all too quickly, yet all too slow for you as the world spins in your darkening vision, all the blood from your head rushing to where the holes lay in haste. your heart thumps like a drum in a warfield, like boots splattering on wed mud, sporadic, in near panic.

another second, the third, and just as you're about to stumble down, the pain so much that your eyes shoot out salty, ignorant tears. just as your body is close to thumping, writhing on the floor, jason catches you in his arms, grip so tight it almost felt like he'd refuse to let go. like how it was back in that shitty alleyway, like how it was, you felt trapped, trapped and forced to feel his sweating muscles churning mechanically, taut and tense through his thin sweatshirt.

close enough to feel that same, raggedy panic — the hitch of a breath, the loud thrumming in your chest, adrenaline shooting into your senses, your mind registers jason as a token of danger— emerging as your elbows make way to hit him square in ribs, only for his quicker, stronger palms instinctively stop you, his larger body locking you up in place, stabilizing you as you feel like you're hovering, suspended in thin, nearly charged air.

he's— he's carrying you, left hand respectfully gripping below your thighs, the other palm resting on your backside. it still hurts, everything does, nothing about you screams okay, only the slight subsidizing of pain as your brother, no, jason carefully puts you back down to sit on the bed, like you're weightless and made of feathers and— and vulnerable with how much gentleness he placates on instinctively hushing you, like a brother would to their injured sibling after a rough hour of playing in a sandbox of a playground.

the tears still won't stop.

through your quivering hiccups, high-pitched whines escaping the back of your throat at every subtle movement, at the thoughts that drown you the more time passes by— it hurts, it hurts so much you'd rather die, you'd rather be anywhere than here. does he know that, does he know the pain of looking at him, feeling him so close like never before is why you're so desparate to leave? does he know your heart beats erratically because you can never forget the moment you last met—?

— you don't even see, let alone feel the anger brewing off his chest, at the sudden, venomous words which escape his mouth next, like chains rattling, acidic bile brewing in a hot cauldron, nearly combusting at the seams.

you don't know that you pain him, don't know that you're his weakness.

and it especially hurts him when you refuse to look him eye-to-eye, refuse to see the tears rooting at the edge of his eyelids, at his teeth grazing his teeth until blood draws out in a steady flow, the opposite of the panic resurfacing into his body as he watches your dazed, breathless form trying to recover from what happened.

wordless. he despises that. how it's like your body repels him, head dodging his lips that hint at kissing your forehead. how you hesitatingly allow him to massage and help straighten the taut muscles of your bent legs— how you remain silent all throughout like you didn't just- just fucking attempt to stand, almost killing yourself despite his warnings.

he despises your not-so subtle avoidance that he just couldn't control it, couldn't control the burning rage brewing inside his heart that he just— just screams at you before he could compose himself.

"— fuck angel, FUCK! just what the fuck were you thinking?!"

jason wasn't always known for anger, he wasn't always the spiteful man everyone makes him out to be. he was sweet towards you because he knew you were innocent in the midst of batman's schemes, so it's no joke, no fucking joke how much he scares you off right now.

it scares you watching him fight others off, scared you when he shot those bullets at the man pinning you down, but you had a semblance of reassurance that it was never directed at you.

until now.

and now that you remain the spectacle of his anger, the sight of his widened, blown out eyes, his furrowed brows and clenched fists — you're so afraid, so fucking afraid he'll end up hurting you like damian, yet conscious of his actions. he looks like a painted demon before you, with clenched teeth and frazzled hair, and you feel like a dear caught in headlights — you feel another surge of tears, another wave of nausea drowning out his voice as your throat closes in on itself.

'stop, jason, please stop. you're scaring me.'

but you couldn't say the words out loud, couldn't even compose your body from quivering, fingers clenching the bedsheets in sudden instinct so hard it crumples on itself; as if it could help ground you, as if it could control the next, hurtful and loud words surging from his mouth.

as if it could cease time just so you wouldn't bear witness to his scary, monstrous rage.

"can't you see what you just did?! don't you know how— how fucking stupid and dangerous that was of you to just stand when you're still obviously HURT!? if you wanted to, you should've told me first instead of just suddenly pushing me away. what's wrong with you, huh?! what possessed you to just— JUST STAND UP AND LEAVE?!"

it's like he couldn't believe you. couldn't even make reasons why you did what you've just done. not even a tinge of comedic effect, not even any comfort laced in any word. not the jason you knew and loved, but a stranger whom you learned to call a friend, a brother that never was.

that's all he ever is, a stranger. all of them, living under the same roof as you.

and he was the same stranger who nearly fought you if not for you leaving that kitchen.

— it was the same old scoff he gave you all those months ago after talking, the same old squinted eyes and generous rage. yet this time it's enhanced with something else, something more personal, something way scarier than just being a spectator.

you always wanted to revolve around his life, but never this way.

it hurts, doesn't he know that?

doesn't he know how much his words just hurt you more than the dull ache in your abdomen? can't he see it too? how you're backing away to the corner of the bed until your back hits the headboard, despite all the pain spreading throughout your body?

if- if he cares so much about you, shouldn't he have known that— that you're sensitive to everything he just said?

bile rises up from your empty stomach, and the tears that keep surging out your eyes refuse to stop; yet it's your words run faster than your thoughts. then suddenly, all too suddenly, everything just snaps.

suddenly, your consideration for him doesn't matter anymore.

not when you never mattered to him, right?

and it feels like a part of you broke tonight.

"... what's up with you, angel?! answer me! first you're drunk off your mind when i find you out in the alleyway, bleedin' to near death, and when i try to help you before it's too late, you come begging me to not take you to the manor. did somethin' happen, huh?! why in the name of lord are you rebelling all of a sudden?! why are you fucking—"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT MY DAMN SIBLING ANYMORE, JASON!"

it just won't stop. the pain and the tears and all the words spilling from you won't stop and everything- shit, everything is spinning but you can't stop now.

it hurts. saying those eight words hurt, but it's the truth.

and the truth fucking hurts. what right should he have worrying over you? what right does he have to criticize your life now when he's only been there for you when he needs it?

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS ANYMORE JASON! STOP— STOP PRETENDING LIKE YOU CARE—!"

fists clench at the bedsheets bring itself up to tangle upon your matted hair, and you pull and tug and rip off the strands, biting your lips to quell the anger, the pain shooting across your scalp, your fingers stinging with every snap of the strands. shivering and trapped, and useless in fighting back; why are you like this? why does he keep watching?

you close your eyes. for what? so that all you could hear are your ragged breaths, the only thing you can hear every time you'd have reoccurring nightmares? so that you could return to that lonely child, to the lonely teenager you once were?

the lonely, scared child you still are?

'since when have you ever cared, jason? since when? since when has anybody ever cared?'

your voice trembles at the ends, you can't afford to look at him, burying yourself deeper into the mattress as if that alone can melt you until you were nothing, just so you wouldn't have to deal with this neverending heartbreak.

"stop... just please—" you bite your lips, but it does nothing to quell the overwhelming panic, the spiralling thoughts, the blazing emotions. your knees are pressed against your chest, fingers now scratching at your heated face.

until it bleeds, until it all bleeds.

you open your eyes, an array of tears come bursting off your sore eyelids, your cheeks feel considerably swollen, yet you just can't stop fucking crying. it worsens even more when your wobbly vision turn to look up at him, at his unbelievable stare, at his widened, ocean blue orbs, dull and almost unforgiving.

'this isn't the jason i knew.'

"just why, (name)? why?"  hearing your name roll off his tongue, instead of your usual nickname hurts, hearing it with such rage, contempt, like he's directing his hatred at you for something you couldn't control— god, it hurts.

"what do you mean by all this? i'm- i'm still your damn brother—" he says, as if it's a matter of fact, as if nothing between you changed the last day you saw him, as if he didn't know the reason. if he was your brother, then why does he sound so diffident, then?

why does his voice tremble? why does his care taste foreign against your tongue? why does he stand there, as if hesitant to even approach you?

"and because i am your brother... i have every right to care for you now—"

"i was never important then... so why do i matter now?"

"— what?"

"why do i matter so much now than before? how come i never deserved your care before?"

"angel, please. what the hell are you talking about—"

"JUST FUCKING ANSWER MY QUESTION, GODDAMNIT!"

all that you were, all that you ever are, was just a distraction for jason to bide his time with, weren't you? all he knew about you was that you acted as his entertainment, a quiet little kid who listens more than they ever learned to speak, who purposely read all the archived books in the manor's library, waiting every month for their favorite brother to visit. even if it was just for minutes, even if he'd leave you right after, escaping your boring rambles, because of course he'd prefer the fucking batcave over your silent, expectant, always yearning eyes.

all you ever wanted, all you ever did, was just be.

do what you thought they wanted you to be, not what you wanted yourself to be. baking because you knew they loved to raid the fridge for snacks after missions, drawing because your mother always praised your messy sketches, even if it was nothing compared to damian's now, dancing, ballet, gymnastics— going as far as trying to learn how to fight, giving up halfway through because you'll never progress with just how much you're juggling other extracurricular activities.

all that, just to be what you wanted to be for them.

even if it was never enough, even if your rare a plus', the occasional gold medals, the praise and acknowledgement from your teachers, even alfred's suggestion for bruce to just, please, take his time of the day to talk to you— all those achievements shine dully compared to your other siblings.

and you've long since accepted that it was all that you ever were. just a mere tool, ever-so-useful, yet ever-so-forgotten by all the other convenient ones.

all that you are, all that you ever were. but all that you ever wished for, was to be his child, their sibling.

but that was never possible, you've accepted that. you branched off, left and never came to look back because you knew you'll just be trudging another path of pain.

...

so why, why does he care so much now?

why, for the first time in your entire life, does it pain you more than it comforts you that he finally called himself your brother?

why, just now, does he say it to your face, when he never once did so all those years ago?

why does he pretend to be so shocked in front of you, wide-eyed and frozen, relinquished in guilt? why does he stand there, breathing, trying to compose himself as if your words ever held any weight on his chest? why can't he just understand, why can't he just let you go as easily now?

why do you still cry after all these years?

why do you still pretend that none of these... these issues mattered anymore in your heart?

why do your fingers still forcefully pierce into the mattress, grounding yourself to reality? why can't you rip your eyes away from jason?

why does his care break your heart more than it does fixing it?

you've always wanted this, didn't you? you've always wanted to be finally acknowledged, yet it still hurts. your throat still closes in on itself, like fingers clawing and constricting your airways, your breathing like jet missiles vaporizing mid air.

and yet all the pain, all the yearning and destesting for a love so passionate were still overpowered by the senseless need for answers.

'jason, why do you still try?'

"angel, calm down you're—"

on the verge of a panic attack? hands suddenly beating at your chest, tears neverending still streaking your sore cheeks and bitten, bloodied lips?

his hands reach out to grab yours, yet you slap his palms away, ignore the stinging sensation that came after; and back away to a corner. like a reckless animal, like the same young child hiding behind closet doors, biting back tears yet desperately failing.

you're both at your breaking points, you both refuse to back down this stupid game of cat and mouse.

"just calm down, please—!"

"NO, I WON'T— you don't fucking understand it, jason!

— i don't need your help, or anyone else's anymore! you have never been there for me! never been there for all the times i suffered because of your death! so don't even try to make a difference now!"

before he could even refute, before he could shout and cause another wave of panic, before he could break you even further—

"... so why do you care now?"

you couldn't even face him, too afraid to see his reactions churning. he shakily breaths, fog encapsulates the air around his parched lips. and you're reminded that it's almost winter, that your heater in your apartment is broken, that you'll be freezing underneath your thin blankets, eating off cold meals— that it's another one of those months where you're reminded of the privilege you've both lost and gained after leaving the manor.

you've lost your last connection to jason, so you thought, yet he's here in front of you now. he's here, and rather than wanting him to be here, you'd wish it was a dream instead.

you wished he never cared, for his next words stabbed you more than it did made you feel cared.

"i care, (name). because you were drunk when i got you, you were impulsively provoking the same guys who nearly killed you. because what? it's easier to escape that way?. i care because you've done something stupid, you nearly died because of your recklessness! my younger sibling did something stupid and it's my responsibility to worry over you, worry over your overdramatics! you're still fucking eighteen and you're already wasting away your life—!"

"that's why i fucking care for you, because you're my burden alone and nothing changes that!"

what...?

overdramatic? impulsive and reckless? is he serious? is that all you ever were to him? he cares because he thinks you're still that stupid, innocent child chasing after him? is that what you are? is that all you ever amounted to him after all the times you spent sleepless nights reading the books he recommended you? all the hours burning your fingers just to perfect his favorite lunch?

just that?

just a burden?

and he just stands there, so cruelly imposing, hands crossed like he's right and you're not. tears equally streak his ragged face, dripping all the way down his sharp jaws and wobbly chin. but his brows are furrowed, eyes still squinted at your body, weaker than his.

like all he feels is rage towards you, like everything's your fault.

while you're just sitting in his bed, limp and utterly unable to stand without his guidance.

and you hate this, hate being reminded that just like last time, you used to depend on him alone.

"how dare you, jason? we... i've always been so good to you... i've always done what you always wanted, i—"

this time your heart aches differently. it's not the subtle panic stinging your beating organ, not even regret shrouding your thoughts. but a painful, stabbing pain; slow and cold. your nose is clogged, your teeth rigidly grinding, the ball of your joints feel like they're pressing deeply on each other— everything just hurts.

his words feel like a knife slowly twisting inside your guts. not even the salty, warm tears feel worth crying out anymore.

it's just silent understanding, a painful acceptance.

of your pain and all those wasted summers and lonely winters.

your hands grip the headboard as you shift your weight to the uninjured side of your abdomen. you glare at him when he almost hurriedly attempts to help you, but through silent puffs of effort under your breath, you're already standing, right hand gripping nothing on the wall as you lean on it.

it still hurts, god, the burning sensation won't boil down at all.

— but you want to face him, head-to-head. you want him to face his burden. if he wants to understand you, if you want to understand him— there's no use hiding behind a semblance of comfort.

because more than anything, you just wanted a family. you just wanted to be part of their family.

yet now you've come to realize that maybe you were just a burden all along.

"it's- it's so unfair..."

your voice cracks at the seams, but there's no use composing yourself anymore. no use in trying to look decent in his eyes when all you ever were was a problem to him, to everyone else, right?

"out of all the times i nearly got killed, jason... you decided to save me by the time i accepted my death...?"

maybe your mother would've sided with jason, only for the part that she wanted you safe and sound rather than dead. but she's dead now, you wanted to be dead because it meant you'll finally have her at your side.

and it feels so cruel to be stripped away from that honor, that merciful gift of life, from the very same brother whose death caused you more turmoil than anything.

"—this isn't the first fucking time this happened to me, jason, and it wouldn't be the last."

your voice was barely a whisper, barely a recognizable tremor, but it speaks volumes of your desperation, of what could've been if he didn't intervene. of what wouldn't change despite it all.

you'll still be dead afterall. this is gotham where you're living. and you're not a priority to the vigilantes, not anybody important to the family.

even if his expression shifted to shock, even if you find an ounce of softness throughout the exterior of his fragile agitation; is it not true?

he takes a step forward, but your hands shoot out to put distance between you two. even if it pains you to see the confused heartbreak in his eyes at your refusal, you don't want him any closer, you fear you'll submit to his whims if you do.

you can taste blood in your tongue, but you swallow it all like you're swallowing all the bitterness you feel, you drown this ache in your heart, replace it with temporary assurances that this will all end, that jason's stubborn attempts of placating you is just another attempt to draw you closer, only to push you away in the end.

... and yet he's still trying even after what felt like minutes, maybe hours, stretching between you two.

jason still keeps trying, while you're close to giving up.

"why are you like this, angel? what happened between you and bruce? did he hurt you—"

"nothing happened—" you're lying, but not quite so. you're lying but it's not a lie when you mean nothing, literally nothing, happened between you and your father. that's the worse of it all, you and bruce never had a moment together, never had any memories to cherish nor times where he comforted you through the trauma of it all.

that painful reminder just makes past emotions stir within you.

of those cold nights, the barren hallways and alfred's countless excuses for bruce's absences.

"i have my personal reasons, jason." you seethe through your teeth. it hurts to admit your feelings to him, hurts that your drying tears are still overlayed by a resurgence of new ones. "it involves you guys... you and the others; but it's nothing now. it doesn't matter now and you know it..."

"... no i don't, angel. and no, it's not nothing. because if it was, then what's all of this for? what do you want from him, from me? that caused you to act this way...? to act so selfishly, trying to rebel like us when you've always been a good kid, huh? god, (name), if you just wanted his attention, to be his favorite—"

"— then there's so much better ways, angel. than being like this... being someone that isn't you."

he truly never knew you well at all, huh?

considering everything that happened tonight, you thought he did, but fuck...

hearing all those assumptions come straight from him just destroys you inside out.

"jason... please listen to me."

cutting him off, it's both an act done to just stop him from rambling any further, stops you from just— just irrationally ripping your ears apart so you wouldn't have to hear it anymore; hear all those disillusioned excuses, those painful words ripping you apart at the seams.

he looks at you, at your weak hold against the edge of the bedframe, at the hushed, shivering breathing, at your downcast, almost resigned eyes. you don't reciprocate his worried gaze, you just... don't.

"i don't want to be his favorite... i never wanted to be— fuck!"

"why do you assume all this, jason?" you faintly glared at him, but that flicker of the fight blew off, and you returned, looking at your feet, speaking through your beating heart, your irrational thoughts of shutting down, if not for the faint stench of smoke grounding you, if just by a fraction.

"i never wanted to be an athlete like dick, or as academically talented like you, or some crazed detective like tim, or as skilled as an assassin like damian! i don't even have the determination steph has or barbara's perseverance to continue fighting alongside all of you! i can't even reach cassandra's level of fighting, and i certainly don't have powers like duke!"

there it is again: the envy, the spite, and the undertone of yearning in your words. maybe jason was right, maybe you're still the young, good kid afterall. but good kids still do bad things, good kids can still feel and fuck, you feel a plethora of negativity mentioning all their positive traits, while you have none.

you have nothing, not even a small merit to offer.

"— all of you guys are so fucking talented, and here i am, so pathetic for thinking i can reach the same level as you all when i can't!"

the medals are useless compared to damian's success in topping the entire gotham university. the certificates for placing indancing competition were none the more important than cassandra's ballet recitals. your research projects that you've spent nights crying on, was it all that relevant when tim always one-ups you within just a day of data-gathering?

so what makes you special, what makes jason think you'd even try to be bruce's favorite in the first place, when you're absolutely useless?

"—so i just can't, jason! how could i have the damn audacity to desire being bruce's priority when each and every one of you are beyond my level?!"

untouched breakfast, thrown away lunch, cold dinners. thrashed out backpack, unsharpened pencils, inkless pens, wornout diaries, bandaged arms and sleepless nights. your life was a cycle of constant wanting, of constant attempts to earn your place. even if there were moments some of them looked at you in pity, it was never enough to warrant their comforting words or even just a pat in the back.

the last time dick has ever looked at you was the first time you met.

and in those moments where you wish you were as forgettable to damian as you were to others, he'll remember to always remind you of your place.

maybe you were like them, in ways where you're always trying but never enough. in ways where their attention on you was never enough too. you need something from them, they needed something else from you too.

"angel..." you don't have to look up to know the air has changed. that wretched nicnkame plastered itself back into his mouth. this time, he said it softer, like he's come to a realization, like it was enough to draw you out of the caverns of isolation you've kept yourself in.

but before he could speak again, before you'd get lost in those memories of the past—

"i never wanted to be bruce's favorite, jason..."

"i just..."

your eyes soften, as tears begin to spring from your eyes, red and swollen, and you let them. you look down at your unclenched hands through blurry vision, and find indents of crescents present on raw, battered skin— and it's enough to make you remember your childhood, enough to deepen the heavy weight of conflict drowning your heart.

when you look up to jason again, you bite your quivering lips, just to silence the ugly wail brewing from your chest. he looks at you, as equally befuddled, as heartbroken.

"... i just wanted to be his child." the sentence comes out your lips, so silent, so broken and lightly pitched. it speaks volumes of wanting, of yearning, of years begging for even a sliver of love offered on your way. it felt like it was the younger you speaking to him, begging him to fucking understand how it was never about just wanting attention—

it was about wanting to just have a family. people who should've loved you, saw you through the veil of your reputation, yet chose to love you still.

because they're family, they're your family. and all that mattered to you was family.

how hard was it to understand that sentiment?

"i just want to be loved because i'm his child, not a charity case, or because he's doing this for my mother..."

you remembered those nosy paparazzi's stalking you even in elementary. they ask you how it's like being adopted by the bruce wayne, how it's like living a life most orphaned children dreamt of living; how lucky you must be, having a mother who's come to share a bed with him, that your life must be so full of luxury because bruce took pity on you and your poor, whore of a mother, right?

they didn't know it was alfred, the estate's butler, who'd suggested adopting you. and with a flick of bruce's wrist, a slight furrow of his brows and a dismissed thought of you, you were brought in the manor.

it was never bruce who considered you, maybe the paparazzi and journalists slowly came to realize that after discovering your father is nowhere to be seen beside your side. maybe that's why they slowly dissipated away from you year by year, leaving you as lonely as ever.

'and now,' you thought, 'bruce still doesn't care for me at all.'

that hurts.

"i just want to be selfish for once... i want to see him the same way he looks at you back then, every damn time he stares at your grave, while i watch by the fucking windows, wishing it was me he looked at."

despite never meeting jason from back when he was robin, you mourned for him too, you prayed for his soul the same way you prayed for your mother's. it helped you disillusion yourself to believe you mattered, sitting beside his grave by the gardens despite the rain pouring downcast and staining your clothes. it helped you think you were becoming closer to bruce.

"i wanted him to look at me jason! think of me as someone as important as you, even just a semblance of it...!"

you tried so hard to imitate them all. dick's athleticism, cass' elegance, tim and barbara's elite-level knowledge on the digital world, duke's cunningness when it comes to puzzles, damian's strategies and steph's awe-inspiring rebellion paired with sarcasm. you try to emulate it all, waking up early every day, schedule packed with activities in each corner of the manor just so you'd have a chance of finding bruce in the same room as you; but it just never was enough.

"god, i don't even want him to see me as a priority, i don't want him to see me and think that i'm the best damn thing in the world. i know i'm not, jay. i'm not perfect, not even half as good. but i just want him to stare and think, 'this is my child,' without any second thoughts, without any regards for my dirty fucking past."

there was one moment in your life where you almost despised your mother. almost. you blamed her for birthing you, for having you as her child, for bestowing you this curse of being unloved, as only being acknowledged as the woman who stole from others: a bitch, a prostitute who got pregnant too early, a lady with a sullen reputation bleeding into the present of her child.

you nearly hated her, you wish you never did. she was your only light, the memories of her was what kept you alive, and you dim that light off, purposely try to blow off the shining embers that gleam for you just because you wanted the love and attention from a family that was never yours.

and you nearly worked yourself to death because of it.

"jason, i just wanted to... to go through the normal things a father does with his child. i wanted him to love me, even just for the tiniest bit. is that hard enough to fulfill? am i just too high maintenance for him that he can't— can't even deal with me after you died? tell me, jason—

"—am i just the burden of an aftermath?!"

a small of you nearly excused bruce's neglect for his mourning of jason. but that mourning extended even after his resurrection. and slowly, the more the members of the family piled up, you figured it all out.

it was you that's unlovable.

and no matter what, you could never truly accept that fact.

not even as you cry out your woes to jason, not even as your voice cracks and breaks at every syllable, at every spilled word tinged with bitterness, with pain so deep it cuts through your already bleeding heart.

"i just- just wanted to be part of the family. i just wanted to eat takeout with you that day- wanted to forget you fought bruce— forget everythin' just to bond with you 'cause you never gave me enough time in your already busy day. so why can't i? why can't i have the things everyone else had? is it too entitled of me to say that i just wanted your love? am i too demanding if i just wanted a family?!"

"is it so hard to love me?"

"tell me, jason! just, fucking tell me, please..."

your fingers' grip on the edge of the headboard nearly slipped, your sniffles were unbearably loud, a reflection of the thrumming beats of your heart nearly escaping out your chest in the form of shrieking sobs.

he finally speaks, unsure. he still stands in his place, but you're crying too much to even care.

"no, no of course not. it's not... you're not..."

"i'm not what, jason? not your sibling, not bruce's child? 'cause that's what i've felt like this entire fucking decade! and now that i've left everything behind, you all suddenly want to pretend like i was never unnoticed back then? that all my damn efforts to be good enough was finally acknowledged just now—?"

"why can't you just answer me, jay? why does nobody want to give me answers?"

"... why can't anybody just love me?"

it felt like heartbreak on both your sides. like a thread snapping, jason was as quick to retort—

"we do love you, angel. i do...! i love you so fucking much that i can't handle seeing you in pain. so please let me take care of you, just... just let me handle all of this, please."

— but you can't believe him, not anymore. it hurts falling for his lies, for his words and false reassurances. he can't even promise you takeout back then, what more does his 'i love you's' do you now?

"no, no you can't care for me, jason. not anymore... you're not my brother anymore, you guys aren't family to me anymore..."

is it betrayal in his eyes, or something far deeper? is it unadulterated anger at what you'd said? why can't he just accept your words? why can't he just accept there's nothing in between you anymore other than those past memories long gone?

"... yes, yes we're family. i care for you. just let me show you i do, angel—"

"... we're not even siblings, we're not. we're just strangers to each other.—"

you whisper softly through your damp lashes, throat sore after all the screaming. it doesn't calm down the momentary adrenaline rushing through your body, though. it doesn't, all these reassurances are just a temporary distraction.

"that's not true, angel. don't even... don't even think of saying that—"

"take me back, please. just please take me back to where you last found me. i'll find a way—"

you want to go home, you want to sleep your way through this pain. but jason proves himself to be stubborn, just like his father. and you are, too; anymore of those similarities, anymore and you'll bash your head to the walls just so you could forget.

"no, angel..." he retorts just as quickly, suddenly imposing, suddenly back to square one where it's all him, all his words that matter with no regard for yours. "who the hell says i'm letting you go back there?! that's suicide!"

but you don't matter, don't you? so that automatically means he shouldn't pretend like your life matters, too.

"... i don't care, just please! jason, i'm begging you...! just do this one single favor for me. i can't..."

'i can't go back to the manor...'

just saying it in your thoughts alone makes you sick with nausea. because that means returning to yearning, returning to those sick nights filled with broken diary entries and dick's huff of dismissal, damian's weapons pointed at you, tim's click of the tongue and just... that inflicted, neverending pain.

"you're hurt, angel, you won't survive out in the dark like that. i'm sure as hell not taking you back there. we're going back to the manor—"

"NO! i don't want to be there! that's not where i live, not anymore, no take me back home...!

anywhere... anywhere but there. anywhere but that wretched cage.

"please, jay!"

you call him by his nickname, nearly yanking yourself to his side if it weren't for your legs keeping

"if you don't want me to... then let me go and i'll call a taxi or something—! whatever...! just not—"

"—not there..."

"and if i bring you back to that apartment, what now? you're gonna commit the same old mistakes, you're going to hurt yourself!? you're gonna get yourself killed, break another limb, use more than just crutches to support yourself and get yourself hurt all over again?!"

"NO! i won't, jay... i won't bother you anymore. just not there and... not with them—"

"... not with you, please."

it was a mistake on your part, to audibly whisper out those last words. and yet it was unfixable, you can't take back words once they're said, jason can't take back all the cruel statements he made your way that day, and yet it's him who's offended, who tears up, who heaves and nearly shrieks at you, uncaring for the neighbors living below.

"why are you trying so hard to push us away?! push me away right after you.. you opened up?!"

"because we're not family anymore, goddamnit—!"

"why are you so goddamn stubborn?! care for me, care for me like you care for all those strangers getting mugged in the street! not as my brother—!"

"i am your brother!"

it hurts, your chest hurts, your throat, your wobbly arms and your unfeeling legs. yet what hurts the most is that you just can't accept it, accept all the words he throws your ways. can't accept how you've both changed and it...

it just hurts...

"and i care for you, more than you can ever fucking imagine, so don't... don't fucking push me away! not especially right after i almost lost you!"

"god..." suddenly, he resigns through a sigh.

why, just why, is he calming down now?

"i'm such a fucking dick to you, aren't i? i know i don't deserve you. nobody deserves you and your forgiveness, angel. you've always been so good to me- to us...

"i'm so fucking sorry. for everything. for leaving you behind after that day, even being an asshole to you after. for ignoring you all those years, for breaking every damn promise i made like you were nothing, for realizing all of this just right after you nearly died, in my arms."

his voice breaks at the last words, as if the reminder of what transpired last night permanently left a broken fixture in his memories. as if thinking about it is enough to destroy any bite in his argument.

"you don't— you don't deserve any that—"

"i'm— i'm so sorry, angel."

that was all you wanted to hear, all you wanted to be said throughout the layers of defensive, reckless statements he threw your way.

heavy were the unspoken words that hung in the air. heavy were the unbidden promises he forged himself to ensure but ultimately failed to do so, that were all meant to repair his relationship with you. heavy were the tears that streaked both your cheeks, the unsung arguments, the fists that curl, fingers that bite at indented skin until it bleeds.

"— I should've noticed sooner, i should've known you felt that way."

"i know, jay. i know," your mind, your mouth, they both betray the words your heart wished to speak, but you lock that beating organ out before it forces you to mutter something else. you feel too faint, from the tiredness coursing through your body as an aftershock of your injury, the throbbing of the holes in your body, and the intensity of your emotions.

'i know you know that, and i wished you did something about it when you knew you had the power to change all this—'

'all that were are, all that we were.'

you wanted to tell him, but the sentiment tastes bitter on the expanse of your tongue, as if confessing it would scorch you and your aching brain even further. you just couldn't anymore, you couldn't break both your hearts.

heavy were the emotions uncurling beneath both you and jason's chest, boiling and spilling, until the only words you both could mutter were the ones that scald your aching hearts.

"jason, i'm- i'm still hurt."

"i know, angel. let me take care of it, of you. just let me do this, just once."

he takes a careful stride towards you, a knot forms in your brows and in your stomach. it curls inside your body when his both his hands grip your forearms, gently, like you're made of glass, to push you to softly sit on his mattress.

made carefully, cleaned neatly for you.

you never thought you were worthy enough to have a bed made for you.

— you don't even allow alfred to clean your own room because you don't think you deserve it.

silence ensues, only the squeak of his shoes sliding against the floor, his panting breaths, your unstable intakes of air, and the hinge of his bed were heard, drowning out the swears of the citizens from below his apartment complex and the thumping of car horns.

it's just the two of you, in this room. you and jason, just like the moments spent under the roof of the manor.

you don't fight against him, don't push him away like you did so earlier, in favor of relinquishing your control, your pain, to his squinting, wandering blue eyes that trap your body, at his calloused fingers running across the expanse of the lumps in your arms.

and in that moment, under the sheer glow of his apartment's flickering lights, under the watchful gaze of the restless city nights, of the lamp posts gleaming in the streets; you both looked a little more like each other for every passing second, every passing moment after you'd scream your woes, after he'd retort and retaliate with his excuses, his reasonings.

you had his vengeful glare, staring daggers at him as he took in your wrapped wounds. he had your silence, desperate and aching pleas. you stuttered like him when he chases after words tangling in his parched mouth. he bites his lips like you when he couldn't find the right words, bounding his hands to his delicate strands of hair to pull in agitation, just like you always do.

and both of you were- were good...

a good soldier and a good child, lost in the weave of dreams, expectations and broken, unfulfilled promises.

it reminds you of how he was the only brother you truly had a bond with, of how truly close you were to him, shared moments of brief laughter with, a respite, a paradise without the need to chase after his presence, all done in such short moments, moments that could never be enough to quench your aching thirst for love and familial attention.

he finally speaks after taking his seat beside you, muscled arms wrapping around your shoulders. he broke the intangible silence, with knotted brows and sorry, pleading eyes that look at yours. it made you feel trapped, in his arms and in his mindful apologies, it reminded you of the manor.

"i could've been better for you, angel. i should've known, i'm so fuckin' sorry, i—"

"i know, jay. i know, please..."

please stop. no more, you don't want to hear anymore,. you don't want to dream, to fantasize what could've been.

— because that meant drowning yourself in the past, that meant running back to chasing after empty promises.

and yet...

the more you think, the more the possibilities unfold in your thoughts.

a bitter part of you wished it was him who had welcomed you into your home, into the manor. you wished it was him, not alfred, dick or bruce you'd chase after, wished he was alive when your fleeting dreams were too. the child in you wished his assurances were what graced you in such an early time. just so that, maybe, just maybe, your throat wouldn't close in on itself every time you're reminded of your solitary past, a past lost and without a cause because of his passing.

running after dick, acting as his invisible silhouette, hearing the empty yes's on your invitation for him to come visit your room. tugging on bruce's sleeves whilst his eyes flit elsewhere. knuckles rupturing on the door of tim's room, only to be greeted with a silent hm, and a plea for you to come the next time. hands shakily holding a heavy tray of arabic food you learnt to cook for your younger brother, just for the same bowl to scald and prick stickily against your reddening skin

— you wouldn't have to do all that, if you had at least one ally, an ally who had to be dead when you were alone. someone as perfectly imperfect as you.

he's not like dick, the sun doesn't shine for him, the world doesn't give him grace— if it did, he wouldn't have died. he felt more charcoal than diamond, jagged and rough on the edges. yet charcoal was easier to obtain than diamonds, like the bright blue's of dick staring at you - such a precious, yet rare instance - or brazen emeralds like damian that could only look at you like you're mere pyrite; his attention was easier to obtain, because he knew you outside of your ghostly reputation. saw you as something else. jason was the only presence you were able to share your laughter with in the face of his brief visits.

as you look at him now, as he looks at you too, through his panting and the neverending tears streaking his cheeks. you look at each other in painful, understanding silence. his face, shoulders, chest, legs are painted with scars, incisions on skin, the first trait your eyes lay could on, as your gaze flitters to your equally scarred figure, too.

on the cuts that run deep into your wrists and palms, on the lighter scars, the deeper pigmentation that lay awake, like a chaotic portrait, that throbs with painful reminders that unlike jason, you chose to hurt yourself to replace that pain in your cold, beating chest. but like jason, you both wear these memories painfully on your sleeves.

imperfect, sullen and easily broken, like you.

you don't know whether to cry, or to laugh. that finally, fucking finally, you could share your similarities, your flaws with someone else too.

and at this very time, you knew neither of you could win your losing battles. if you argue even further, if your heart spills anymore words you know would only cut through the tension and break into even more back and forths— jason would only retort, would call you angel as be attempts to calm you down, as if you were an still an innocent bystander to his pain, as if you never told him you wish he'd stay dead.

if you wanted to survive this wretched night without anymore heartbreaks, you'd have to be the first to back down, to step away, be the bigger person.

like how you had to choose to give up on your family, to finally let go of your expectations on them. it was the only way, it was your way of adjusting to them, as you always do.

maybe it was fortunate for jason, that you'd already easily given up.

you'd give up when he wraps you in his arms, and unceremoniously perched you up his lap like how an owner cradles his injured cat, ensuring your injuries aren't pressed against the weapons stuck in his utility belt.

for a moment, you let time with him be. you allow the course of calmness to wash over, for your tears to dry until it feels like sickeningly dry salt rubbing against skin, for the lump resting in your throat to retreat to your throbbing heart, for the blood escaping your body from your injury to slowly seep into the gauze that wraps around it.

without the adrenaline coursing through your veins, without the haste of trying to escape from his hold, you've now access to the feel of his entire body. when the panic escapes from your heart, and all you're left with is resignation, his muscled arms wrapped around your torso; you're left reeling at the scent of motor oil and gunpowder, head buried at the crook of his neck whilst your tears are drying ever so slowly, effuse into his favorite jacket.

everything about jason felt foreign, uncharacteristically huge. his body felt too strong, too heavy, like a burden deeper than just vigilante duties of ridding the crime of gotham.

you never knew just how touch-starved you were, ignoring the specks of blood littering his clothes and the familiar scent of cigarettes reminding you of the bustling streets of gotham, even though the stench of ichor overpowers it— you feel like you're home. not at the manor which smells of fresh, flowery sheets, not at your empty apartment polluted with car smoke just wafting outside your windows; but a home you've once lived in, with just your mother and you.

it was just so fucked up, how he could easily subdue the anxiety eating you away. it was so ironic, how in an apartment filled with deadly weapons: guns, knives, bombs, and journals containing contingency plans against all his enemies; it is where you felt currently the safest, as you're reminded of your past; your humdrum life with your mother.

back when everything was normal, back when all your worries were about the chances of having dinner that night, or hoping that your new clothes wouldn't tear as much so your beloved mom wouldn't have to spend wretched hours stealing just to provide you with all your wants and needs.

it never occurred within your mind, just how similarly you lived like jason. and in jason's thoughts, he realized how much you could've ended like him if he hadn't protected you this very night. if he hadn't heard the family pitch of your scream, a scream engraved deep into his memories, a haunting record that plays nightly as he's reminded that he was the reason why you had terror shocks from the shadows in the corner of your eyes.

he hated that he made you scream as a child, that he was the stuff of your nightmares, but he despised it even more when it had to be the others tormenting his little sibling.

it was enough to make his blood curdle, the sight of those filthy men touching, pinning and kicking, shoving a gun against the head of the person most important to him, puncturing holes into their body. he takes in a shaky gulp, yet he hums - pretending like he isn't truly bothered. he can't let you worry anymore - when your fingers listlessly play with the hems of his jacket.

'they're dead, jason. don't even think of doing what you have to do.'

the palm that rests on the back of your torso digs deeper at the thought of you wriggling in pain, not enough to hurt, but enough to tell you that whatever jason is thinking right now isn't good, your ears taking notice hearing the hastening thrum of his heart, even when his body is slumped against yours, you could still feel the slight shivers trailing across his body.

yet you only bury yourself deeper into him, closed eyes dry with tears and nuzzling at warmth you knew you'll soon never be able to feel again, from a brother who was too late to take you back. his right palm, big against your head, nearly covering the expanse of your scalp, scratches and guides you to properly lean on the blades of his shoulder. you don't see his expressions, you don't know if all the comforting he's doing, all the love he's offering you right now is authentic, or just out of mere obligation as your older brother, but you're grateful either way...

entirely grateful that you'd at least be feeling what it's like to be cuddled by one of your ex-family members, before you ultimately make a quick escape from gotham. you're so grateful that despite everything, at least now, the tiny little part of you, the innocence long gone, would rejoice at their life-long dream at finally being able to coddle with just one family member.

past you would've ranted about this in your journal, would've jumped in joy, run across the manor, and thank the world for blessing you with such a miracle. you wouldn't even care if damian shoved a nasty glare in your way.

even if temporary, even if a small, unyielding part of you wishes that you could stay like this forever; the stronger version of you, the one that learned to mature, to forgive yet never forget— it is the voice of reason amongst a sea of conflicting emotions. it tells you that you've moved on a long time ago, that whatever this is right now, will have you force to let go.

and even if younger you begged that it is unfair, that this is what they've always wanted in their life, for someone to acknowledge them as much as they've loved the family even without reciprocation; you've long since given up at hoping. your heart is weary, and tired of constantly being led to believe, only to come back broken in pieces all the damn time. you're older now, old enough to learn that, well...

everything is temporary in life. the comfort your family offered you was always temporary. jason, who succumbs to burying his head in your scalp to hum foreign tunes— he'll soon be just a burning memory, yet at least you'll be left with something positive to say about him.

after all, their love for you happens in quick successions, it wasn't all the time you were ignored, but chasing after it when it had already become mere dust before you could catch it with your clawing hands.

dick had shown you a crumb of his love, back when he first introduced you to his room. hell, even bruce was decent enough to transfer you out of school, even if it was out of mere dismissiveness and to keep a reputation, he showed he cared for a child, even if it was never enough.

and now?

'now, jason will forget about me soon enough,' you tell yourself.

just like the times you stumbled upon steph and pushed yourself to be invited to watch a movie with her, only to be rejected and given her side of popcorn as compensation and an awkward grin promising that she'll find a time in her schedule to spend with you. waiting for months for an update proved fruitless, writing praises in your journal, all about her silky blonde hair, and her lighthearted smiles don't do anything to manifest time well-spent with someone you thought would at least put in effort to be with you. she was similar to you in so many ways, how she felt dismissed by the family, and never enough for them— but the sheer difference that places you both in different lanes is the fact that she was at least loved, that she still had people care for her outside her status of spoiler. people loved stephanie brown, because she was at least unique, she was noticeable with her ironic jokes and love for purple.

you still had nothing to offer.

it's like the silent moments you were able to cherish when you could last for more than five minutes in the room with damian, his emerald eyes petting titus and alfred the cat, as you sit in the far corner watching how softly, how precious like treasured gems, he treats them. he doesn't fight you, doesn't bat at eye, but witnessing the young assassin, your little brother, become a kid, watching him paint in your memories without his scowled growl directed at you, or a knife pointed on your body; it made you feel like they do have a semblance of love, of care, only for those who deserved.

you only deserve care when you prove yourself to be capable enough.

hell, despite you knowing the least about duke, watching him play with his powers against bruce's orders was what made your bleak life a bit more interesting. having to save him from nearly dying, from fainting due to the overuse of his metahuman abilities when he was still new to being signal. being the faint silhouette he sees throughout the white light in his vision, the quivering, desperate voice who assures him he'll be alive, he'll be fine; you don't know if he remembers it, if the young boy could even recall how your eyes lit up, how your chest felt lighter when his scarred palms came to cup your shivering ones to keep you from ripping at your hair—

your point proves, chasing after them amounts to nothing. you could only be a witness, a bystander if you want to relish in their shared memories, but never part of their small community. you'll never be able to know what's it like having inside jokes with them, to share your homemade meals with them, to show old albums of your life as a child before being adopted. you just can't.

even the prospect of being married, of having them help you arrange your marriage becomes mere fantasy.

everything you ever hoped to spend with them is fantasy, an unattainable desire. you should've known from the start.

to them, to you, to everybody you lived with under the same, gothic roof of a manor rich with history still unknown to an outsider like you— you are but a mere stranger. there at the wrong place, in all the wrong times.

maybe that is what jason felt after his untimely death, that he does not belong anymore. maybe he felt like an intruder instead, just like you, with how he felt replaced by tim, how the legacy of robin lives on even after his passing. how he felt like a cheap rebound of dick after years of searching for answers, or how he never truly mattered to bruce—

— but at least he still has a place in their heart. despite only knowing him after his resurrection, you've come to love him too, and learned to let go at the same time.

you hope jason understands why you're so unwilling for him to help return you to the manor. you hope he doesn't question why you chose to live in your apartment, you hope that if he does find out the reason, he'll shut up about it.

you wish that jason understands, even as you felt well-rested enough on his muscled shoulders, head slowly, eyes blinking away the drowsiness washing over you, rising even if the arms that hover over your scalp invites you to sleep instead.

you're stronger now, not physically, but you willed yourself to force your eyes to stare back at him. his lidded, dull blue oned unlike dick's, and it doesn't look like the ocean eyes you find yourself drowning in staring at bruce's whenever you watch him across the television during his interviews. it was a blue similar to the sea at night, tranquil shores that caresses the soles of your feet standing on sand. there was no shine in them, it was a symbolic retelling of his death, gazing into them, at the depths of emotions swimming in those orbs alone, you feel a sense of ease when they soften, when they give way for you to stare for as long as you want.

although you were sitting atop his lap, looking down at him, his gaze made you feel little. like you were a child all over again. both of his hands are now resting on your waist to stabilize you. you couldn't reason the sudden protectiveness, the unwillingness to let you go, but your mouth opens before you could think, yet jason beats you to it, spilling words you thought he was incapable of admitting — breaking the peaceful silence once more with the significant tremor, the apologies laced in his words— with all the years he spent looking at you in contempt before he resigned to casual, yet fleeting conversations with you back at the manor.

"you know, angel...? i'm so sorry for everything. i really mean it... for all the times i was blind to you wishing you could've spent time with me. and i was so stupid, rejecting you, hurtin' you all those years thinking bruce was out there favoring you when it's the opposite... I didn't know he didn't even care for you. i know you won't be able to forgive me, or them, i know it took me long enough to forgive bruce too. but it's different now, 'kay? i'll be different, angel. i'll protect you from now on, in your, what? your little apartment, right? i don't mind scouting the entire area for you even if it means you're on the other side of the city. all for you, i promise."

"all for you."

he speaks in a careful manner, choosing his words and flinching - the scar on his lip stretches, it reminds you of the one on your neck - when he feels it doesn't rightfully get the message across. you can feel it, feel how every sentence is wired with regret, heavy promises, and an unspoken desperation to keep you close to him, as if- as if he actually cares for you—

you blink, vision blurry as you catch sight of a stray tear running down your damp chest. your nose clogs once more, tongue licking at your chapped lips. jason, he- he takes your fingers before it ventures to tangle upon your hair, he hushes the tight wail escaping your throat as he cradles your body, other palm nuzzling into your sensitive scalp.

are you crying again? at what he'd said?

why are you so broken, that the prospect of somebody once full of disinterest towards you, now cares for you?

and for what is he doing this for, though? all for you? he apologized, exactly like dick, with the same foreboding assurance. is it to repair, to mend a broken relationship that was never there?

"y-you don't have to anymore, jay— i just- just wanted to—"

'i just want to make peace with you before i'll be gone from your life, before you could even fulfill your promises. you don't have to be chained with someone like me for the rest of your life anymore.'

thankfully, he hums at you, interrupting your growing stutters, at the thought that noisily seeps into your head. you hiccuped in reply, drowning out the shivers jolting across your body. if not for his hands still digging at your waist, you swore the dizziness of it all could've made you stumble across the floor.

but, you can't just stay silent about this. about all the shit that happened in your life. not when he's promising you something so burdening, not when he thinks he has a chance of making it up to you.

no, you can't just let them push at you anymore.

you whisper through your inconsolable stutters, eyes drifting down to your lap, at your hands that scratch at raw scars, "i don't blame you, jason. it never really came across to me to hate you for, you know- it's not- you're not the only reason that he neglected me—"

"shh, i know, angel. i know. but that doesn't change shit 'bout how he— we treated you, does it not?"

you shake your head, downcast gaze refusing to look at his troubled one. if you do, you might just surrender to the softness, to the child-like whispers at the back of your mind saying you wanted this.

"w-well you can't change anything about it now... and i hated you still back then, for different reasons. i hope, i hope that you know that, too..." your voice cracks at the seams, "i- i'm still hurt from everything, jason—"  he shushes you again, fingers brushing away at your stray hairs sticking to your damp cheeks. his palms were huge as it cups your face, emitting a comforting warmth against the jagged surface, a heat that makes you slowly, but unsurely melt.

— you never had this brotherly love in your whole life before, never felt comforted in the hands of who was once your tormentor.

"i know you're hurt. i know you're in so much pain because of us— of me, so let me take care of it from now on, 'kay...?"

he whispers, hushed voice a gentle tremor lulling you to near sleep. but you can't just return to this uncharacteristic softness, not now. your eyes, almost squinting shut, snap open to look back at him hesitatingly.

"no, you don't have to do this, jason... i told you," you hesitate, gulping. "we're not– we're not siblings anymore. you don't have to do all this for me... you're not obligated to, unlike last time."

you can feel it, his shoulders squaring in on itself, the subtle tension returning in his muscles, as if his arms were ready to trap you in his gentle hold, restricting you for further escaping.

"... nonsense, angel. take that back— i am doing this all for you."

his voice was always tinged with gruffness, rarely any softness in the way his words were said with finality. sometimes mocking, sometimes spiteful. for a crime lord, it was imperative to always be the supreme voice, a voice of reason.

... but this time, it seems, there's a childish softness, a despondency, laced in his reply. like him, though, your resolve to leave his apartment was as solid as his promise to keep you to stay.

"no, jason, you're doing this all for your guilt... not- not out of pure hearted intentions, aren't you...? just to prove that you're right and- and you're better than the entire family. and then you'll forget about me afterwards—"

you crack at the seams.

"this will be just like all the other times..."

you ignore how his fingers dig deeper into the plush softness of your waist, how it feels like he's staring right past you, mind drifting to another plane of existence at what you'd said.

yet you continue.

"— so please, leave me alone after this...?

after all, what's the point in considering their emotions anymore, when they've never done so for yours?

a silence you couldn't swallow, strangling at the chords in your throat. it feels like a bucket of cold water had washed over the once comfortable silence he'd bask in.

"... please, jay?" your heartbeat spikes at calling him by his once beloved nickname. the one you used to lovingly mutter under your breath, shyly taking his attention from back when you were a child, a subconscious manipulative tactic.

you always called him out with that title, a wide-eyed plea, with what felt like butterflies spinning in your tongue inviting him to linger for just a few minutes with you, just so he could spare some time reading a paragraph of your favorite classic book—

— it was a nickname that fell astray, turned into a flickering memory, after your relationship with him slowly strained. after every month, little by little, you saw him less. until you were a teenager, until he felt his business were with your other siblings instead, his priority on his and their vigilante lives— like the unbidden promises he kept from you, the nickname fell short, turned stranger in your eyes like the man you're seated atop on.

your lips feel dry, your sweat clings to your dampened shirt, and jason.

god, jason's hands enclose itself on your waist, heavy head dropping to your shoulders. you can smell it, his conditioner and a heady scent of cigarettes. his hair tickles the underside of your chin, you don't know whether to laugh or to cry when he takes his space in the corner of your neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply— the heat of his breath hits your skin, it feels too warm, a stark contrast to the shivers overtaking your body.

he heaves in a breath, you can't see his face from below, can't make it out if he's laughing or groaning or what. you can't wrought his head out, he's stronger than you.

momentary panic ensues, you fear he might've disagreed, that he might end up locking you up but—

"huh..." his gruff voice returns, a deeper tremor laced with confusing you'd expect a frigid reply, a desperate plea, maybe even a familiar anger bursting right out of him

"with you calling me that," he whispers on the crook of your neck, head burying far deeper as if- as if he wants his skin to fuse with yours. the depth in his words felt utterly abysmal when he referred to his nickname.

a little more, and you swear you might feel his teeth grazing your flesh. at that, goosebumps start to trail your entire body, your teeth aches with unbidden agitation.

you can't, you can't fall into hopeless respite.

he continues with his little monologue. you're too breathless, shallow air fills your lungs at every word he punches your way, clinging, burrowing deep into your mind, with every touch pinning you in place—

"how could i argue against you now, angel...? not when you sound like the little kid i met back then."

a scoff, laced with amusement, erupted from him. you can feel the vibrations on his adam's apple, you witness the thoughts churning in his mind, the subtle reminiscing in the silence that clings onto both your memories.

a sense of nostalgia washes over you —at the night you both meet, of the gentle giant sneaking past gothic windows and his reaction to being caught, at your excitement to make a new companion— but bitter resentment claws its way faster into your thoughts.

how could he pretend like everything's fine? how could he act like he didn't break your heart when you first saw him?

"but still, i'm serious about the change, for you, just you. anythin' you want, angel, anything—"

a small part of you hates him still, despises the entire family for what they did; what they caused.

how could he have the audacity to think he has a chance at your life? to assume he deserves one? right after- after destroying all your hopes?

he's right, though,. he remembers those memories from when you were a kid. a kid, but not anymore. you're not the little child who looks up to him, to dick, to bruce— who kisses at the soles of their feet, who acts as their shadow chasing after them.

'how dare you, jason...'

you don't know what overcame you, what monstrous being possessed your soul to spitefully reply all of a sudden. maybe it was bitter anger, the past resentment, an urge— a subtle defiance that wishes to torment them like how they did you.

maybe it was the broken remnants of your child that just wants assurance, or the mature teenager in you that wants to move on, to have a new lease on life.

but, either way. it's the words that need to be said that matters, and not the reaction, the unneeded outcomes from the same people who hurt you.

you had to grow past everything, had to take the first steps if you truly wish to let go, rather than run away from the past with no final message.

they say indifference is the opposite of love, not hate. and if you want your tormentors to feel what they've done to you, to know what it's like to be met with spiritless replies, empty promises and hallways, broken hearts and cold dinners— you had to beat them with oppressive silence; a loveless nothingness.

"jay," you call out to him, interrupting his shameless rambles.

"please promise me..." at the sudden shift in your voice, your soft tone, he wretches himself away from you, albeit slowly; looking you straight in the eyes.

there was naught a sudden flicker of absolute firmness in your eyes, but a quiet resolve that demanded finality, a silent plea opposite to the screaming that ensued just an hour ago.

'be the bigger person, (name).'

'because you are not a wayne anymore—

you are your mother's child.'

and she's kind, but assertive. gracious, but cunning. you see an imagery of bruce in your reflection, your passions in dick, your trauma in jason— so many similarities, so many stark contrasts.

but ultimately, you came from her.

you can sense it, the intangible shift in the air, the curious, yet hesitant flicker in his eyes.

you lick your lips, the tinge of blood grounds you in spite of the hastening of your heartbeats.

"look, okay... promise me this—"

a deep inhale, a quivering exhale. and for once, you control the tears brimming in your eyelids.

he nods, urging you to continue.

the knot on your chest only tightens, strangling you until it feels no words could escape your mouth. yet they're mere paranoia, you can't afford fear no more.

"i... i want you to forget about me after this. promise me, jason, to treat this night like all the other nights you pretended i didn't exist. that you love your family but not me, because i am not family. treat me like you despised me because i was your terrible replacement, i could never amount to you and that's all fine with me... let's leave all this behind and- and return back to our normal lives, alright...? where i'm nobody to you, and you're just a stranger to me... "

even your resolve tasted foreign on your tongue, as your eyes suddenly dart everywhere but at his breathless reactions.

"you don't— don't have to dwell on the past anymore."

'come on, (name). don't hesitate anymore. this is your future speaking for you.'

your guts twists in on itself, everything's spinning, your heart feels like it's running a mile. but you force yourself to smile at him despite the energy draining from your body, despite how you had to watch the color wash away from his face, feel how his hands dig into your skin, watch the frustated furrow of his brow—

you smile a shaky smile, grin a final grin, clasp his vulnerable, and equally conflicted face in your scarred hands, and finally let another wave of tears erupt from your eyes.

"can you do that for me, jason?"

"..."

"— alright..."

let the cinema's curtains finally close, let there be no more acts, no more formalities to happen between you two.

let this all be a fleeting memory. just like those past thirteen years and a half: let it be buried in a treasure chest you'll never visit.

his silence acts as resignation, your hands letting go of his cupped face, to carefully bring you down from his loosening hold, as you wince at the pain still throbbing in your wrapped scar; it shall symbolize a final message of goodbye.

the unspoken agreement to move, the cushion of his red helmet brushing on his hair as he puts it on, the jingles of his motor keys in the pockets of his heavy pants, the creak of the door as he opens it, slow and unsure, the stench of your blood still lingering in the air, the uncomfortable solace as he props your hands up his shoulders to lean your body weight against him before he brings a crutch to your armpit. the gruff that came after as his hands stabilized you, for you to properly walk with the newly armed crutches beside his company—

it provides at least a grounding notion for the thoughts spiraling in your mind. the drowned thumps of the wood stumbling on the carpet, the moonlight spilling out the cracks of the hallway's windows, the faint rumbling of the city streets as passing cars honk at the traffic,  the ding of the elevator, the anything of everything.

but him.

focusing on anything else, it at least helps distract you from his heavy gaze, from jason's prying arms ready to capture you, trap you in his apartment, the moment you show slight faintness, any hesitant stumble in your steps, any wincing sound at the pressure in your joints; his overprotectiveness still at an all-time high despite the promise you proposed that he had to pretended to upkeep for you.

when you were finally propped on to his huge motorcycle, a few mishaps being met in your way when he handled you too tight, so daintily as if you're made of fine porcelain, as if he were afraid to let go — crutches graciously placed in the space between his seat and yours — and when you hear the engine's gas revving up, but no jason making a brief quip, a comedic joke only he could understand which you laugh at still...

... only one thing was for certain despite the millions of ideas racing in your mind from his quiet reaction.

'let him bring me home, give him space, and let him forget about all this in the end.'

let the past be a dream.

and you shall only hope that everything that comes after this, will also be just another dream.

after all, he had only agreed to let you go home - for now, just now... - but hadn't truly promised to leave you alone, not at all, never.

and maybe, just maybe, you should've never trusted his words at all.

it was all that it is, all that it was.

a mere device for tactical missions.

the intercom linked directly to the batcave was just a device used to communicate with the family in the rare instances he chose to pair up with them in case jason learned his current tactics required more than a helping hand, but rather companionship in the midst of completing tasks.

its usefulness was only for practicality.

and it was just that, a tool for the greater good, yet easily discarded after he gained what he wanted.

when you left him, crutches in hand, back turned as your body fades in on the distance, he realizes that even thought it was his pride that he knew you the longest - now even bearing your deepest, most personal issues that just makes letting you (temporarily) go hurt his heart - he had only ever used you for his entertainment, not even an apology nor a confrontation was made to confess to you of his past sins towards you.

he's such a shitty brother, isn't he?

all that it is, all it ever was.

and yet as the polluted breeze of gotham flutters through his hair, the night sky still gleaming over the horizon of long standing, abandoned buildings camouflaged amongst shitty, barely functioning apartment complexes - where he knows are one of the current places you live in - he willed himself to comb them back, especially the stubborn strands sticking near his ears. in his hands, he holds an intangible device.

the same old, rickety intercoms.

just like old times.

so he presses the tiny button used to trigger direct calls, and shoves it deep into his ears, a perfect fit as every device was crafted to each individual working for the batman. you're the only member of the family to never adopt the vigilante life, he's glad you never did, but at the same time... it was what what you apart from everybody else.

everything just reminds him of how much you're worlds apart from the family. everything just pushes him to change that current position of yours; to make you know you matter more than you ever know.

"... ah, young master jason, you're back," alfred's contemplating voice buzzes through the call. no hint of surprise was evident in his tone, but rather a welcoming quip at his current rebellion towards jason. "i suppose you might require some assistance if you're calling then, right?"

'yes,' he might've said, stalling, but it's not as simple just as money heist problems or an issue regarding the resurgence of new kryptonite deposits— no.

jason doesn't want that. he doesn't want to waste anymore time, not with making jokes or pretending like the topic at hand was just a joke.  not when the matter precedes mere missions or a tendency to prank bruce, not when it's his angel who he refuses to truly let go of.

not when your life is at stake living in a completely foreign part of gotham. not when you nearly died, and if he wasn't a lick away from saving you, you'd end up like him.

but with nobody to mourn you.

"we need to talk about (name)."

and then like a thread snapping, he hears gasps from a distance, beyond the device's speaker registering. he hears hushed whispers, stephanie's feminine voice cutting through the tension, but no sarcasticness, no quips from duke, not even cass' occasional question. despite only hearing a fraction of the batcave's echoes, he feels like a witness to the tension rising, even he feels his shoulders squaring up. like a spectacle to behold, like time frozen in the hands of fate itself.

gotham wasn't always this silent, but the space between jason and your world felt like mountains apart that it just destroys any caution jason feels at the current moment; all in the name of this... this urge to feel your head resting in his shoulders once more, your arms wrapped tightly around his, safe and sound.

"tell me what happened."

it wasn't alfred's voice this time that cuts off the ever-so confusing thread, the dangerous thoughts swimming in jason's head. a deep tremor, laced with an undertone of desperation, is heard through the silent murmers of the intercoms. he couldn't see it, but he could picture the haste, the emergence of the bat to be the very

and yet all was said in a tone so different, so completely foreign to jason.

it wasn't as commanding, as opposing as what he's used to. it wasn't his voice that he uses towards criminals, it wasn't the vibrato used to interrogate criminals, let alone scold his vigilante partners.

... something completely different, yet easy to catch on.

it was batman through the call, yes, yet not quite so.

no.

it was bruce wayne asking, it was a father who hides his worry through a veil of composure. yet jason knows him, knows him enough to know that he, bruce, knows of your disappearance all too suddenly. knows that that the entire family might've finally come through their senses like he did.

"jason... did you... did something happen?" dick's voice, laced with audible shivers. jason had to do a double take at the noticeable shift in his behavior, at how... wrecked his eldest brother asked. but despite it all, it seems like he catched on as easily, at the sudden convenience, of what might implied jason's impulsive decision to call them at such a dire moment.

— that's why his next question doesn't come off as shock.

"you didn't possibly... meet them, didn't you?" it's like the athlete couldn't believe the words escaping his mouth, yet jason could feel it, the charged air, the shift of movement, as dick's mouth presses uncomfortably close to the speakers.

"tell me, did you... find them?"

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 20,490+ words. no beta, we die like the reader's love for the family. anyways, wow, this was the hardest scene of all to write. so many dialogues compacted into one scene alone. because of all my hard work, revisions and even rewrites 😭 i demand you all to comment and interact with me because i am NOT wasting all this effort for only like a few comments. that's all i ever ask for actually <333 anyways, the jason and mc parallels are still prevalent, but i'd also like for all you guys to take note of the miscommunication trope that i did. like the reader who's so broken to the point they can't comprehent that people are capable of loving them, and jason who can't property communicate how much he cares for you, stumbling over all his words and saying all the wrong things wow. very much me and my siblings' dynamics to one another. we love doomed siblings trope!!!

yes, again, i am begging for you guys to interact with this post, and avoid on hate comments, please. i've already dealt w/ enough anons but oh well, that's unavoidable huh. happy late valentines day, btw! and please do remember to not directly steal parts of my work. now to check if you guys actually read the author's notes: what is your favorite line/quote/literally anything in this chapter? again, despite its shitty quality, i put a lot of time and effort into the creation of this. this is not just a fanfic for me, but something very personal. again, don't forget to interact and give inputs, thank you all for being so patient and waiting for this!

taglist: @neerathebrightstar , @ghostdoodlen , @prince-nikko , @daisy-spot , @strawberryglass , @h0neybun-was-here , @confused-they , @weirdcore-fantasy , @mystyque234 , @marssthings , @notwhoy0uthink , @aliengutzstuff , @lilyalone , @luffyadolover , @bunbunsonny, @lazyemmy , @questionthegrapevine , @oh-nowo-i-got-uwu , @winter-world , @budijojo , @budijojo , @altruisticbeauty , @dopepursebasketballplaid , @the-holy-pigeon , @red-phantom-0 , @em-draws14 , @thypplover , @cens0r3d-blog , @yl90 , @sadeem575, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch , @maicenitas, @kiiyoooo , @flyingpansaurus , @farmerboywakatoshikun-blog , @rogueofbullshit , @earlqurl , @dotomuses , @sheep-from-rad , @tsuniio , @thesm1l3yface, @nosochek-3o , @radiantharry , @iwasveronica , @kdjhubby , @ashstwin , @thetreefairypersonalblog, @se-rae2 , @0ut0fsweets, @notwhoy0uthink

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part two)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

< prev

Rafe stands and looks down at the body, his fists clenched tightly. Reality is setting in now. He could go to prison. His future could be ruined.

He’s perpetually at the mercy of his impulsivity, thinking only of the minute he’s living in, burdened with the consequences later. But still, even with his head a little clearer, he doesn’t regret this.

Ripping away the life of a man who wronged him was a thrill. He spends every day feeling like he’s losing and the power he had in his hands tonight felt so fucking good. He won for once.

You feel heavy as you push yourself up off the floor. You wish you could curl up in your bathtub under hot, gushing water, washing away everything that happened tonight.

The corpse is harder to look at with every second that passes. You glance up at Rafe, blood splattered on his face as he stares down at what he’d done, at what you’d done, chillingly unfazed.

“We can’t leave anything that’ll point back to me,” he mumbles, his voice low over the fireworks still crackling outside.

“Or me,” you have to remind him tensely.

His eyes land on yours. He’s always only looking out for himself. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have to worry about someone else.

“I’m serious,” you urge. Your survival instinct rushes through you for the second time tonight. You refuse to let Rafe throw you to the wolves. “I saved your life. You owe me. I won’t take the fall for this.”

“Well, neither will I,” he snaps.

“You shot him.”

“I could say you did,” Rafe replies. “And it’d be your word against mine. What then?”

You scoff, in disbelief of his selfishness.

“I saved your life,” you repeat. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

Rafe swallows hard. He’s not sure many people would do what you did for him tonight. They’d watch. They’d let him die. The possibility that you might feel something for him makes his chest twist with an unfamiliar warmth.

“We’ll look out for each other, alright?” he relents, letting his guard down for a moment. “Let’s just clean this up.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket again. You pull it out, seeing Pope’s name. Twelve missed calls.

You hope your friends don’t get so worried that they come up here, ignoring the Off Limits sign Porter had put up across the stairs. But they don’t know where you went. You’re almost certain.

“My friends keep calling me,” you whisper.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. His friends aren’t worrying about him.

“You can’t answer them,” he snaps.

“I know.” You let out a shaky sigh, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “We have to be fast. What do we do? Do we bury him?”

Rafe takes a beat to think.

“We dump him in the ocean,” he finally says. “We go to the marina and drive my boat out far enough where nobody will find him.”

“How do we move him so nobody sees? We can’t go through the house. We might run into someone.”

Rafe looks to the glass door on the other end of the room, the balcony offering a view of the inky night sky.

“There,” he says. “We’ll push him off and put him in the back of my truck.”

You consider it. Of the limited options you have, it seems like the only one worth trying.

“Okay. We have to clean the blood off the floor,” you say. “And everything we touch needs to be wiped. Maybe there’s something with bleach in it around here?”

For the first time since you entered this room, you feel hope. There’s a chance, a real chance, you could get away with this. You look back at the desk Rafe ransacked.

“Pick that stuff up,” you say. Frustration rolls through him. He never liked being bossed around. “I’ll try to find something to clean with.”

“Don’t let anyone see you,” Rafe mutters.

“How stupid do you think I am?” you huff before you turn towards the door.

You tiptoe through the second story, peeking into a bathroom cupboard. When you find a spray bottle that reads Cleaner and Bleach on the packaging, you grab it and head back to the room.

You and Rafe move quickly and quietly, using clothes you found in the closet to wipe everything with bleach. After a loud, consonant cracking of fireworks that you assume is the grand finale, the show ends. And you know people are on their way back to the house.

The neighbor’s private beach can’t be that far away. You have a minute. Maybe two.

You’re glad Rafe thinks to find the shell of the bullet. He puts it in his pocket. You spray the bleach over the floor again, cleaning every drop of blood you can see.

“Tuck this stuff under his shirt,” you say breathlessly, handing Rafe the bottle and the blood-soaked clothes.

You can’t do it. You know you’ll need to touch him when you move him, but you’d rather limit the contact you have with his body. Even dead, when he can’t hurt you, touching him is terrifying.

You pick the gun up off the floor, then open the balcony, relieved you can’t hear any voices yet. You peer over the edge to see the sandy ground. The balcony overlooks the side of the house, dark and secluded.

Rafe grunts as he drags the corpse out onto the balcony. You have to muster up every bit of strength you have as you help heave Porter’s body over the railing. He falls with a hard thud, facedown in the sand.

You have to jump the balcony. You can’t risk going downstairs. Rafe is wide-eyed as you hitch your leg over the railing, looking down with shaky breaths.

“Wait,” he whispers. “Let me go first. If you break something, we’re fucked.”

He shifts down as low as he can before letting his feet hang over the edge. He lets go, dropping hard, his ankles pinching with pain from the impact.

“Okay,” he says. “Go.”

You feel a splinter dig into your palm as you clutch onto the wooden railing with one hand while the other holds the gun. You make the split-second decision to keep the balcony door open to air out the smell of bleach.

You hope you cleaned away every drop of blood in the room. There’s no going back to it now.

You sink, hanging as low as you can, looking over your shoulder before you drop. Rafe’s arms wrap around you as your feet hit the ground, his chest hard against your back, breaking your fall.

“If someone comes,” he whispers in your ear, “run.”

Waiting for him to get his truck is torture. The humid night air presses against your face and you can’t bear to look down at the body on the ground.

Rafe returns and you move quickly, straining as you carry the body over the uneven terrain, the soles of your shoes slipping on the sand.

Once the body is in the trunk and Rafe unfolds the cover, blanketing the cab and concealing the evidence, you feel a shred less frightened.

You glance back into the darkness just in case. A glow of a phone screen is in the sand. Rafe is already behind the wheel, demanding that you get in, his voice carrying through the open rear window.

You feel for your phone. It’s still in your pocket.

“Do you have your phone?” you whisper.

He responds after a moment, “Yes. Get in.”

“I think his phone fell on the ground when we were carrying him,” you say. “We should–”

Faint laughs in the distance interrupt you. There’s no time to run back and get the phone without being seen.

“Get the hell in,” Rafe mutters angrily.

You obey, swinging open the door, barely closing it in time as Rafe peels away. Your muscles prick from the weight you’d just carried as you drive past the partygoers coming back from watching fireworks.

“Holy shit,” Rafe chuckles, near elated. “We did it.”

You stare ahead, your head foggy.

This will haunt you for the rest of your life. The thought forces a torrent of dread through you worse than you’ve ever felt before.

What if you’d run out of the room when Rafe and Porter came in? What if you’d left Rafe to deal with the body on his own?

What if you’d never gone upstairs?

You’re destined to agonize over the what if’s of tonight forever.

You gaze down at the gun in your lap and hold your hands out in front of you, skin stinging from the bleach. You’d wiped away the blood, but you think you’ll always see it on your hands.

You figure out that it’s a good thing you left Porter’s phone. If he was sharing his location, you’re sure the police could track where it was last before you threw it into the sea with him. They’d know exactly where to look for his body.

“We should shut off our phones,” you realize. “I think they can track GPS history from cell towers.”

Rafe digs into his pocket, glancing down to watch the screen go black.

“How’d you think of that?” he mumbles with a laugh. “Is this not your first time doing this, Pogue?”

“Nothing about this is funny,” you reply.

“Relax,” he says. “We got away with it.”

“You can’t be so sure,” you say. “One fingerprint in that room and…”

You can’t think about it.

In the paroxysm of emotions you’re already feeling, guilt digs a hole into your stomach when you see Pope’s most recent text before you power off your phone.

Answer the phone. We’re worried.

·········

The clock on Rafe’s dashboard reads 10:44 when you reach the marina. He parks right by the main dock. The place seems quiet, the water crowded with seemingly unoccupied boats.

“I’ll take a walk around to make sure we’re alone,” he says, pulling his key out of the ignition.

The car door slams shut and you’re left with a gun in your lap, a body in the trunk, and your tormenting thoughts.

Maybe you missed something back in that room.

You picture Porter’s phone lighting up in the sand. His last text to you said to come upstairs. When the cops inevitably start searching for answers, you’ll be questioned.

A minute later, Rafe swings open your door, pulling you out of your daze. You meet his glare, his hair tousled and sweaty.

“We’re good,” he says. “Move.”

Having to haul the body over the dock past darkened, quiet boats is unnerving. Ater you leave it at the back of Rafe’s boat, you stand behind him at the helm.

Your arms are crossed and the gun is tucked by your elbow, because if you learned anything tonight, it’s that you can’t trust anyone.

Rafe’s still a man. A man who takes what he wants when he wants it. A man who killed someone because he didn’t obey him. He could hurt you if he wanted to. It’s best not to be alone with him.

“I should wait in the car,” you mumble. Rafe shakes his head in frustration, driving the boat forward. The boat’s motor hums as you rock with its movements.

“No,” he mutters condescendingly. It reminds you of why underneath the stubborn pull you’ve always felt towards him, you’ve also harbored a quiet fear. Rafe is violent. Possibly enough to hurt you the same way Porter did.

You feel for the gun again. If two men have to die tonight, so be it. The fact that your mind went there chills you.

Rafe looks over at you, lips twisting in annoyance.

“Don’t feel bad for that asshole,” he mutters. “He asked for it.”

It’s the worst possible thing he could’ve said. Your throat is raw with the threat of tears. Asked for it. Would he say the same about what happened to you?

“I don’t regret it,” you tell him, sure that he’s assuming that that’s why you’re so tense. “I’m just worried we missed something.”

“If we did, nothin’ we can do about it now,” he says. You look ahead at the dark sea, moonlight shining over the water’s ripples.

“We need to figure our story out,” you say. “How’d you end up upstairs? Did anyone see you?”

“I stopped him while everyone was going outside to watch the show,” he recalls. “Told him to show me where he was keeping his coke because I heard he was selling again. It was loud. I don’t think anyone heard, but maybe someone saw. I don’t know.”

“Why do you sell?” you ask, face pinched in confusion. “Why did you even care that he was selling, too? You don't have enough money already?”

“I gotta keep your tips coming, don’t I?” he says smugly. You scoff, jarred by his blasé attitude, despising his cold arrogance.

He notices the angry scowl on your face. He’s convinced he’ll never break through the hatred you have for him.

“I want to make my own money. That’s why,” he admits. It’s half the truth, but it’s good enough.

It’s surprising to hear that Rafe, a man you thought coasted on the wealth he was born into, possesses a work ethic. Even though he uses it to deal drugs.

“Did anyone see you go upstairs?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” you say.

“Why were you there?”

You chew on your lip, the truth sitting on your chest like a ton of bricks. There’s no point in telling him. He thinks your motive was the same as his. Money. And you’ll let him believe it.

Besides, talking about it now, merely an hour afterwards, will only make you cry again and your head is pounding from how much you’ve already wept tonight. How could you possibly say it out loud?

“To buy pot. Then I smoked too much and passed out.” You keep talking before he can ask anything else. “Are we far out enough?”

Rafe looks back to make sure the marina is out of sight before he kills the engine.

Pushing Porter’s body over the guardrail is harder than the other times you’d carried him tonight. The water is rocking the boat so much now that you’re far into the ocean. Your breath is strained as you heave him over the metal, his body hitting the water with a loud splash under the bright moon.

Rafe pulls out the bullet shell in his pocket and tosses it in the water. You know you have to throw the gun in, too. It’s hard to. But you do it.

Rafe looks over the edge now that everything is sinking to the bottom, his forearm brushing against yours. He notices how quickly you jerk away, refusing to let him touch you. The pull he feels towards you is obviously one-sided. Your eyes flit away when you look at him.

“You have blood on your face,” you tell him soberly. His temper flares, feeling stupid for thinking a girl could feel anything but afraid of him after he shot someone right in front of her. Even though she was the one who told him to do it.

You might have a deadly thirst for revenge in common, but that’s where the similarities end. He stalks past you to wash himself off in the bathroom below the deck.

You let out a shaky breath. The unexpected contact with Rafe startled you. After tonight, you’re sure you’ll always be scared to be around men you don’t know all that well. Even the ones that seem decent are just lions in sheep’s clothing. The monster that proved that to you is below the ocean’s surface now.

You look into the murky water, and despite the fear and the anxiety and dread weighing on your heart, you’re glad that this is how it ended. Porter paid the ultimate price for what he did to you. He doesn’t deserve to live, to smile, to feel anything ever again.

·········

You and Rafe sit behind the hull, the boat swaying with the tide. You start to piece together an alibi and decide to admit you were upstairs together. If even one person says they saw either one of you go up there, you won’t be caught in a lie.

As you talk, Rafe can’t take his eyes off of you. You’re clearly scared, but trying to stay level-headed. He doesn’t get how you do it. He’s always been bad at keeping his mind steady. He never had a reason to even try.

“So, I went up first after he texted me to come buy from him,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t shake. “I got high and passed out. Then you came up with him to find his stash. We’re obviously going to have to come clean about the drugs.”

“What do you mean obviously?”

“You’re going to be a suspect the second the police start talking to people,” you tell him. “Everyone knows you had an issue with him. And why. You can’t lie about the coke. And they’ll have evidence that I was buying weed from him. We have to be honest about it. They’ll find out anyway.”

Rafe sighs, knowing you’re right.

You hug yourself as a cool breeze carries over the water. The weakness in your gaze reminds Rafe of the way you’d cried on the floor earlier tonight. Before all this, he only ever saw you as strong-willed and sharp-tongued.

Even though calming a man like Rafe down when he’s angry sounds like it’d be impossible, you figure it’s the only direction your alibi can go.

“We’ll say I talked you down and…” You shake your head. “It doesn’t make sense that we’d stay up there. I think we say we left him in his room and sat on the beach alone in front of the house to watch the fireworks from there.”

You worry it’s not enough. You’re certain that no one who knows either one of you would buy that you voluntarily spent time together.

“Maybe the cops would believe we hung out,” you mumble, “but nobody else would.”

Rafe stills. His friends like to give him crap about how much time he spends talking to you when he supposedly hates Pogues. If he told them he was with you all night, they’d say they saw it coming.

“They could,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

“My friends would never believe it,” you scoff. He purses his lips, pissed off at your tone, at the clear implication that you talk shit about him with your friends.

“It’s our only option,” he mutters sharply.

“You’re right,” you give in. “Then what? We went home before people got back? I guess that way if anyone saw us leave together, we have it covered.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “That’s the story.”

“Okay. It’s not great, but it’s the best we can do.” You check your phone for the time, only to remember it’s turned off. “Can you drive me home now? I’ll say my phone died. You should do the same when people ask where you’ve been.”

Rafe doesn’t admit to you that nobody was checking up on him, that nobody ever does. He only stands up to drive back to the dock.

·········

Your first priority when you get home is to text your friends, guilt consuming you now that it’s been over two hours since you last saw them and they have no idea what happened to you.

You turn on your phone to see a string of missed calls and texts from the guys. You open the group-chat and type: I’m so sorry. I’m okay. Got too high and lost track of time. Home now.

They video call you to be sure that you really made it home safe, drunkenly rambling on about how they assumed you went to see the fireworks early, leaving them to search the neighbor’s beach for you.

As you listen to them talk over each other on the phone, it’s the first time you see your reflection since you left the house, when you were oblivious to the fact that the impending hours would change you forever.

You can see it in your eyes that you’re not the same. You can only hope that they don’t catch on.

·········

It’s been three days. You haven’t been sleeping. You’ve hardly been eating. And no matter how many times you tell yourself there’s no use in thinking about how different the night could have turned out, it doesn’t stop your head from spinning into hypotheticals.

All you told your friends was that you were with a boy and that they didn’t need to know any more. Because they all see you as a sister, they were happy to be spared the details.

If only they knew. A few nights ago, you promised them you wouldn’t talk about Rafe ever again. You never would’ve thought the reason would be because you’d committed a crime together.

You’re back at work. Smiling and chatting and serving drinks and acting like everything is fine is harder than you expected.

The thought of seeing Rafe again is oddly comforting. No matter how twisted it is, you have a bond now, held together by secrecy and shared trauma. He’s the closest to knowing what you’re going through.

Even though you were afraid of him on the boat, when he dropped you off, he waited until you got into the house before he drove off. Maybe he sees you as someone he needs to protect, even if it is for his own selfish reasons.

No matter how unhinged he is, having someone like him in your corner is comforting after what you’d suffered through.

You spot Rafe sitting alone at the near empty club bar on your way out and your heart settles, but when you catch a glimpse of the flatscreen mounted on the wall a moment later, it drops. You knew it was inevitable, but it doesn’t make it any better.

Rafe swallows bitter whiskey, gazing up at the tv. Under a photo of Porter reads MISSING as his parents speak to the press. What if he went missing? Who’d care? What would his dad say – at least it wasn’t Sarah?

He looks down at the bartop. The thrill of what he did has faded. It’s not a surprise. His life is nothing but a cycle of short-lived highs.

When he sees the look on Porter’s parents’ faces on the tv, jealousy and loneliness screw a hole into his heart. He knows it’s fucked up to envy the man he killed. He doesn’t care.

His eyes drift over the bar to see you standing on the other end. You’re in shock as you stare up at the broadcast, looking guilty as hell. He glares at you until you finally meet his eyes.

Rafe curtly gestures to you to sit next to him. Even though he looks mad, you’re relieved to close the distance between you.

“You’re being obvious,” he says quietly once you sit next to him, an edge to his tone.

You look back to see only a few other people sitting in the restaurant area behind you, far from earshot. You won’t be heard, but you both know you have to speak vaguely just in case.

“Someone I know is missing,” you reply. “It’s normal to be worried about that.”

“What do you know about normal?” he scoffs.

You lock eyes, sure that you’re both replaying the night in your minds, sure that you’re both far from sane after what you did. His gaze is cold, a reflection of how angry he is that you’re not handling what happened as well as he is.

“Great talking to you,” you snip sarcastically, shifting to stand up.

“Wait,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks at you again, this time with a bit of the hardness in his eyes gone. “We need to talk.”

next >

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[back2bluesidex]

Slide - That Night - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1.1k+

Summary: 

"I know that you've never been this high Promise, baby, I'll take you to heaven if you want it I'll take you to heaven if you die"

Alternatively,

You would give yourself up willingly again and again if it means Yoongi will stay close to you. for whatever purpose.

Warnings: angst, somewhat explicit smut, drinking, Yoongi is being kinda talkative and also lowkey confessing things. Reader and Yoongi both are quiet people.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

A/N: This is another chapter from The Past. This chapter is important for understanding Yoongi and Gyuri's break-up scenario and why reader would make choices she would make. hope I make sense.

Taglist requests are closed for now

Read the main chapter from The Present in Patreon.

“I said no to the engagement.” Yoongi reveals, as quiet as vapor. You might have missed it if it wasn’t for your utmost attention trained on him and only him. 

It is probably in the middle of the second or third beer when he lets himself go. Or more like opens himself up for you to see. 

Ever since that night, Yoongi seems to have gotten comfortable with your presence. He has loosen up much more in these couple of weeks than he did in the years of knowing you. It makes you feel good, makes you feel important. 

Even though you have always been curious about what went wrong in his and Gyuri’s exemplary relationship, you never pried. Of course, it isn’t your place to ask. You don’t even know if you have that right or not. 

But you always waited. And it seems like your patience was worth it all. 

“I wasn’t ready.” Yoongi continues automatically. You still choose to stay silent, let him decide the pace of the conversation. “It’s not that I didn’t love her. I loved her. Shit. I love her and I always will. But something about sharing a life with someone else always freaks me out. Marrying, having kids - all these, freaks me out.” he groans. 

“I loved her. Shit. I love her and I always will” these are the words that you register the most. You replay these in the back of your mind and let your heart weep in silence. 

Now he laughs, and you find it tough to decide whether it is generated from pain or sarcasm. 

“She said that my decision didn’t even shock her, that I have been aloof and distant all these times. That I made her feel like she was the only one in the relationship and she knew this was coming. And you know what? She was right. I am like that. I always have been. It’s just sad, you know..” he inhales a sharp breath, “it’s just sad that she couldn’t love me for who I am.” 

How ironic. You think. 

Yoongi’s quiet, aloof, reserved persona is what had drawn you towards him. 

“I think you are intriguing like this. Cold, aloof, distant, it all makes you more and more lovable.” you confess and right after a moment you regret. You try to blame it on the alcohol right when Yoongi laughs again. 

This time his laugh is more of the amused kind. Is he really amused with your admission? 

“You find me intriguing because you are the very same. Cold, aloof, distant and… loveable.” Yoongi voices, the last bit of smile disappearing from his voice. 

You never thought like this. You never thought how similar you and yoongi are and how that could have played a big part in producing the feelings that you harbor for him. 

Now that he has pointed it out - you wonder - if opposites attract then this means Yoongi will never feel the same for you. 

“I guess.” you chug down the rest of your beer, subsiding the sinking feeling of your heart. 

“Have you ever been in love?” Yoongi asks now. His eyes pierce through yours. 

“I don’t think I have.” you admit. You divert your eyes from his, there is something swirling behind his irises and you think that phenomena would swallow you up alive. 

“What about a heartbreak? Ever had one?” Yoongi places his next question as if you are playing trivia. 

“The night I picked you up. My heart broke upon witnessing your condition.” you have always been straight forward. But you also know how to play safe. Hence, choosing a statement that would both tell the truth and conceal it at the same time looks like the safest option to you. 

“Oh. why?” Yoongi’s voice comes from a closer distance now. He must have shifted closer while you were busy staring at the ceiling. 

“We are similar after all.” you finally look at him again. And that has been a mistake because Yoongi is very definitely staring at your lips. 

Again, it is the alcohol to be blamed but you don’t pay half mind to all the alarms that set off when you take the initiative of closing the distance between your lips. 

You expect him to push you away. You expect him to look at you with disgust in his eyes and storm out of your apartment. 

But Min Yoongi rarely does what you expect him to. 

So he grabs you by your neck and kisses you back with all the force and lust he could gather in himself. 

Yoongi’s fingers slide through the most secret parts of your body, where you have hardly ever given any access to anyone. But when it’s Min Yoongi, you give up readily and willingly. 

His mouth plays with the skin on your throat, biting you, marking you with excellence. 

You must be in heaven right now. 

If not then how come Yoongi is marking his territory on your skin? How come his hands are exploring your body like this? 

You know this is forbidden. By whom or what you don’t really have an idea. But that doesn’t change the fact that Min Yoongi can’t be yours and that you should stay away from him when he is broken. 

He is like a broken mirror, he reflects you but the moment you touch him, you get hurt. 

And you are past the stage of touching him now. 

Yoongi slides inside you with ease, his hands rest on your waist as he slams his entire length inside you. 

You hiss because of the initial stretch. 

He gives you time to adjust and once you are done he starts moving. 

He places his pretty mouth beside your ear and starts chanting your name, “Y/N. oh. Fuck. Y/N.” it sounds like the sweetest melody known to humankind. 

You let out occasional moans and groans with his lethal moves. His fingernails dig into your skin as if they are bound to be planted there. 

You wander through the haze - is this a dream? Is this one of those twisted dreams that you often end up having but never manage to finish? 

Yoongi groans again in your ear as he starts increasing his pace. He rutts in you like an animal in heat. 

Your bed starts creaking and you realize this is definitely not a dream. 

Min Yoongi is actually inside you, fucking you as if there’s no tomorrow. 

When he finishes inside the condom and flops down on you, you wish for the time to stop. You wish for your wish to come true. 

Even though you know, not even in your dreams Min Yoongi will ever love you back. 

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[heartfullofleeches]

best friend yans partner making reader cry and yan realizes that it’s not their arms that reader runs to for comfort anymore🫢

You're happy for them.

In the beginning, it was just you and them. Growing up, they had always been a quiet kid. Clung to the hip of the first person who gave them the time of day. You didn't regret your decision then and you don't now. The years you had together were some of the best and you could only wish them happiness going forward. You were so proud of them for building the courage to broaden their friend group... You only wish they let new people in without shutting the old out.

You promised yourself you wouldn't cry when you found out you had to share them with someone else. You promised you wouldn't cry when they cancelled plans to focus on their new relationship. You promised you wouldn't cry when they finally replied to all your calls and texts just to put an end to your life long friendship.

You don't blame them for saying goodbye. It'd hurt less if they had done it in person, but you're adults now - friendships and silly promises are secondary when you've found true love. That's what they said this was in their final message to you- and so you believe them. Won't have much time for movie nights and hanging out like you used to while they're building a life with someone else, so you were bound to drift apart anyway. Everyone always said a bond like yours would stand the test of time, but clearly they were wrong. The best thing you can do for them and yourself is keep your chin high and swallow the tears. As much as it hurts, you won't cry. You won't cry.

"Ugh.. are you are stalker now? It's kind of pathetic for you to cling onto someone you never dated When will it get through your thick skull - they don't need you anymore."

You won't cry. It was pure coincidence that you ran into them again. It makes sense after all the time you've spent together the places you frequented would align. Your old best friend and their new lover had taken a trip to the mall on the day your new acquaintance had taken you to your old stomping grounds to cheer you up. Their partner was like a vulture - watching you from afar and awaiting the second you both were alone to strike. Honestly, it seemed like they didn't even notice you which only teared down another layer of your fragile defense. You want to go home, but you had to wait for your companion. Unlike others - you'd never leave anyone behind.

"They told me all about what it was like when you were younger. How you sucked up every minute of their time and made every thought they had all about you. You're honestly disgusting, you know that?"

Your throat tightens as you're backed into a metaphorical corner. That's not true. You tried to be there for them. They're the one that rejected everyone that wasn't you. Is that really how they viewed you? How they felt about you? Sharp intakes of air build up to the first exasperated wail that rips itself from you. It all crumbles from there. Tears pour from your tired eyes and spent heart. You try so hard to keep it in, wiping at your face and muffling your cries with quivering lips - but they only flood harder. Your aggressor attempts to flee from the scene of the crime as two pairs of footsteps quickly approach.

"Y/n?....."

"Y/n!...."

Sneakers squeak along the mall floor as one sprints to your side, going out of their way to jam their elbow in the ribs of your aggressor as they squeeze past them to get to you. The other stands stagnant as their lover nears - watching as you fall weightless into their arms. They draw back the foot pointed in your direction at first witness to your cries.

"Baby, what happened! Are you okay? This is why I told you to come into the store with me. Calm down, breathe. It's okay. I'm here."

Soft fingers brush away your tears. They dry quicker against someone else's skin. Your head falls to their chest, ears tuned to the gentle beat of their heart to calm the frantic beats in your own. Your companion takes their hand in yours, kissing the back of your knuckles as you follow their instruction and breathe in slowly.

"That's it.... I'm right here. I'll always be right here for you."

Their words are like a dagger to those unfortunate to listen. A blade dug deeper by your redden eyes and the small smile that forms as you gently squeeze your savior's hand. Once upon a time, it was their hand you held when at your worse - just as yours had pulled them out of the wreck their life was before they meet you. You used to be each other's shoulder to cry on. Safe houses from a world that never understood you or bothered to care. They long for that moment in time, but in that instance it all felt too perfect. If they hadn't let you go and found comfort elsewhere they'd only hurt you in the end - crush and buried beneath the weight of the ever-changing, conflicting tide of their feelings for you.

Laughter draws them back to the cruel reality they now face as punishment for their selfish decision.

"I'm fine now - I swear!"

"Nope! Since you won't tell me what's wrong, we ain't stopping until you're all smiles. We're going to hit up every store in this mall until it closes and you find something that completely takes your mind off whatever got you down. As your new best friend, it's my duty to make sure your heart is in good shape.... So I can steal it later on."

"You're such a dick...." Nudging their arm with your elbow, you giggle - then sigh. "Well, if you're paying, I guess I can't complain. Best be on our way then."

A passing glances comes not from you, but from the victor of this scenario. Your new best friend locks an arm around your waist, placing a kiss to your hair before mouthing a single word over your shoulder.

"mine."

A hand reaches out as you disappear into the crowd. It's falls not into the grasp of the one its heart truly desires, and instead into the iron grip of the person they chose as a cheap imitation.

"Can you believe those two?"

".... I'm going to fucking kill that bastard."

[corseque]

On the scale of 1 (Rise of Skywalker) to 10 (Shadowbringer/Endwalker), where would you place Veilguard?

critical post

I’ve burst into enraged tears like 5 times since I finished it, which is not nearly even close to as many times as Rise of Skywalker, but still 5 times too many. Just the shallowness of the writing, the obviousness, the incredible frustration at the simplicity, the ignoring so much of my favorite character in order to make a stupidly simple plot work, the horrendous time I had trying to ignore Rook’s annoying stupid fuckass pov while just trying to self-insert myself into the end of my favorite fictional character of all time’s story after waiting 10 years. I screamed in frustration that I had to hear the painfully obvious commentary these brand newcomer characters who I did not give a shit about, explaining to me like a toddler how I should feel about revelations I have been writing about for 10 years, especially when what they were saying was stupid as fuck. I cried at the thought of so many cutscenes and so much effort went into stories I found very forgettable and went nowhere, while they were able to only scrounge up like 10 total animated shots reuniting Solas and Lavellan. I mourn that I could not make any decisions in a BioWare game. I mourn Solas’ story so much, and probably will for years. I will never get over the way they talked down to him and never listened to him for even a second, lest they actually have to write a branching path into their game. I hate that the theme was regret but Rook regrets nothing ever so (shrugs) regret doesn’t affect them or mean anything to them. I mourn the loss of the voice and point of view of his people, the ones he was fighting for, the ones who are alive. I mourn that it turns out that he’s just a stupid feral dog who is 100% wrong about everything always and he always has been from the beginning of time. I cried that the game said the answer was that Solas should NOT try to help his people and they never even discussed it as a philosophical question or the ethics of it or anything, or playing as a character so dense they never once even wondered if accidentally freeing the gods killed more people overall than the veil coming down would have. (We avoided this question like the plague, lest we feel less like purely Good Heroes who could talk down to the gods with righteous fury). I mourn that I’m never going to know what would have happened without the Veil. I feel so stupid for thinking that elves or spirits as factions would appear in any capacity with lines and perspectives in this game. I’m so angry at how safe and smoothed over everything in the setting is, and how it felt like the main characters never struggled with anything and have nothing to say. I can’t believe Dragon Age is so shallow and unsatisfying and head-empty. I mourn that the story of Dragon Age is Over to me and I will never play another game.

I’ve also cried a few times at the completely separated and individual imagery and music in the last scene. I’ve cried that my favorite character didn’t die in any world after 10 years of being at death’s door. I’ve cried at the thought of him being a little worm spirit, and that I was right about him the whole time. I cried when activating Felassan’s crystal in the final fight and seeing all the buffs. I cried when I turned the page and realized the default inquisitor was exactly the same as my personal Lavellan, down to hair style, eye color, hair color, vallaslin removed. I cried when I realized Solas thought he should have died as a spirit rather than be born. I cried that the main story Dragon Age has been telling the whole time has been about the reconciliation and freeing of my favorite fictional character. I cried that Solas and Lavellan got married in the end, when I genuinely wasn’t expecting either of them to even be alive. They’re both still alive and in love in every single world. I can’t wrap my head around that.

I have no idea where to put it. It’s a few high highs but some intolerably low fucking lows. It could have been so much worse but the bar is on the fucking floor. I go back and forth between moderate enjoyment to just being so angry. It could have been so much more and I do not know who to bite for it.

I have no idea.

[11rosebunny]

How they are crushing

Haruka Sakura

He is the shyest person you'll ever be around. Once finally bumping into him in the street, he immediately recognized you from the other day, and till then, the two of you continued to bump into each other to the point where it became so normal.

The others caught on how Sakura was the one who began to constantly reach out to you first, after having exchanged numbers.

He usually stutters every now and then but quickly covers it by simply speaking faster. When he speaks faster it's easy for one to just assume he only stuttered because he was talking too fast. He surely just wasn't nervous. or anything like that...

For the most part, he's able to keep himself together, while at the same time trying to give hints. Very poor hints though.

Nirei and Tsugeura tried to give him advice, but coming from those two, was his worst decision ever yet.

Aside from communication, his body language is a dead give away. He tends to shift a lot and move around in hopes of shaking off his jitters, that's when people noticed his behaviour whenever you were around and ultimately, that's how Tsubaki was the first one to know.

Hajime Umemiya

He's not as obvious as you think he is. Many people didn't catch on but very few people did like Hiragi and Tsubaki.

Everyone is aware he treats everyone with the same respect and with that friendly manner of his, even so, Hiragi noticed whenever you came around in a large group setting, Umemiya would drop nearly everything to come greet you first and reel you into the place. He tends to get more talkative when you're around which caused others to notice but brushed it off.

When speaking to you, he forces to make eye contact with you in his head. He might even stare so hard to the point where it becomes awkward and you end up looking away. He remains keeping eye contact whenever he's speaking to you, if you're speaking, or if you're just doing something when he's around.

Sometimes, a tint of blush can be seen if you focus on his face close enough.

When it comes to his body language, he is oddly always around you it's very interesting. The weirdest part is, he doesn't even notice it half of the time until Hiragi had pointed it out for him.

"Umemiya, is something wrong?" You asked the tall male.

He looked back at you confused, "What do you mean?"

"...Why're you... watching me eat?"

He also has the courtesy of carrying any of your belongings, either it being your bag, books, laptop, groceries, anything.

Toma Hiragi

Everyone finds it odd how it looks like he's a guard dog protecting you everywhere you go.

Since then after saving you, the both of you began to hang out after school, till it turned into hanging out on weekends to hanging out at any chance you two have.

He may not show it, but he becomes more playful when it's just you two alone which no one has ever seen him act like. Instead of his hardcore language, he tones it down for the sake of you which you didn't even know yourself until you saw how he began to scold the younger grades from his school.

This a secret but he began regretting how intense his looks are, because of that, he turned to hair care, shaving properly, and dressing nicely. It even came to a point where Umemiya laughed at him causing him to roughly yell at his friend.

It's rare for him to get shy, because of that his communication with you seems normal when he talks with anyone else.

Having said that, nearly nobody found out he was crushing on you.

Ren Kaji

After meeting him being separated for years apart the two of you finally calmed down, and instead of your old bickering, the two of you were unexpectedly awkward with each other for the first few weeks of seeing each other.

Believe it or not, the both of you eventually went back to your rivalry.

To the others, they thought you two kept flirting.

Even so, the others would notice how much quieter he'd grow when he would spot you from across the street or had caught up in a close encounter with you.

Hell, even when he had to speak to you, a light dust of pink would cover his ears.

But because the both of you lived right next to each other, your families didn't make it better.

The both of your families constantly chatted and exchanged items if they needed it, and sometimes, they'd send you to give them what they needed and they'd send Kaji to your doorstep to hand you an item. The both of you hated it.

Taiga Tsugeura

He is very embarrassing.

He is the worst one out of everyone when keeping it a secret that he likes someone. The moment he asked for your number, they all knew.

The moment he sees you he instantly drops all his attention and throws it onto you. He becomes more lively if he wasn't before and tends to smile a lot.

What's even better for him in his opinion, now he has another better reason to workout.

He doesn't really understand how physical and louder he gets when he's around you, always being the first one to sit beside you, get you whatever you need, do whatever you say, it's almost amusing for the others to see. Nirei makes notes on the way he acts sometimes because some of them are unbelievable.

Needless to say, his a pocket full of sunshine.

Mitsuki Kiryu

Lover boy out of all of them. He's so smooth it's very attractive at how he's able to swoon you.

He turns to be more gentle with his words and body language, even when touching you, he does it ever to lightly to be respectful. It amazes you how a teenage boy like him knows how to be gentle.

Extremely well with his words, he likes to make you feel included whenever speaking to you, even if you're not generally in the conversation.

He does the same thing as Umemiya, taking hold of your bags and anything you're holding when he's around you, he's a gentleman after all.

Hayato Suo

Nearly everyone that knows the both of you are shocked at how well you treat each other.

On the side note, Suo had already been comfortable talking with you in any manner and touching you in any kind manner, you two had known each other since kids so it wasn't awkward. It wasn't until Highschool where he began catching feelings and sadly, you failed to notice them due to already being very close to him.

He started to wait for you everyday to walk you to school, which you thought was just a kind friendly gesture, especially because you two didn't see each other as much as before.

He began to occasionally ask you to go out for a small hang out which ended up turning into weekly hangouts at least once or twice a week, this is when his group of friends had spotted you two in the wild.

This boy dresses in clothing that he think will charm you, and tends to tidy himself up to look more presentable in front of you.

Small things like cleaning up after your mess when you go out to eat, ordering for you, paying for your things, holding your items, listening to you speak.

[supernotnatural2005]

The Meet Cute

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: 99% of the time drinking leads to nothing but bad decisions and regret in the morning. But, what about the other 1% of the time?

Word count: 1786

Prompt: 'Hugged the wrong person from behind'

AN: Hey guys this is my first submission for @jacklesversebingo 2024 Bingo card. It is my first time doing one of these and I'm super excited to see what my brain comes up with! It's a challenge for sure but I hope you guys can enjoy the ride with me.

Main Masterlist

Bingo Masterlist

You winced a little at the burn of the whisky sliding down your throat. It was very much welcomed though, and so were the other two shots you’d done just before. 

Not only was it your sister's wedding, but you were her maid of honour and wedding planner. In her defence, it was your profession, so planning and weddings were two things you did well. But the added pressure of it being your baby sister's day and wanting it to be perfect had given you little room to breathe.

Though, once the initial ceremony had ended and you made sure all the guests had arrived and settled in at the afterparty, you finally took a moment to take that breath, aided by the sweet nectar of alcohol. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t your best idea to drink such a strong beverage on an empty stomach, as it wasn’t long until its side effects commandeered your body, mind, and actions. 

As you looked around at everyone enjoying themselves on the dance floor, your sister included, it brought a sense of relief and warmth knowing you made her day special. However, there was one face missing, and that was the face of your best friend, Matty. You’d been busy up to your eyeballs all day with arrangements, making sure people arrived on time and showing them where to go; you hadn’t even been able to see him yet, let alone say hello. 

You knew his flight this morning was delayed, so he had to miss the ceremony, but he was on schedule to make the party at least. Though even your sister or family hadn’t seen him. The last text he sent was to tell you that he’d landed, and that was nearing 2 hours ago. You deflated at the thought that he might miss this too. Matty was always the life of the party, ever since you’d met him your freshman year of college. Although you didn’t see each other as often as you’d liked, living in different cities and leading busy lives and all, you were always guaranteed a great time when he was around. 

However, as you finished your fourth shot, it was then you spotted someone at the other end of the bar. You had to squint a little through your gradually blurring vision, but you were certain it was him. He had his back to you, and he looked a little more built than when you last saw him, but he was already chatting away to some ridiculously handsome, tall guy you didn’t recognise; who was exactly his type, and was easily someone he’d be distracted by. 

Pushing aside the fact he hadn’t come to see you first, with giddy excitement you pushed away from the bar, steadying yourself briefly as your head spun a little, but wasted little time as you wonkily made your way towards your best friend. 

Foregoing the formalities and for the sudden need to hold onto something, you hugged him tightly from behind. He was definitely firmer than you remembered, and he smelt amazing, but Matty always did. 

“I’m so glad you’re here.” You sighed happily as you snuggled into his back, the effects of the alcohol well and truly in control. “And when did you get so fit?” You exemplified your point by patting his toned stomach with a giggle. 

“Y/N? What are you doing?” Your hand paused, and your eyes snapped open at the questioning voice of your best friend. It took you a moment to realise it hadn’t come from the body you were currently clung to, but from your right. Dread suddenly filled you as you slowly turned your head and were met with the amused face of your best friend. 

With a gasp, you jumped away from the stranger, losing your footing as you did. Thankfully the stranger grasped your arm before you could go down, not that it would make this situation any less embarrassing if you had. Though what did make it worse was when you finally looked up at said stranger and saw, quite possibly, the most attractive man you’d ever seen in your life. 

He had the most captivating pair of green eyes you’d ever seen and a smattering of freckles covering his nose and cheeks. A stubbled jawline that could cut glass, and he was staring down at you with much of the same amusement your best friend had. 

“So, strangers are getting touched up before me now?” Matt teased as he walked over to you, shattering the little staring contest you and green eyes had gotten into. He let go of your arm quickly and took a polite step back at Matt’s presence, and you had to force yourself to look away from him. 

Your cheeks reddened at Matty’s remark, and you only wished for the floor to swallow you whole. Matty slung an arm over your shoulder and hugged you to him, which you half returned in your traumatised state. 

“I’m honestly so sorry; I’ve had a bit to drink and really thought you were him,” you jab a thumb in Matt’s direction, to which he bursts out laughing. 

“If you were really thinking that, then you must be drunk.” He laughs, and you can’t help but join in on the absurdity of the situation along with the other two men. 

“Honestly, don’t sweat it; it’s made my night, that’s for sure.” The handsome stranger waves you off with a chuckle, and his voice is deep and husky and does an array of things to you. ‘Seriously Y/N? Get yourself together’. 

You smile thankfully at him, relieved he found the funny side of it despite the crippling embarrassment you were currently feeling. 

“So, how do you both know the bride?” Matty speaks up, and you want to smack him so hard. You were hoping to make your escape and hide in the restroom for the rest of the night, not prolong your suffering. 

“My brother Sammy here works with the groom.” Green eyes pats the tall one on the back, and you note his tight-lipped smile at the obvious nickname. It makes your lips twitch in amusement. 

“We’re junior partners at KS Attorney’s.” Sam adds and you nod in acknowledgment. 

“And what about you?” You find yourself asking before you could even stop yourself. Green eyes looks at you, his eyes sparkling as a sly smirk lifts his noticeably plump lips. ‘Or did you just notice that? Focus Y/N!’

“Well, I’m just here to crash the wedding." He grins proudly, “Meet a few of the bridesmaids.” He winks at you, and you scoff. 

“Well, I don’t mean to burst your bubble,” you pause for him to give you his name, which he supplies with a smirk. “Dean,” you repeat. “But I’m maid of honour, and this is my sister's wedding.” You cross your arms and arch a brow. It makes his cocky attitude drop instantly, and it’s quite amusing to watch him fumble. 

“I, you know. I’m just kidding.” He stumbles with a nervous chuckle, and you narrow your eyes playfully at him until you feel you’ve made him uncomfortable enough. 

“Don’t worry about it." You concede your teasing with a chuckle. “Weddings are supposed to be fun, right?” You shrug before waving him closer to you like you’re about to tell him a secret. He easily obliges, and you try to ignore the close proximity and the delicious scent of him again before you speak.

“Just watch out for the brunette; she’s a little on the crazy side.” You nod your head over at Tiffany, one of the bridesmaids and he follows your direction to the dance floor. She was in your sister's circle of friends, but she was well-known for being a little clingy with men. 

You’d heard she’d burnt her last boyfriend's clothes when he didn’t return her calls for a few hours, convinced he was cheating on her. He wasn’t. He was visiting his sick grandmother, something he’d told her the night before.

“Noted.” Dean nods seriously as you pull back and looks away thoughtfully, as if he were thinking of something important before his eyes snap to you again. “What about the maid of honour? Is she game?” Your heart flutters a little at the smoothness of his implication, and you can’t stop your shy smile. You had to look away from him, and it was then you noticed the other two were missing. You frown and look around before you spot Matty and Sam further down the bar with a beer each. Matty catches your eye and winks at you before pointing at you and then Dean and making a vulgar gesture with his hand and mouth. You roll your eyes before you look back at Dean.

“I see we’ve been ditched.” You scoff humorously and Dean’s smirk wideness.

“And you haven’t answered my question.” He points out cooly and leans against the bartop; his stare intense, making you squirm a little. Men at this magnitude of hotness never hit on you, and if it wasn’t for the alcohol still running through your veins, you’re certain you would have malfunctioned by now. 

“She is not.” You decide to lie and bite your lip as you too lean against the bar. Dean’s brow raises as if he were surprised by your admission, and you try not to look him in the eye too much. 

“Oh really? And who’s the lucky guy?” You try to fight your smile, and the blush you’re certain is already staining your cheeks. Instead of answering, your eyes subtly flicker over to Matty, and Dean’s smile broadens, his eyes glimmering with mischief. 

“You and him?” He nods his head back in their direction, and you shrug with a confident smile, which soon falters when he leans in close to whisper in your ear. “Sweetheart, if that were true, I’d hate to be the one to tell you that your boyfriend is currently flirting up a storm with my brother.” 

He pulls back with a cocky smirk, and you can’t contain yourself much longer. Laughter bubbles out of you uncontrollably because it’s true. You and Dean both watch as an uncomfortable Sam tries to dodge Matty’s obvious advances with tears in your eyes.

“We should probably go save him. Matty’s nothing if not persistent.” You breathe out, still trying to calm yourself as you wipe gently at your under-eyes.

"Nah, Sammy’s a big boy; he can fend for himself.” Dean shrugs off with a smile. "Besides, you still have a question to answer and no more B.S.” He points at you half serious, and you can’t find it in you to lie this time. 

AN: There you go guys, my first bingo square complete. Let me know what you guys think. Also I am open to maybe expanding on this story, like a prequel and maybe another chapter... Let me know if you'd be interested to see more of this.

[bluewhitehues]

I hate you not ♡

Choi Seungchol × f. reader

/Arranged marriage/ forced marriage /

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Genre: Angst,fluff,sort of enemies to lovers.

Summary:Married against their will, seungcheol and y/n end up hating each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part1 | Part 2 | Part 3

It was past 9 pm and you still weren't home. Seungcheol was starting to get worried and he couldn't even call or text to ask you. You despise each other or atleast you both tried to.

He is out in the garden of your house strolling there ..well it's an excuse, he's just waiting for you. The guard opens the gate and then he sees you getting out of a car, leaning down to the window and smiling at the person inside. He looks handsome seungcheol notices. It makes him clench his jaw unknowingly.

When you get inside and notice him standing there you pass by him,completely ignoring him.

As soon as you enter the house,he follows closing the door behind him.

"who was he?" He asks unable to control his curiosity .

You huff , "Relax ..I'm not cheating on "you" in our nonexistent relationship."

" I didnt say anything like that,I just asked a question. Cant you ever just answer what is asked?

"Why? who are you to question me and do I have to answer you?" ..you huffed angrily trying not to raise your voice ..you just wanted to eat finally and go to sleep after the exhausting long day but he had to ruin it.Ofcourse.

Listening to you he was barely controlling his anger, he just asked a question why couldn't you just answer it.

"Yes we are still married we live in the same house,I'm still your husband i think i should kno-"

You cut him off with a laugh .."funny ,learn to act like a husband first then go around saying 'we're married I'm your HuSbAnd' " You imitate what he said.

"Are you doing all this just because you don't want to tell me who tf he was?"He says glaring at you angrily.

You scowl at him"You disgust me and he is a friend of mine and a very nice human being who dropped me off because it's late, unlike you who treats people like shit." "And the next time you talk to me like this I'll break your fkin face." You say through your gritted teeth,pointing a finger at him, slamming the door of your bedroom at his face.

"I don't treat all the people like shit it's just you"He shouts back pettily trying to have the last word.

But when he hears your sobs after a few minutes when he was passing by your room to go to the kitchen,he feels bad ..his heart stung ..he regrets whatever he said.

You hated each other's guts but he always tried not to take it too far ...because you were wronged just as much he was ...you both were put together in this against your wills ,you never wanted it .. He doesn't like to admit it but he has been getting soft for you,whenever he saw you smile or laugh,he found himself smiling unknowingly. And when you were being sweet to him, took efforts for him, made food for him,smiled at him, he forgot that he didn't want this marriage,he couldn't help himself when you were made to be loved and adored ..he started to like you and when he realised that ,him being him the most stubborn idiot, in his own spite he didn't want to prove his parents decision right and be happy in this marriage so he did what he thought would be the solution and pushed you away.

He shouldn't have gotten angry at you as soon as you got home ..you locked yourself in the room ,didn't even eat dinner. He leaves the bowl back in it's place, he can't get himself to eat after making you cry.

He decides it's better to stay away from you and give you space as much as possible..you wouldn't want to see him anyway.

In your room you are crying with your face down in the pillow lying on the bed.

You are so exhausted with all this, you just want your own peace and you can't even have that because of him ...why does he have to talk to you when you purposely stay away from him.

A partner is supposed to be your home, your comfort but all you've gotten in this 3 months is this hell.

In a world where you want to do nothing but hide in your Lovers arm at the end of the day and forget all the worries, you got more worries instead with the form of your husband. You tried your best to give this a chance,you were good to him,you took efforts but him..he never cared saying "you don't have to pretend to be a good wife, we both know we didn't want this so stop all this bullshit ..it disgusts me "

That was the first day you cried after the marriage..all your hopes of "No he can change later, may be he will open up to me he's not that bad of a person is he?" All that crushed down..you felt like a fool for being nice with him and trying to make it work ..so since that day you treated him like exactly how you should have.

There's nothing much to happiness in your life ..and the remaining bits of it, which your friends give you, you lose it all as soon as he behaves rudely with you that is almost everytime he talks to you.

Seungcheol is in his room trying to sleep but he can't because he keeps seeing your crying face since he heard you crying.. he thinks about it, about how you were the first one who took efforts to make this so called marriage of yours work, when it should have been him..atleast he should have treated you nicely like you deserved...but he just kept fuvking up and it got worse..to the point he thinks he made you cold took the warmth away from your eyes, he thinks about apolozing to you atleast about today but wonders if he even deserves to be forgiven by you..he feels awful and guilty to say the least.

The next day he decides to talk to you, goes to knock on the door of your bedroom in the morning and chickens out when he hears your footsteps..he goes straight to kitchen.

And before he has any chance to say anything to you, you go straight to main door already leaving for your work.

In the evening he goes early from work, setting up the take out he brought for both of you ..he goes to freshen up and waits for you ..he is sitting on the couch when you arrive...you were going straight for your room when he calls you.."Y/n wait"

You close your eyes trying to compose yourself ..."I'm so done with you seungcheol choose your words very wisely" You say very calmly, your back still facing him.

"I know I- can we talk please? I'm not going to argue I promise"

You sigh turning to face him, "ok..what is it?"

"I'm sorry ..for yesterday " there's a surprised look on your face because you never expected him to even know those words.

When you don't say anything he continues . "And for everyday till now" He says looking at you with a weird look in his eyes which you have never seen .

"What are you doing? Do you want anything ? Why are you saying this?" You ask looking at him in disbelief as if he told you the worst joke ever.

He shakes his head looking at you, "I don't have any other intention behind this ..I'm genuinely sorry ...I didn't mean to treat you like this ...I just i was angry with my parents ..and I took it out on you ...and I'm so sorry for that ..you didn't deserve it." .."I want to solve this ..whatever happened till now."

"I'm finding it very hard to believe all this, trust me I'm trying to ..but you've never talked to me like this..this nicely" You say still looking at him as if he's onto something may be he's pranking you but then his rude boring ass doesn't seem to even know fun.

He closes his eyes with a sigh,then he says "I know shit-..you know what don't forgive me yet I don't think I deserve it ..just I won't ask anything else from you but I want us to be atleast civil with each other and again I know it was all me, you were nice to me but please ..can we start fresh? Forget that we are married and all. We don't know anything about each other ..can we start with being friends?" He asks looking at you nervously.

You tilt your head giving him a small smile,"I tried to do exactly that seungcheol..you didn't want it ...you forgot that I was forced into this too but you didn't care..atleast I took the courage to mend this, I tried and you called it bullshit,pretending and what not ..told me to not do any of it, that it disgusts you...you made me feel like a complete fool for trying to save our marriage." You got teary eyed while saying all that and he again curses himself for being such a fcking idiot

"No it wasn't your fault I'm the fool not you..I'm the biggest idiot to ever exist.I was never angry at you.. it was my parents. I just couldn't deal with this situation properly ..but let me change that ..I'm exhausted too -"

You cut him off, "what changed? I mean I'm glad and all that you came to this realisation..but why?"

He's at loss of words, he's not sure if should say it when he just asked you to be friends .."I-uh ..do I have to?" He looks at you pleadingly as if saying 'don't make me say it please. '

"If you want me to actually believe you ..then yes." You shrug pressing your lips in a thin line. "Wait fuck is it because you saw seokmin dropping me off yesterday? What are you jealous or something? " You ask him your eyes comically widened,your nose scrunched in a light scowl.

His own eyes are wide as well"Noo it's not that" He says.

"Then?" You ask again.

His eyes soften somehow, "You didn't eat dinner yesterday,also you didn't eat breakfast today..I- I realised that my behavior affects you and I shouldn't make you go through all that ..I know I didn't deserve to be in a forced marriage but I knew that you didn't either ..it's not your fault and I made your life even more miserable ..shit now that I'm saying all this I'm so fcking sorry for being such an asshole... I'm not a bad person i swear you can ask anyone it's just ..I was blinded by my own rage my own pain that I couldn't see yours .."

He doesn't mention it but you know he might have heard you crying and then felt guilty may be. But you hope it's not just that and he genuinely wants to start fresh.

"I thought you'd never figure that out, but thank you I guess ..and you were right about that ..I can't forgive you that easily I hope you know that."

He nods at you," yes ..so- friends?" He asks awkwardly stretching his hand towards you.

You look at his hand and back at his face, giving him a crooked teasing smile. "Yeah..I'll think about it." And you turn towards your own room smiling to yourself.

He brings back his hand pushing it through his long black hair, turning around with his back towards your room, trying to stifle his own smile as he shakes his head. Ofcourse it's you after all savage as always.

"Also-" he turns to face you when You peek from the door of your room "I think you'll have to try a little harder Mr. Choi" You say narrowing your eyes,scrunching your nose a little.

He throws his both hands up saying "On it. I brought dinner for you please eat it with me?"

You go inside closing your door shut, shouting, "OKAYY". You smile to yourself because seeing this side of him is something you never thought you'll witness..and he's been looking at you all softly today since you stepped in..though you don't know that it isn't the first time. You still can't seem to wrap your head around it. Choi seungcheol finally realised that he's been an asshole and is finally treating you nicely. Unbelievable.

Masterlist

A/N: I hope you enjoy it. Will post in parts because it always gets so long :') I promise I'll try my best to post the other half in only one update😭

[astrodice]

PAC: you and your imposter syndrome

this reading can tell you about your imposter syndrome and why you're not an imposter

🗣️ take what resonates and leave what doesn't. excuse my grammar/spelling mistakes if there's any.

Pile 1

Your imposter syndrome comes from fear of losing, fear of being not good enough. You might overwork yourself to the point of exhaustion. It's like you're always preparing for worse.

It seems like recently there was a situation where you've planned something ahead, actually put your hopes high for the first time but something went wrong/got cancelled. For some of you it was a rushed decision that you regret now. Basically, something went not according to your plan and that really made you feel more like imposter.

You're not an imposter because no matter the circumstances you always act wisely, you're an excellent communicator. You need to remind yourself that a few mistakes don't make you less of an intelligent person.

key words: exhaustion, fatigue, obstacles, delays, lack of growth, impulsiveness

Pile 2

Your imposter syndrome comes from focusing on negative past experiences. There is an extreme amount of mental angst. I see that there was a connection with someone that have ended on bad terms, or there was someone who made you feel inadequate.

Right now you have an opportunity to move on, to start something new but your past haunts you, causes you anxiety and make you feel unsure about you choices.

You're not an imposter because you're enough. People might judge you, misunderstand you but it doesn't make you inadequate. You bring something new, unique and that makes you stand out of the crowd.

I see luck coming your way after you done healing yourself. Soon you will feel more relaxed, calm and secure.

key words: failure, regret, fear, anxiety, empath, intuitive, endings, depression, healing, independence, success

Pile 3

For this pile I'm seeing a very specific scenario, so it might not resonate with many people here.

Recently some you were promoted, got a raise or become like a team leader. Which made you feel like you need to meet some sort of standard, that is required for your position. You also might feel like there's a pressure from you team members, like you have to do you work perfectly, so other people won't judge you or think of you as an unqualified worker. To sum up, there's a feeling that you don't deserve what you have.

You're not an imposter because you're very disciplined, reliable and practical. You're perfect for your job and your team is very lucky to have you. If you're facing conflict within your team, you have to step up and set rules/methodologies that can help your team work better.

key words: collaboration, authority, mentor, new position/project, public reward, success, burden, partnership

[kittyscupcakeandbunny]

Set Me Free

18+

Part five

Good Girl Gone Mad

Characters: Min Yoongi as Agust D/Mafia boss, Jung Hoseok as Jack/Concierge, Namjoon/Police detective, Jungkook/Police detective, Park Jimin/thief and gang leader, Taehyung/Mafia member, Paradise owner. Jin/unknown, Busan/Mafia boss.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: This story contains nsfw content (descriptive blood, gore, etc.) as well as sexual content. Mentions may include violence, consumption of alcohol, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, description of injuries, themes of major horror and also explores obsessive behaviors and codependency, robbery, killing, guns, torturing, fire, toxic yandere men, violence, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships.

🩸My master list 🩸

We Go Down Together - Dove Cameron & Khalid

< Previously • Next Chapter >

My mind have been a mess ever since i encountered agust d but that was also the moment i saw a chance to prove my worth at the station and to finally be one of them like Namjoon, it was a chance for me to get the bad guy and that was always my priority ever since i decided to become a police officer. As the days went by i found myself growing more and more impatient. The more my path crossed with Yoongi the more my greed became apparent, meeting Yoongi it was like a fire burning my skin, he brought out the things in me that I never once thought i had it it was uncomfortable to be in such situations I hade found myself to be so easily influenced by his presence that I just simply lost control. It was dangerous to be close to him but now more then ever I had no choice but to stay by his side but being with him i realized a part of me that was living dormant for all these years. I’m going down a path i never once thought considered fallowing and for that reason I’m lost inside this hell by my own choice, i had so much pride of my own morals and achievements when i started working at the station, my beliefs where always to make the world a better place by making the right choices and protecting those who made the same choices. After losing my dad i knew i wanted to fallow the path he did, make the right decisions and help people from the darkness of this world.

But what no one tells you about fallowing the right path is that to be a hero, is to bear the weight trying to bring justice to those who have no power but, you cannot.

Our laws exist to protect us but they are so limited to a point where even if you know who’s the bad guy, without any solid evidence they will just be set free from punishment. The worst part is you know they are going to hurt people again.

I never wanted to be part of this, somehow I’m grateful but at the same time I regret it very deeply all my choices. All it took was one slip and i was in the rabbit hole, that same darkness the people i was supposed to put in jail lived in, sooner or later, we always give in that slip to taste a new world.

I was taught to do the rigt thing and always fallow the rules, with my dad playing the biggest part into this. I know that justice takes time and you can’t always do the right thing. The more i thought about the things i had done so far the more i realized, i was only trying to hold on the small part of me who still lives in my past. The girl who worked at her fathers police station, the girl who loved Namjoon and would do everything she could to fallow her fathers steps and protect the last family she had.

Right or wrong are just concepts made by us to justify our actions, who really decides was right or wrong in this? In the end we all have to count on someone else’s empathy to get a less harsh punishment. If a convicted criminal of murder shows remorse he could use the empathy of the judges, the same laws that are there to protect us also protect them, whether they are faking it or not.

There is no god in this, we are all by ourselves here trying to live in a world were anyone you cross paths could be a psychopath.

As Jack drove us back to the mansion this was all i could think of, feeling a weight over my chest press down my heart against my bones and the emptiness it left as if killing that men was the last straw to selling my soul to the devil and I could feel every bit of it happening under my skin.

All that didn’t phase Yoongi even the smallest bit, i stared at him sitting comfortably beside me he had his eyes closed a relaxed almost pleasant look on his face. It made me wonder if he even felt anything when he killed his first victim, was he a normal person once? Did life made him a monster? What lead him into this world?

Once we got at the mansion he walked out first and i fallowed him out, keeping on his shadow as he entered the mansion and slowly walked towards his office.

No one said a word the entire time and i could already feel the hot tension rise by the seconds, if he notice my presence behind him he didn’t mentioned and as we finally got in his office he was quick to fill a glass with alcohol while i turned to closed the doors behind me slowly sitting in on of the couches on the room.

He took the sit on the other couch in front of me lighting a cigarette the fire shining bright in front of his face making the scar on his eye even more noticeable, never failing to make his looks sharp and scarier. He took a blow of it before finally looking at me for the first time since we got here.

Whatever went through his head in that moment i knew it was far away from any comfort words, i never expected that from him and i wasn’t disappointed by it.

I had taking someone else’s life to save my brother, the only thing i want now is the truth he had promised me.

- if you are expecting a hug from me.. i hate to disappoint - was the first thing he said, scoffing a laugh.

- i wouldn’t dare to - i was quick to reply, getting a chuckle from him.

- then why did you fallow me? - he asked, clearly amused taking a sip of the drink in his hand while the cigarette burned between his fingers - wanna make sure i fallow the end of our bargain?

- yeah…

- don’t worry it’s done - he said, as if it was nothing. But i founded hard to believe, it couldn’t be as simple as that.

I never expected but it still angered me, moved by the fire inside me i got up making my way towards him i harshly took the cigarette from his fingers, taking a blow of it before turning to him.

- since you’ve proven yourself Yoongi why don’t you start talking? - i spat - i don’t want your compassion, i know you got none. From you i just want one thing, the damn truth.

- why? - he scoffed, turning to look at me impatiently - you think you’ll go back to that silly life of yours? Get over it, is too late for that. You’re in my world now, you get what i give when i decide to.

Now it was my turn to scoff but no matter how much that angered me he was right. You can lead the horse to the lake but you can’t force it to drink from it, i bite back my tongue feeling a bitter taste up my throat.

- and if you still want me to work for you, you need to start talking - i said, sitting down beside him.

- now you’re ordering me around? You are not in charge here sweetie…

- you owe me that - i said, turning to him, using the right words would get me good points with him, i needed to gain his trust if i wanted to live a longer life, that was the only way to avoid Jack. Still it infuriated me how he never told me anything, i knew he didn’t had to but the least he could do is tell me about his plans at the station.

I knew exactly were i stood in here, not above him, not beside him and not even under him like his dogs. I was disposable, the last thing I wanted was to die here of all places. I knew for a fact that fallowing the rules would get you the the best chance. I hated to admit that but that was the only way.

- you said you would tell me everything after i did my work tonight - i said - then do it. Why were you at the station that day? Why did you almost killed the director?

He sighted almost rolling his eyes, taking a sip of his hard liquor before looking at me with bored eyes.

- i had a deal with you’re director - he said, staring at the cup on his hand as he moved around over his thigh - you’re smart enough to know it by know, what would i possibly want with the police?

It had passed my mind before that the director wasn’t exactly the good guy to begin with, Yoongis insinuations seemed to set fire to that old thought of mine and I could almost feel the dots connecting to each other - so the police was working with them this whole time, they were hiding Agust D tracks every time and making it impossible to get him. But why?

Namjoon has been fallowing a ghost his whole life in hopes of making justice possible, they had been playing with him just like they did to me.

It made me sick to even think about it.

But most importantly I could only wonder what would the police needed with Yoongi or what he used against them to get them to hide his tracks this whole time?

- I’m sure you know now… - he chuckled, knowingly - you’re friend was getting too close, i came to talk to him and he decided to call out our agreement. He was confident that Namjoon guy would get me eventually, so i had to make sure I made them aware of who they were dealing with.

- so that was a massage… - i murmured, more to myself staring at the floor.

- yeah, not that i needed to do much - he chuckled, taking the cigarette from my hand yes staring back at me with smirk laying over his red lips - you just happened to be there right on time, every single time i needed.

- what?

- in so little time you manage to get inside Paradise, obviously thanks to Scarlet then you proceeded to offer yourself to me unknowingly and ruined their opportunity to get me - he said, eyes shining brighter with delight.

Looking so proud of my mistakes, it didnt help to ease the way my insides were turning and turning around at his words. Making more and more obvious how my intervention helped only him, the one i was so confident i would put behind bars.

- i had reasons for it…

The most poor and stupid excuse left my lips, I couldn’t look at his face anymore to embarrassed to face him and the truth. I made a terrible mistake by thinking I could face him head on and win.

- you did… but what now? - he taunted - what do you have? Nothing… you’ve been nothing but a puppet this entire time, my puppet.

He made it clear from the beginning how it would end up for me if I continued with that investigation on him, i was honestly surprised at how he left me leave the first moment we’ve meet and yet i decided to ignore all the warnings he was “kind” enough to give me. I pondered if he was truly warning me or if it all wasn’t just an act to get me exactly where he wanted me to be.

He told me he would bring me to hell if i kept digging for him and here i was now, it felt different having to hear him say all that I’ve been thinking about ever since we meet.

But I was too deep into the darkness that surrounded him, there was no way to live in this world without getting your hands dirty. I was aware of that. It was all my fault.

For a second i felt stupid at how well he played me without me even realizing, feeling stupid for being so weak and giving in more and more. But now? I didn’t felt bed for destroying the operation and letting Yoongi escape, i made up my mind in that car as we came back deciding to rather then running from the fire, i would burn and dance with it. He wasn’t wrong when he looked into my eyes and showed me my own sins, but the more i stared at the fire in his eyes the more i felt deeply attracted to the darkness surrounding him.

To survive.

To feed my own greed. Truly… a puppet.

-I could still end you here right now… - I gripped his neck.

I was serious, I could feel my blood boiling under my skin. My pride was hurt, my heart was in pieces and all he did was stare at me with a sly grin on his face. He chuckled gripping my hands around his neck even tighter, his eyes burning into mine.

- do it… - he dared - but we both know you won’t.

he wasted no time proving how much stronger he was then me, pulling my hands away from his neck. With one hand he gripped the back of my neck, pulling me closer.

- tell me why you won’t kill me… you had many chances… - he said, a whisper. He’s breath hitting my lips.

- don’t play as if you didn’t know why…

- no, you don’t play coy with me… come on now, be a good girl for me and use your words.

His lips lifted into a smirk, he leaned forward face centimeters away from mine. Feeling his breath over my own lips a shiver runs down my whole body, the smell of whiskey was intoxicating making me crave more of him.

- say it… y/n.

I swallowed hard before thinking about it one last time. I knew this was one way and no turning back, but Yoongi was my best shot at surviving now. Even more he wanted me to be honest with him and myself.

- Don’t lie to me… - he smile was completely sickening, eyes darker then ever - it’s not that hard.

- i want…

- yes, what do you want? - he leaned more into me, hands reaching behind me to cage me under his body.

And to feed my desires for him.

- you…

He stopped immediately, eyes searching for mine and in that split second while i stared into his sharp eyes i saw his facet break, just a bit but enough for me to notice - surprise. He truly didn’t expect me to say that, one would even think that hearing that would be so fulfilling to ones ego, but him? It was as if he never heard it before. I didn’t know anything could get a reaction from him but i knew in that moment, despite everything else he secretly wished to be desired too. Even though he said he knew.

So i took my chance and braced the fire that would come with it.

Closing my arms around his neck i pushed him down, sitting over his lap with one leg on each side of his hips.

- i want you, Agust d - i said over his lips - in every way possible.

Looking down in his eyes seeing how he no longer had any trace of surprise in them but a serious look, hands sliding up my hips to my bear back holding my arms to slid away from his neck.

My heart begin to beat faster, blood running cold on my body. Shit.

I could see it in his eyes that he wanted, so what was holding him back in that moment?

- are you sure? - he simply asked, not looking me in the eyes but at our hands - do you have any idea what that choice comes with?

- does it matter to you? - i bit into my lower lip, i felt so confused in that moment. The warmth that surrounded us was disintegrating slowly, i helplessly wanted to hold on into that warmth.

His unphased expression was making me more and more anxious, one moment i was burning under his gaze and now completely frozen and lost. Swallowing all of my pride and embracing myself, i wished to be right about this.

- it makes me…. Yours - in that small second i looked into his eyes again i saw the surprised in them, bearly noticeable but it was there for a second.

- and you’re sure you can take what comes with that? - he mutter over my lips.

- i don’t know but i don’t wanna leave you…

I can’t leave my only chance to survive now.

- you’re life will be mine… completely… - he whispered above my lips.

- we’ll go down together then.

I didn’t wanted to lose any more seconds when i pushed my lips over his, feeling his smirk as i bite into his botttom lip. Catching his eyes briefly as i did so, he was quick to press his short nails on my exposed back scratching the skin down stoping at my hips. I moaned on his mouth kissing him hungrily.

He let out a soft groan as i slide my hands down his waist inside his shirt slowly tracing his ribs, the friction was enough to make us both lose our minds, i could tell he was holding back from letting out a moan as i grinded against his hips, my own body was becoming needy, craving more and more.

- Mmngh..You feel so good… - He whispered between ragged breathes and I felt my thoughts growing more and more blank, the only thing on my mind right now was him.

I grind against his hips again, feeling his warmth through the fabrics separating us, his breath hitches when i grind against him again, i hold his chin up taking in his lustful gaze, his grip on my hips tightened and i could almost feel how blissful he was becoming.

He gives me a devious smirk and gently ran his fingers along your spine as he whispered in my ear:

- You truly are a skilled rider, you feel so good on top of me.

The doors for the office burst open.

- you have to go to Busan - said Jack in a rushed tone.

Yoongi leaned away from me, hands still dancing over my naked back. I stared at him as he nodded to Jacks direction who soon left the room.

- i have to go - he said to me.

I nodded resting my forehead over his, lips brushing against each other as the heat slowly drifted away from our bodies.

- now, you behave while I’m gone.

His hands slipped down my back to rest over my hips pulling me out of his lap. After that o was quick to make my way out of his office but no before he called out my name.

- the room in front of mine - he said - that’s your room, some of your stuff is there already.

- okay, thanks.

With that i left completely.

From what i could tell, how he suddenly changed in seconds and jacks rushed and slightly worried eyes, something big must’ve happen that needed him to be there in person. I over heard from Namjoon once at the station, that his mafia had rooted connections in Busan as they were investigating and I wonder if Namjoon manage to take action on his secret plan as he told me once.

If he did Yoongi might be in trouble, but I can’t tell. Both of them are unpredictable when it comes to getting what they want.

[…]

It’s been two days since Yoongi left to Busan, no one told me anything about him or when was he even going to come back.

Anytime I would worry about him my mind would remind me of who I was thinking about, he certainly was not someone who would let anything happen to him. He made it clear who he was and what he was capable of. So I worry nothing about him.

Still it felt weird to be here without him, it was his house and I was used to have his presence around. Hands even been that long and I was so deep in a nest of snakes.

I had shaken hands with the devil before now it was time to dance with him, the only thing that kept wondering with worry in my mind was how no one would tell me anything.

The few maids in the house wouldn’t even say a word to me, the guards around the mansion acted like I was invisible.

I had no one here.

It felt just like I was back at the station once again, no one would tell me anything because I wasn’t a detective yet. Just a mere office worker for them, I couldn’t tell anything to Namjoon because he wouldn’t understand.

He grew up in a completely different world then mine, he didn’t know how hard it was to try to grow your career in a police station especially when you are a woman, no matter how good I was or my scores in the academy they still viewed me as weak and fragile.

I thought that if I worked harder they would notice me, but that only got me more work and less acknowledgement.

My view for them has changed also, now that I knew how corrupted they are. They were nothing but mere trash to me. Walking garbage.

My days here were the same, day after day ever since Yoongi left I was completely alone in this mansion. The only exception being the presence of the house keeper and the very few employees that helped her.

Another two days had went by without any news from Yoongi, I don’t know if I should’ve been grateful for that or worried.

Tha was until I heard a loud noise from downstairs, I was goin to bed since it was half past ten already but the noise caught me off guard. I quickly turned to fallow it and see what was that about.

The moment I saw his face I couldn’t hold myself anymore, first thing I notice I was rushing towards him. No second thoughts in my head as I closed my arms around Yoongis neck. For a while he didn’t move, I could feel how his body was stiff under my arms.

- what are you doing? - he said. His words were like a bucket of cold water.

Of course it would be like this, what was I even thinking in that moment. Is not like I missed him.

- I’m just checking if you got any holes in you… - I pull away, staring up at his eyes.

- you think I’d be that careless? - he chuckled - it was all playful banter…

He didn’t seem one bit concerned or stressed, almost as if he went to a trip and not to fix a problem. He came back in a complete different mood then he left. Was i wrong then? Did Namjoon not went with his plan for Busan?

- not that I care about what you do… but next time send a message?

- I’ll remember that for the next time… - he says as he walks up the stairs, without looking back.

I scoffed, of course. Criminals and their cold blooded hearts, i only grew more suspicious. Exactly what happened in Busan?

I decide to fallow him up stairs, not really sure why. It felt so natural, waiting for him to come home and being in his presence after not seeing him for days.

I enter his office after him, watching as he lights a cigarette and sits down behind his desk.

- You seem off… more then usual… - I cross my arms over my chest as I observe him.

For some there wouldn’t be a way to see it, but he was different tonight. I could see it by how he used his left hand to light his cigarette, he never did that and he kept avoiding having to use his right hand. He didn’t meet my eyes ever since he came back, he’d always stare at me so deep as if sweeping inside my soul.

It was odd how he looked serious now, not intense serious but cold, so cold.

He paused for a second, looking around before he glance at me with irritation clear in his eyes.

- Does it concern you ? - He replied, his voice low and sharp.

He took a long drag from his cigar, the smoke spilling past his lips in a steady stream.

- I was busy with work - He muttered simply, the corner of his lips quirking up into an almost mocking smirk.

-it was just an observation…- I say, at that point I knew he wasn’t going to tell me anything and I couldn’t blame him. If I was him, I wouldn’t either.

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Is that so ?” He mused, his eyes boring into you.

- How observant of you - he sneered, his gaze now locked on mine. - as always…

He visibly tensed, his hand clenching around his cigar for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied you carefully. He let out a huff, his expression still stoic, but his eyes almost seemed to soften slightly.

- i have a meeting tomorrow… - He finally says - you’ll accompany me so go to bed, is late already.

Part of me wanted to stay, to talk to him but I knew better. Besides how tense and angry he was in that moment he still manage a bit of softness to tell me to go rest it was tiny, but it was there and that weighted so much more to me then I ever thought it was possible.

With no further do, i turn to leave his office but he pulls me back. Fingers circling around my wrist.

I look back at him surprised for a second, that surely was unusual.

- don’t leave yet…- he says, looking away from me.

- do you need to tell me something more? - I questioned, crossing my arms.

- don’t… - he mumbled, frowning as he stared at the desk in front of him - don’t sleep on your room tonight.

I could almost feel the thumping of my heart in my chest the moment he said those words, as if on cue my entire body burns with excitement but I try to hold back from the possibility.

- and were should I sleep? - I mumbled, my voice almost a whisper.

- with me.

I gasped the moment he pulls me closer by the waist, pressing our bodies together as his hands slide down my back at my hips.

- you should sleep with me tonight…

I stared into his eyes looking for something, anything that could tell me what was going inside his mind. He’s been hot and cold ever since he came back from Busan, keeping secrets and acting as if nothing happened even though I couldn’t tell that there was more to it then he was letting me know. Now as i stood so close to him, feeling the warmth of his skin and his heart beat through his chest. How his eyes seemed to falter ever so slightly, i knew it.

Something did happen.

But neither he could tell how he felt.

[…]

I couldn’t tell if I had actually slept, it felt as if I only blinked my eyes and when I open it was morning already.

Going to bed with him last night felt so odd and i could tell it was for him too, because we weren’t enveloped by the blinding desire or our needs. It was more intimate then we’ve been to each other, we both spent a night together only by each other’s arms and suddenly it didn’t felt like i was in bed with Agust d, that was Yoongi. When i woke up he was already up.

This time I had breakfast with Yoongi and seeing him across from the table as the light reflected on his face was a sight for sore eyes, how the sun iluminated every line of his face making him look much softer even with the scar over his eye. He looked so domestic in that moment that I almost forgot I was looking at a criminal. Almost.

Looks can surely be deceiving - i thought as i sipped my coffee, watching him from across the table.

We haven’t spoken a word to each other since last night, none of us tried to make small conversation. We just kept going as if everything was normal. It felt unreal and yet so comforting, it still amazed me how natural we could act together at times like this at this point I didn’t know if he was the insane person or me.

Oddly enough we did everything together, from breakfast to picking each other’s clothes for today, to lunch and eventually getting ready in his room for the meeting.

I was confused, it was writing all over my face and anyone could tell. Even he could as we got ready in his bathroom, I couldn’t stop stealing glances at him as i did my make up.

- that’s rude… - he said as he fixed his sleeves - you’re staring.

- that’s audacious coming from you - put the lipstick own.

We didn’t said anything after that but I couldn’t forget how he laughed at that, for the first time it was a genuine laugh.

As i found myself beside him on his car, Hoseok - as he called jack when we got in the car - drove us to our destination and I couldn’t understand how he wouldn’t just tell me what this all was about, even after making me come all the way with him.

What was this meeting about? Why he needed me there?

- I have something for you…- he said for the first time since we left the house.

- yes? - I turned to look at him.

He takes my hand, palm facing up before placing a silver collar with a butterfly on it.

- I saw you wearing one like this when I first meet you… - he says as if it was nothing.

I looked at him in utter shock, i was aware that he was perceptive of everything around him I just never knew I was included in that perception as well. He had notice such small detail about me from so long ago, I couldn’t hide my surprise - more like utter shock.

- don’t think too much of it… you can wear it or throw it away - he says, his tone was nonchalant, but i could still see his lingering gaze on the necklace every now and then.

- I never thought you were one to give gifts…

- humph… i told you not to think much of it - he looks over the window as i stare at him with a grin.

- my bad… help me put it on? - i say leaning closer to his side, watching as he looks at me suspiciously.

His eyes lock into mine sharply, almost like a cat eyeing a mouse before he scoffed and leaned closer to me with a smirk on his lips. He takes the necklace from my hand, and turn my back for him holding my hair up as he places the jewelry around my neck. For a split moment his cold finges slowly brush against my neck making me almost shrink at the sudden touch. I could hear his south breathing behind me, his breath hitting the back of my back exposed by the dress i wore. Once i could tell the necklace was closed around my neck i let go my hair, but before i could move away he pulls on my arm making me stop on my tracks.

- what? - i say in almost a whisper, feeling my cheeks heat up for letting him know how he had affected me in that moment.

- don’t move… - he says behind me, his breathing hitting my shoulder as he leans even closer.

I could feel my face heating up and body shivering, suddenly feeling like a tiger was about to jump over me from behind. He pulls my hair to the side, his touch almost soothing and like a predator hunting its pray he was the best at distracting before attacking.

I gasped when he suddenly grips my neck pushing his body against mine as he circles his right arm around my waist.

- you do have a beautiful neck… - he whispers in my ear - you know what i like the most about you, y/n?

- no… - i swallowed hard, knowing him this could either end really good or bad.

- your strength… - he grips my neck tighter, forcing me to look only ahead but still not enough to cut my air, just enough to apply the needed pressure to keep me in his claws. - you almost look weak but when i push the right buttons you never hesitate to pull the trigger, such an interesting puppet you are y/n. I want you beside me.

- i thought i already was… you trying to make it seem I’m choosing to work for you just to mess with me - i grip his writs pulling his hand off my neck - i was always a pawn on your games, i will stay beside you but not like the others.

- good… - he gives me small smile letting go of me- I’d hate to get bored of you so soon.

I couldn’t decipher him at all. He only acted however he saw fit in any situation, I couldn’t understand him at all but one thing i knew - he did know which buttons to push to make me go mad in both good and bad ways.

The car son comes to a stop in front of a luxury building, the name Golden Star shined bright in cursive words on top of it. A few sports cars were parked in front of it and i watched as a men walks out of a Ferrari in a tuxedo with a woman wearing a bright silver dress, completely exuding luxury head to toe. Suddenly i felt a bit self conscious of picking my doctor martins as shoes with the dress i wore, it never bothered me before in Paradise because people there weren’t always dressed so sophisticated like that but now that i look at it. I should’ve have put more effort into it.

Yoongi takes my hand placing around his arm as he guides me inside the building, the place was something I’ve only ever saw in movies. As we walk past the entrance we stop at the entering hall, in the middle of two big stairs was a red velvet curtain leading to entry of the cassino. I only ever heard about this place on the news, the hotel and cassino Golden Star. Even the air here felt more rich than outside.

- master Yoongi - a men dressed in a tuxedo approaches us, his name tag read Alfred. - mister Wuhan hasn’t arrived yet but he left the room ready for you in advance, but if you wish to entertain yourself at the cassino till his arrival I’ll guide you there.

- want to see the cassino? - Yoongi suddenly whispered to me.

- what? - i looked at him surprised, i didn’t expect he would take that into consideration and mostly i didn’t understand why he would.

- it might take some time… won’t you indulge into some fun before the real meeting starts? - he grins, glint shining in his eyes mischievously.

- honestly… it doesn’t catch my interest.

It truly didn’t, games in cassino were never something I found interest in partaking. If ever, i might felt curious now that they were so close to my reach but i was more inclined into watching it seeing how it worked rather than playing.

- we’ll go straight to the room - he says to Alfred.

- Very well master - Alfred smiles softly - this way, please.

We fallow Alfred up the long stairs, into a long corridor till we stop at a double black door. The men uses a black card on the digital lock, i notice the three golden letters on it “VIP” in golden cursive. As the door opens were soon met with glass window wall ahead with golden curtains hanging from above on each corner. The floor and the walls where black but the floor had a marble effect with gold and gray, in the center of the room was a L couch in velvet black as well as a red glass coffee table in the center and a mini bar on the right with a tv above it on the wall.

The decoration wasn’t what surprised me but who was sitting there, all blissful and shirt half opened.

- oh there you are… Agust d and miss bodyguard… - Jimin looks at us over his lashes, taking a sip of a red drink on his right hand and having a hard time with the straw. Clearly he was already drunk.

- i thought you stoped with this…. - Yoongi says, walking over the opposite couch and sitting down already taking a cigarette and his lighter to smoke.

- i did but… Wuhan offered a good deal so I couldn’t say no - Jimin mumbles, for a moment i try not to jump to conclusions but I couldn’t help but wonder what business he had here, especially with the men Yoongi was supposed to met.

- take a sit.. - Yoongi says to me, blowing the smoke into the air - have your fill…

He motions with his head towards the mini bar filled with all different types of alcohol bottles.

- I’m not one to drink actually - i cross my arms, taking a cigarette at sit at the corner of the couch.

- why? Can’t handle your alcohol? - he smirks, his tone full of sarcasm.

- no i just get tired from drinking, besides… as your pawn shouldn’t i stay sober? - i arch my eyebrow as i look at him.

- touché… - he blows the smoke into my direction.

- did you two fight? - Jimin leans closer to me - y/n! Since you’re here give me some attention, hum?

He blinked slowly as he stares at me, still leaning closer to my side. Although i doubt he was doing on purpose and not just falling at this point. It could be considered a crime how blissfully beautiful he looked now, perhaps the lingering innocence he managed to keep while still having a sexy appeal was what made him impossible to resist. The combo of always saying the right words as if he coated each one with honey could be added to the list of things that made him powerful, with no doubt i was sure he could have anyone he wanted with just a few words.

But i wasn’t like others, i could still see under that mask he wore, different then Yoongi i could read Jimin with ease because that was who he was, he never tried to hide his intentions and desires. Being like that was who he was, and being himself with the wrong people was what made him weak and easy to take advantage off. Knowing that I couldn’t just look at him as some sexy guy in front of me, i felt more… worried.

- i’ll give you some then…- i smiled softly, taking the glass from his hand i pick a bottle of water from the coffee table opening for him and putting a straw in it, i hold it up for him to drink.

At first he only stares at me with a pout on his lips before reluctantly drink the water, i hear a chuckle behind me and i look at Yoongi over my shoulder.

- you’re picking strays like that? - he teases.

- shut up… I’d do the same for you… - I mumble.

- you wouldn’t.

His assertion was final, it was truth. I would never do the same for him because he would never put himself into such situations, Yoongi didn’t need anyone to take care of him he was just that capable of living by himself. Knowing exactly every step to take to get where he wanted and never falling into the temptations of getting wasted as it would only take away his focus and control. Perhaps now I could actually get a little bit inside his mind after all, that thought brought a smile to my face for some reason.

I spend the next moments taking care of Jimin, making sure he eat an apple from the fruit plate in the middle of the coffee table that at first I thought was fake, and making sure he drinks water until he’s at least bit sober.

Jimin was a baby when drunk, I took those mental notes as he nuzzled on my neck and pouted the entire time.

If it wasn’t for the moment someone called him over he would probably still be on my lap like a puppy.

- Thank you miss body guard… thanks to you I can walk down the stairs without breaking a bone - he smiled at me before walking out the privet room.

I chuckled to myself as I saw him leaving.

- you’re quite the sweetheart adopting strays… - yoongi mumble.

- you seem jealous? - I retorted.

- me? Of that? - he scoffed, while pouring another glass of whiskey for himself.

He looked at me for a moment wordlessly, his gaze boring into mine. He slides closer to my side, until i almost feel his body heat against mine.

- Maybe you’re just trying to get a reaction out of me, - he added, voice lowering to a deep murmur as he holds his eyes still firmly on mine.

- And if I want a reaction, which do I get? - I stare back at his eyes firmly.

A hint of a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he took another drag from his cigar, a plume of smoke billowing around his face.

-Maybe you should find out, -he replied, his voice lowering to a deep murmur. He was leaning so close now I could feel the heat from his body, the scent of cigar smoke filling my lungs and the whiskey on his breath.

He let the moment drag on, his eyes never leaving mine. After a few moments of silence, he reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek as he holds my chin to face him.

- You’re playing a dangerous game, - he murmured, almost to himself.

- you’ve been sitting here watching, playing fool but I want you… - I stare back at him.

A low growl escaped his lips and in one swift move, he had me backed up against the couch, his body pressed close to mine, hands on each side of my head, trapping me under him.

- You’re playing with fire…. - he whispered against my ear, his voice a low murmur. - we shouldn’t do this game now… I’m working here.

I froze for moment, his eyes meeting mine with a longing and fire I never seen before. I could feel my body heat rise, my chest moving up and down as I breathed and the loud thump of my own heart beat in my ears.

- You don’t know what you’re asking for, - he said quietly, his voice almost hoarse. - teasing me like this before my meeting….

- Why? Afraid someone might walk in? - I mumbled, breathing heavily as I looked from his eyes to his lips.

I could see how he tensed slightly, his eyes darting to the door.

- I’m not afraid of anything, - he snapped, his voice a little gruff. He leaned in closer to my face, his gaze intense. - But if someone were to walk in, what would they see? How much… would be off by then?

He slides his hand under the skirt of the dress, tracing up my thigh and pulling over his hip.

His hand clenched around my thigh, the tension between you both growing.

- You want to do this here? - He asked quietly, his voice gruff. He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against the skin of my neck.

- You set my body on fire… is only fair you take care of it.

- I might just do something we’ll both regret. - he murmured, his voice low and rough.

- I never thought you’d be one to restrain yourself?

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lip, and let out a mocking little huff.

- You really think you can tease me, don’t you? - He asked, his voice lowering to a dangerous murmur.

Before i could respond, he suddenly pressed his body against me, his lips claiming mine in a harsh, intense kiss.

- Mmmh… - I circle my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer.

His lips met with mine hungrily, body pressing against mine and hands gripping my thighs in bruising grip. He didn’t hold back, making me ache even more for his touch, giving in to the desire i had been holding back for so long. One of his hands gripped my hip as the other slides over my side and chest, giving it a tight squeeze before sliding up my neck grabbing a fistful of my hair. I moan into his mouth, arching my back, he let out a low, guttural, possessive growl against your mouth.

He tilts my head to the side, with a pull on my hair trailing his lips down my neck, leaving rough kisses as he went. I was a mess under him as he continued to bite and suck on the sensitive skin, gripping his shoulders as I felt him leave a long lick over my pulse.

- Do you have any idea what you do to me?- He whispered against my skin, his voice rough and ragged sending shivers down my spine.

- Ahhh… I could think of… a few things… - I mumble breathlessly.

He thinks I can still speak right now?

He let out a mocking little huff, his breath hot against my neck.

- Oh really? - He asked, his lips hovering over your skin, his tongue darting out to taste you. - You seem confident, huh?

- shut up…

He lets out a dark laugh, his hand tightening in your hair.

- Is that what you want? - he presses another harsh nip at my neck. - For me to shut up?

He tugged on my hair again, pulling my head back further, exposing more of my neck completely to himself. His lips trail wet kisses along my skin, nibbling gently on my collarbones.

He lets go of my hair, hand trailing down the curve of my body to my hip, squeezing the flesh in a tight grip.

I could feel his smirk against my skin, his fingers gripping into my hip tighter as he pushed his body even more against mine, pressing his hips into mine.

- Don’t tell me you’re getting shy on me all of a sudden? - he murmured, his tone almost mocking.

- Shut up… you know what I want…

- I know what you want - he murmured, his voice low and rough. He leaned in, his lips ghosting against my earlobe so softly I could feel my body giving in all restraints - But I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want.

I couldn’t bring myself to say it, all the things I wanted him to do to me in that moment. All the lewd things that clouded my mind and the ways I wanted him to take me. For a split second I was back at reality, we shouldn’t be doing this now. Anyone could enter the room, but heaving him so close after heaving a taste was not helping my mind make a single right thought.

So I didn’t say anything and just pulled him into a fervently kiss.

He groans against my lips, almost caught of guard as i pull him but quickly, his hand is gripping my hip even tighter as he regains controls once more. His body is pressed even more into mine, his other hand grabbing a fistful of my hair, as his lips move against mine hungrily, desperately as if he couldn’t get enough of it and so couldn’t I.

His tongue delves into my mouth, tasting, dominating the kiss in a brutal sort of way. He was restless, pushing and pressing his body flush against mine, his arms wrapped around your waist as he grinds against my core pulling my leg over his hip.

I groan into his mouth, pulling on his hair making him moan into the kiss, his hand yanking on your hair slightly as I bite his bottom lip. He was so demanding and fierce, It turned me on even more, and i could feel the fire inside me burning hotter with each second. I needed him desperately.

He pulls away from the kiss, nipping at my lip, and moves back to kiss along the side of my neck again, this time with a little more teeth, as if to leave his own mark on me.

- You’re driving me crazy… - he murmurs against your throat, his voice rough.

He lets out another low chuckle, as he continues to kiss along your neck, his teeth grazing the skin, leaving behind little marks as his hands roam all of my body.

I stare up at his eyes, holding him closer. I wanted to stay in that moment forever but before I could even open my lips to say anything, the sound of a knock on the door stopped us.

He froze, his eyes snapping towards the door, his expression dark. He was breathing heavily, holding me even tighter, obviously angry to be interrupted at this moment.

- He’s here… - Jack voice says from the other side of the door.

The men Yoongi was supposed to meet arrived. What a timing.

Once he registered that he was quick to let go of me, sitting upright while he fixed his shirt.

Now it was time for business, for Agust d to show up.

- I’m gonna fix myself in the bathroom… - I say as I get up.

- yeah… don’t take too long though - he mumbles already taking another cigar from his pocket.

Once I exit the room I release a breathe I didn’t even knew I was holding, my body still tingled from the after effects of his touches and I couldn’t think of anything else but us.

I no longer felt ashamed from wanting more, for the first time I’ve been with Yoongi I only wanted more of him. I didn’t had to worry about people finding out at work because I no longer belonged to that life.

As I walk to the ladies room, I look back at the corridor seeing as a men with white hair walks into the room Yoongi was. He had two bodyguards with him and Jimin by his side, clinching his arm like an intimate friend. So that’s what he does - I thought.

I didn’t wanted to go back now, so I took my time in the bathroom. Splashing some cold water on my hands so i can wet my neck, trying my best to keep my body in control.

For some reason I had a bad feeling about this meeting. I couldn’t put my mind into what it was, but something felt odd. I felt like I saw that men with the white hair before, was it something at the station about him, perhaps, but I couldn’t put my mind to it.

With one last look at the mirror I exit the bathroom, walking back to the VIP room. From afar I notice the two body guards weren’t by the door anymore, making me stop immediately at my tracks. This didn’t seem right, as I reach for the door handle I hear a groan from behind the door and my heart jumps in my chest - Yoongi!

I gasped as a hand grabs me from behind pressing a cloth over my mouth and nose, the strong smell of chemicals immediately hits me making my nose burn. I try my hardest to pull away but the men holds me tightly against a wall, my mind was beginning to feel hazy and I knew what would happen then.

I was getting kidnapped.

What a damn timing.

[…]

It felt like I was hit by a car, my head was so heavy it took my longer to open my eyes then to wake up. I regretted immediately after once a sharp pain hit through my head, when I tried to move I felt my wrists and feet tied to the chair.

All the sounds around me were distant muffled voices, my head was spinning and I couldn’t speak.

- oi! Wake up doll…

- oh… gods… you guys are ugly - i groaned, looking up at the two men.

I’m so fucked now, how did i even got in this situation?

- ahh damn you Agust D!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Authors note: Call me the queen of cliff hanger endings because I’m about to push you all, jokes aside i bet you all thought i left right? And i did… for some time, but I’m back to finish this up for you all. Also sorry for any errors and mistakes. You better give this chapter a heart! Love you all and happy new year!

Tag list; @catlove83 @passionandsuga @crystallizedtime @cuntessaiii @rosquilleta @fatmaortiz @wobblewobble822 @mygdday @coralmusicblaze @whipwhoops @glosstwn @i-have-no-life-charlie @kooslilhoe @tarahardcore @manuosorio @thvlover @missroro @btspurplesky @i-am-invisible-for-you @celticcountrygal @fairywriter-oracle @m4gg13-g @unadulteratedlyunique @anaspectoflife @younhakim29 @nochookiee @strxwbloody @yoongislatinagff @pandafuriosa60 @kimsonlyluv @sukonsukuna @amariemoore @starrlo0ver @effielumiere @lovelgirl22 @baechugff @poochieshooky @seonghwaexile @xyahrinx

[lhuxlux]

Meeting the right people in the wrong time, unfortunately. It happens a lot, that's just how life is. They were happy together as a couple, but they had flaws and they couldn't learn from them and grow as people. Things could have been better, according to Betty. But there are no regrets.

I think it was a beautiful moment because it's true things can always be better once you realize your mistakes and have a happier outcome for the two of them, but that doesn't mean they were miserable. That's just how we learn things. And they learned they had different points of view and their own flaws, which made the relationship not as equal as they thought.

In Adventure Time, we see Betty finally realizing her own mistake, all the things she has done for Simon, she had to neglect her own needs. No one forced her to do that, it was her own decision. Simon was repeating Betty's mistakes in Fionna and Cake, he became obsessed with the idea of having her back. And I think Betty making Simon realize his flaw was cute.

She didn't hate him, she never blamed him, because she understood it was just an honest mistake and he didn't realize until he had to choose between two options in the book he was reading with Beth.

The book itself is a nice metaphor about life choices, there are no do-overs, choices aren't inherently good or bad, but you have to face the consequences later on, maybe you dislike the lack of options to choose from if you aren't careful. Beth said it clear, maybe if Simon paid attention to Nova (Betty's representation) and not only Casper (Simon's representation), things would have been different and he could have had more choices.

But now he cannot hold onto the past. He needs to live, and not for Betty's sake. She didn't want that when she finally managed to undo the crown's wish. Betty wanted to do that because she felt like it wasn't ok leaving Simon cursed.

The bus scene is so powerful, because it shows you the better outcome for the two of them (but maybe not for characters Simon finds later on like Marceline), but he knows it didn't happen like that and there are no do-overs. That's when Betty says her last words, showing no regret and gratitude to Simon for being in her life. Simon doesn't get on the bus, they don't share the same objectives anymore, and they have to take different paths. It was a beautiful goodbye. Some people make us happy when they appear in our lives, but they aren't meant to be in our lives forever.

[unrealcity-if]

a cyberpunk interactive fiction

demo: prologue and ch1, 55k. play here.

Streets, empty - gnarled roots burying deep below the city. The gleam of teeth, an endless buzzing like flies. Dry, dead rock. There was water here once. Now toxic sludge seeps into the dirt, leeching life from the land. They staked metal, twisted it into the dead earth to block out the sky. They know that is too late, but they try to defy fate all the same.

Esurio is a city divided. You know this all too well. As a smuggler of black-market tech into the city from the outlands, you would like nothing better than to be free of Esurio once and for all. Yet the city seems to pull people in, and after a job gone wrong you find yourself entangled in a net of lies, inexplicably strange murders, and the one question that no-one knows the answer to -

What lies below Esurio?

[features]

pay off your debt through smuggling goods into the city

run from law enforcement

investigate strange murders, while trying not to end up the next victim

regret every life decision you have made

uncover what lies below the city?

meet (and optionally romance) 5 companions - 2 gender selectable

finally free yourself from Esurio?

[companions]

[ros]

Argo [nb] they/them, asexual :

If there's anyone in Esurio that you trust, it would be them. They've been by your side since you were young : first as friends and then (literal) partners in crime. When they were younger, they dreamt of changing the world. At some point they buried that dream. For now they keep to smuggling, hacking, and breaking every speed limit possible.

Appearance - shoulder-length coily dark brown hair, medium brown skin, dark brown eyes. prides themself on wearing the most colourful jacket they can find, and wouldn't know colour or outfit coordination if it hit them in the face.

Sora [f/m] she/her or he/him :

A private investigator with a moralistic streak. They attempt to fill in the gaps left by law-enforcement, dealing in all kinds of information, and know practically anything on anyone, while remaining a perpetually shadowy figure themselves. Motivated by curiousity and an alarming lack of self-preservation instincts, they're determined to uncover the truth about Esurio at all costs.

Appearance - straight, dark brown hair that flops over their brown eyes. olive skin. always wears a leather jacket and heavy boots: dresses practically. carries gadgets + a notepad in their bag: they are prepared for anything, especially a high speed pursuit across rooftops.

Brontë [f/m/nb] she/her, he/him, or he/they :

A failed musician with a trail of poor decisions behind them. They were going to make it big in the underground music scene, until, one day, they weren't. Cast-out and adrift, they're cynical and conflicted, a perfect example of a delicately poised balancing act. It's only a matter of time before they fall.

Appearance - wavy blond hair, dyed purple at the ends, reaching about chin length. pale, freckled skin and green eyes. wears light jackets, oversized tshirts, boots that are falling apart, and as many bracelets as possible.

Asha [f] she/they :

She ran with Argo, Jaya and you for several years, after her illustrious political family abruptly fell from grace and she had to look out for herself any way she could. A skilled mechanic, and never one to back down from a fight, she bounces from person to person, always living life at high speed. After Jaya's disappearance, she split from the group, and you haven't spoken to her since.

Appearance - straight, shoulder-length black hair. dark brown skin and dark brown eyes. wears work overalls most of the time, and is frequently covered in smudges of oil fromch her work as a mechanic. else, she dresses casually and comfortably - loose shirts, ripped jeans and a necklace.

Cas [m] he/him :

An artefact dealer in the outlands. You know his name, and not much else. He seems to float from place to place, avoiding strong attachments. Never talks about his past, his strange dreams, and pretty much anything personal. Knows what to do in a crisis, though, and is frequently the voice of reason.

Appearance - straight, short light brown hair, fair skin, eyepatch over his right eye - his left is brown. wears glasses. Always in a fashionable long dark coat and heavy boots: somehow manages to look constantly poised and well put together despite Esurio's characteristic humidity.

[other]

Acheron [nb] they/them :

They control much of what flows from the outlands into the city. After they rescued Argo and you from capture by law enforcement, you have been working for them in order to pay off your debt to them. They're level headed and ruthless, and you can't work out what makes them tick.

Jaya [f] she/her :

She was part of the underground smuggling group involving you, Argo and Asha, until she disappeared abruptly and everything went to shit. To this day, you've been unable to find out what happened to her. But thats in the past, right? [option to have been in a past relationship with her]

Valentine [nb] she/her and he/him :

Practically anyone in Esurio knows Valentine, or has at least heard of her. She's the person to go to for weird tech, fast cars and a way to vanish quietly. Despite her notoriety, and her fame as a guitarist, she always seems to be able to work just under the radar of the authorities.

[content warnings]

17+ (may be subject to change). violence, slight gore, horror aspects. implied sexual content.

[pinkslaystation]

[Part 3] If I meant something to you.

toxic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Here's Part 1 and Part 2 hehehe enjoy ;> Word Count: 5k trigger warning: drugging. viewer discretion is adviced.

Dating Simon reminded you of the British economy, constant fluctuations.

He would stay over at your flat, shower you with wet kisses, and the next day he'd walk right past you as if you didn't exist.

It felt like at times Simon did really love you. He listened you to, he brushed and plaited your hair post sex, but sometimes it's like his brain would switch and his behaviour would mimic that of a ghost.

Though it been nearly 3 months since he'd popped that question in the car, you often found yourself regretting your decision.

"I do like him...but I mean- it's just, he doesn't like me back you know? Sometimes I wake up and he's just staring at me like I've just told him I've killed his dog. I mean, he doesn't have a dog I don't think, but if he did, he'd prefer the dog over me, y'know.

I don't even know why I said yes that day. I mean, he's the first real guy that's actually shown interest in me. Maybe that's why I crave his attention so much. He makes me actually enjoy being with my family, if that's so hard to believ-"

"With all due disrespect, d'ya know you?" Your neighbour answers finally.

You stare back, blood rushing to your face, "I literally live next door to you. I smile at you before I leave for work every morning-"

"So, there's nothing wrong with your face?

"What? You know me- and I'm talking about Simon, he's next door to me too..."

"What?"

"You know skull face..."

"Who?"

"Tall buff dude, y'know."

"Huh?

"Riley-"

"Oh, the guy with the big dick."

You choke on your saliva, "What- How? Um..."

"Military dude yeah? The fit blonde? Yeah, he's big, if you get what I'm saying, virgin."

You furrow your eyebrows, words trailing off, "No I'm not...I'm sorry, how'd you know..."

"Yeah, he's fucked like everyone in this building, girl. Why d'ya think he doesn't come to the flat meetings? 'Cos then he'd be surrounded by all the people he's stuck his dick in, duh." She states like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Guy comes in, drinks a bit, and runs out."

"...I thought it was because he was nervous to see....me?" At this point, you don't know if you're telling your neighbour or asking her.

"Oh girl don't be delusional, you ain't no Beyonce. Anyway, been a while since I got that dick. Let 'im know next time you see 'im." She winks at you before, hobbling off with her walking stick.

"Yeah...sure...wait- Mrs Brenda, you're like 65... AND MARRIED-"

When the 3rd month anniversary mark finally reached, Simon decided to treat you to an expensive meal at a luxurious restaurant.

And by that I mean, 6 McNuggets at Maccies.

"They're cold, babe." He complains, slouching across you, one leg bent and propped on his seat.

Yes, Simon. Because you spent 15 minutes arguing with the worker for an extra packet of mayo. But you refrained yourself from saying that, in case you'd anger him further.

"So how's the task force?"

You've learnt very little about Simon, one part that stuck out to you was that the people he was closest to was his team in the military, naming his Captain John Price, who seemed to pop up in every conversation the two of you had.

"You got that 'lil mustache on yer face again."

"Excuse me?"

"Nah babe, it's cute. Reminds me of Captain's."

It hurt even more when he showed you a picture of John Price and you're face to face with a middle aged man with a full grown beard, who's being compared to the peach fuzz on your upper lip.

"Team's good." He sighs out of exhaustion. "Soap's engaged now, y'know."

You smile, mind suddenly racing to the thought of Simon proposing to you, but you shake it away, oddly cringing at the thought.

"'Old man's thinking of getting transferred to the States. Finally..."

The thought of Simon being jealous over his Captain was always a hidden theory for you. He'd mention it so frequently, it was as if he was keeping tabs on his superior, bringing it up at every moment at his signs of weakness. And when he'd compare Price to you, it was never in a positive light, rather one where it felt like he was looking down at Price, but through you.

You wondered if Simon had a superiority complex, and maybe that's why he'd chosen a little naive lamb like you, to project all of his insecurities onto you.

I mean, you're not gonna do anything about it are you? Nah, you're gonna take it like the good little girl you are.

I mean you are right now- literally.

His dick is cramped right in your pussy, his rounded tip rapidly kissing at your cervix. His chapped lips crash against yours, but you can't seem to ignore the faint taste of his Big Mac through his mouth.

"Can tell your cunt likes that, 'lil slut." He seethes out, through inconsistent breaths. You can barely hear him, through the sound of your sweaty bodies colliding and the ringing through your head.

You hum uncomfortably. It was gonna be a long night.

The following weekend, you find yourself spending eons getting dolled up for a get together at the base. You decorated your face with a bold smokey eye, paired with a lined red lip, only to be mocked by Simon.

"Red? We're going to base, not the circus."

So you take off the lipstick. And the eye makeup. In fact, even when you changed from a tight black pencil skirt to a matching sweatshirt and joggers combination, you still find yourself being berated by Simon.

"Getting kinda lazy with the clothes huh, love?" He asks, cocking his eyebrows towards you.

Is he for real?

Grunting in response, you look out the window, shoving your headphones in, grateful for the noise cancelling feature so you wouldn't have to sit through Simon's mouth breathing throughout the journey.

The meeting itself was as awkward as imagined. The moment the pair of you entered the room, Simon decided to detach his arm wrapped around your shoulder and immediately brisk walk to the nearest woman possible. If he was trying to fool his team to thinking he was single...boy was he good at it.

Being left out in an unfamiliar space was unfortunately not too foreign for you, and you quickly found solace by the water fountain, sipping on a plastic cup of lukewarm water.

"Bored, eh?"

You jump, having zoned out.

You turn to a man you've seen oh so many times on Simon's phone.

"Captain John Price?" You smile.

"The one and only, lass. My, a pair of sweatpants. Priorising comfort, are we?" He jokes, lightly.

"Were you expecting lingerie?"

"Pretty either way." He chuckles, and you eye the way his eyes squint as he smiles, and the smile lines painting his cheeks. You shouldn't be looking at your boyfriend's competition captain this way.

You're at peace with John. You find yourself opening up about yourself, something you now know you couldn't truly do around Simon. John cared about what you said, reacting to every joke you dropped here and there, unlike Simon, who plays connect the dots with your forehead blemishes as you rant passionately.

John chuckles, "Oh God. Work sounds intense."

You hum, admiring his laughter, which cuts off to the sound of a loud buzzing (buttplug?) coming from his back pocket. He excuses himself from the conversation, but you can't help but eavesdrop.

"John Price speaking. Yes. Uh huh-what? Another soldier? Same substance? Christ's sake...Doctor's got a name? Succiny- Succinylc- what? Okay, okay. I'm coming, gimme 20 minutes-what, now? I'm...busy" He turns to flash you a small smile, "Okay, fine. Dammit."

"You okay, seemed urgent?"

He dramatically sighs, "We both got work problems...There's been a...how do i say this...another one of our soldiers have been getting drugged?" It sounds more of a question than an answer, "We think it's some sort of new drug on the black market, and now that our enemy's have a hold of it, our soldiers...fuck, getting drugged left, right and centr- Sorry, um, unauthorized information..." He trails off, realising he's said too much.

You're ears perk up, "Drugs? What are the um, symptoms?" You can't help but be curious.

John looks around, as if to check if anyone was listening to the conversation, though most people are hammered on hardcore liquor and cigarettes. He lowers his voice, "Starts off with headaches, nausea, then there's seizures...worst case scenario is paralysis. Gotten 4 of our soldiers already, poor men, had to be medically dismissed...."

You hum, silently and unsure of what to reply with. If you were attempting to flirt with John, the mood had definitely dissipated.

"But hey, listen. You ever need a change of pace, a better job, you can call me." He grabs your hand, and messily writes his phone number with a biro, winking before he leaves.

Maybe you will call him.

As the sky becomes darker and the clock strikes past 9 P.M., you find yourself walking outside the building, searching for Simon.

"...annoying."

Huh? You peer over the corner to overhear the conversation. Was that Simon?

"..follows me around a sad 'lil shit."

Was he talking about you?

You catch a quick glance, confirming that it was indeed a drunk Simon, with who you believe was Soap.

"Her mum's hotter, too. All over me." Simon boasts, whipping out his phone, presumably to show them a picture of your mother, as it sparks a 'milf alert' comment from Soap.

"...nothing compared to her. She's like a doormat."

You look at Simon, and for a second, you swear he made deliberate eye contact with you.

"She's fuckin' spineless."

For a moment, time pauses.

...

Spineless.

You're spineless.

I mean, it may be true. But the truth doesn't always have to come out, no?

After doing so much for this man, you'e still...spineless?

Laying at the comfort of your bed, dragging a tipsy Simon out of the car and him rushing to his flat, you find yourself gazing down at the smudged ink on your palm. Maybe it's time to switch your job.

Who knows who you'll run into...

That night, you rest, dreaming about John Price.

You're in an abyss in your dreams, John's pale muscular arms wrap around your frame, with the faint scent of cigars and whisky wafting around your nose. You blink and you see the bottom of his groomed beard, and small smile resting on his tired face.

You blink once more. But this time, you don't see John Price. This time, you're staring into the sullen eyes of a skeleton-masked man, lifelessly staring straight at you with no emotion. You look down the body of Simon.

The lower half of his body was missing.

By the third blink, you jolt awake and look around, but this time you're on the floor wrapped in your quilt and covered in sweat. Very much alone.

What was this dream trying to tell you?

The jump from retail to cyber-operations was large and challenging. You went from serving customers to quite literally serving the country, from scanning items to defending the weapon's system. But 2 weeks into your new career and you feel like you've actually put your degree to some use.

Your family have been ringing you almost weekly, asking about your new position, although it's mainly your mother interrogating you about Simon.

And to say he was upset with your choice of working with the army, was an understatement, in his words, he felt like you were crowding him in all areas of his life. His home, his workplace, and now his mind.

You'd ask him to drop you off, considering he's going the same way, but he'd come up with unjustified excuses.

"Can't. Need to be there early."

"Nah, gonna distract me, love."

"Can't be seen with you." He mutters the last one, but you're not deaf and Simon can't exactly whisper very well. Sometimes you wonder why you haven't broken up with him.

So you've resorted to the next option.

Public transport. Calling John Price.

"You're not a burden, sweetheart. Who's been tellin' you that?"

You subordinate <3 But you can't say that, so you resort to casually laughing at his question. You can't help but think about the reoccurring dream you've been having, they always start the same.

You're in a abyss, and you're in the arms of John Price, you blink and suddenly face to face with the half-corpse of Simon. You're struggling to work out the deeper message of the visio-

"Love, you there? Went to lala-land or something?"

Think about John Price. Focus on him, why are you still bound to that jerk? You think.

"I'm good. So uh, how's the situation with you? And the um...drugs thing?" You look at him, your words surprising yourself, since when did you have an interest in drugs?

"Oh, uh. We're not allowed to disclose that sweetheart...besides, Simon didn't tell you? Kinda big thing here..."

Of course, Simon wouldn't tell me, why would he? You tell me, John.

You give him your best puppy dog eyes, eyebrows knitting together, "Oh..."

He runs his thick fingers through his brunette hair, adjusting himself in his seat, "Succinylcholine. There's a mixture, but that's the main component. Causes paralysis to the legs and spine...seems like that's what they wanted, to paralyse our soldiers, 7th victim this we..."

Paralysis huh. You turn to look at the passing trees outside the windows. Paralysis to the spine and legs...

By the time you reach work, you're at your computer by your desk, typing away at the lines of code on your programme, once again eavesdropping to the conversations in your vicinity.

"...it's the same location they keep getting deployed, why are they getting deployed there again?"

"Captain Price is going this time..."

"...2nd guy's in a coma now..."

The chatter dies down to the loud slam of the door: Your supervisor.

"People. Come on. Chop chop, we have deadlines to meet. Stop the chatter, fucks sake."

You get back to your screen, but you can't help but shake the unsettling feeling off your mind.

Ding!

11:26 A.M. Si:- Come outside on your break. Need to talk.

I guess you're finally breaking up.

"Getting deployed."

Simon's scarred hands caress yours, gently lifting your ring finger and slotting a shiny silver ring, with a skull stuck in the center. You think back to the times where you told Simon that you preferred gold jewelry over silver, since it complimented your skin tone better. To love is to be seen I guess.

A crowd of soldiers begin whistling at the scene, and Simon retracts his hands almost instantaneously.

"Wanted to give this to you for anniversary...but I ordered it a little late."

You hum, immediately twisting the ring around your ring. It's tight and cramped.

"How's work?" He asks, his eyes roaming around the people behind you, his gaze not falling on you once since the conversation had started.

"Oh it's goo-"

"Cool. So um, here's my key if you need something." He hands you his key, more like shoving it into your chest, before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead and running off towards the crowd of soldiers that were now practicing drills.

Seems like you've gotten promoted from girlfriend to house-keeper.

By 8 P.M., you and a handful of your colleagues began to go home.

With your 4th cup of caffeine in your hand, you check Simon's text once more.

7:52 P.M. Si:- What time u finish Si:- 8? Si:- Too long to wait, going home

He couldn't wait 8 minutes?

As you trudge past the empty hallway, you're met face to face with the door of the lab, which you notice was half open.

You felt like a character in Alice in Wonderland. Trespassing is a crime, is it not?

A normal person would just inform a staff member and go home right? Definitely wouldn't enter the room. And definitely wouldn't head straight towards the counter that held various labelled test tubes.

Definitely wouldn't snatch a test tube labelled danger, and most definitely stuff it in their bag and run out the door, as if they haven't basically committed a crime.

But it's a good thing you wouldn't consider yourself a normal person.

The wind blows against your skin when you finally make it outside, and it feels like natures punishing you for breaking into the army's laboratory. With your bag clutched tightly against your chest, your mind begins racing - what if someone saw you? What about cameras? What if-

"There you are love. Thought I'd have to come 'n get you myself."

John leans against his range rover, wrapping his large military jacket around your shoulders, and you instantly lean into his towering frame.

"John...didn't you go home?"

He shakes his head. "Saw Simon speeding off the moment we finished, thought you needed a ride, especially at this time."

The wind blows against you again, and your smile falters, remembering the contents of your bag.

"Can we go home now? Please?"

A comforting silence accompanied the drive, with John's palm ghosting your thigh ever so slightly and you had to resist every urge in your body to just lock hands with him.

So you do.

His large hand encompassing yours completely. If his grin could widen anymore, they just did, and you swear you could see faint dimples decorating his cheeks.

But they fall just as quickly, jerking his hand back.

"Nice ring."

You're visibly confused, eyes dragging back to the tight skull band wrapped around your ring finger.

Fuck you, Simon.

When you exit John's car at the entrance of the block of flats, your eyes catch another deep brown pair of menacing eyes, standing at the balcony, hiding behind a black balaclava. You can't see the lower portion of the face, but you'd bet your life that there was a smirk hidden behind the cloth.

You grit your teeth, tossing the ring by the nearest bush as the car drives off. The grip around your bag tightens, and you remember the test tube.

If you're going to ruin my chances of love, I'll ruin your chances of life, Simon Riley.

A week later and the test tube lay aimlessly on your bedside time, alongside a small post card gifted yesterday from your truly. John Price, that is, not Simon.

Leaving soon - If I find something you like, I'll bring it for you :-D - J Price

Even the way he drew his little smiley faces warmed you.

On the other hand, Simon had shot you a single text, ignoring all the spelling mistakes.

Si:- bee home ina mont. by.

When he gets home, you're immediately breaking up with him, assigning yourself mental homework.

But for the meanwhile, you have to decide what to do with the test tube...for now you decide it's too risky to keep it at home, who knows if the wrong people get their hands on it.

So you opt to shoving into deep into your purse.

At work, as you walk back to your team's common room, you hear the commotion coming from the...laboratory?

"Doctor, how careless are you?"

"Sir...I-I-I didn't do anything! The lab was locked, I don't know who would have taken it-"

"And how are we sure you haven't stolen it? I mean for all we know, you might have the drug at home. How do we know you're a traitor and working for the other side. I should have you reported."

"Boss, you've known me for the longest! And why don't you stop shouting me and get these cameras fixed already-"

"Captain Price's gonna flip and fire his entire team when he comes back-"

"If he comes back that is-"

"Boy if you don't shut your mout-"

Scurrying to the common room, you shut the door abruptly. You don't why you stole the drug, but you do know you can't let anyone find out about what you did.

Not Simon.

Not John.

A month had nearly gone by, and a train of gifts has began coming, from small affirmation notes to bags of lego flower bouquets and teddy bears. All of course, accompanied by a small note with the signature smiley face :-D.

Considering the notes weren't hand written, you couldn't tell whether it was from Simon or John, though it was quite obvious. Even though you liked John, you couldn't help but feel some sort of sorrow towards Simon. I mean, who else does he have apart from you?

On a dark Friday evening while you and your team were getting ready to leave, the sound of shouting followed by stampede coursed through the hallway. Screams of terror broke from whom you made out to be doctors and nurses.

"What's happening?" You turn to your coworker.

"More people have gotten drugged, like 7 this time..."

You couldn't help but feel a wave of guilt washing over you, considering a sample of the weapon of the crime was quite literally concealed with your belongings.

"Oh -"

"Apparently, Captain Price and Liutentant Riley were involved."

That was enough to strike a nerve. You don't know which name hit you harder, but before your colleague could even stop you, you began sprinting down the hallway towards the hospital rooms.

By the time you reach though, it's already too late, and the doors have shut, the nurse informing you that surgeries have already begun undergoing. But for who, they didn't disclose.

It didn't matter who it was, you just had a reoccurring thought that if maybe you had left the sample alone, maybe a curve could have already been developed.

Oh God, this is your fault isn't it....?

A person's going to die in your hands, and you're not even a soldier.

With discomfort running through your nerves, you sit by the hospital rooms, your hands feeling heavy under the weight of your head, waiting to hear more from the nurses. But as they rush in and out of the room with urgency, your voice gradually drowns out by the monotonous beeping of the machines inside.

4 hours go by, and you can't tell if it from the lack of sleep or not, but the staff around you shoot you looks of pity as if you're in critical condition. Those hours in the waiting room felt like hell, and you couldn't help but notice the lack security in the building. No cameras again, huh?

"Nurse, is John Price in there?" You ask wearily, the strain in your voice was evident.

The nurse shakes her head, "It's Lieutenant Riley."

Your breath hitches, and unfortunately you can't help but a slight feeling of relief.

"Is he okay? Was he...drugged?"

The nurse clenches her jaw, "That information can't be disclos-"

"He's my boyfriend." You urge, standing up to meet the nurse eye to eye.

The palpable tension in the air was uncomfortable and pervasive, hanging over the room like a heavy fog, and the nurse eventually breaks, slowly opening the door to what looked like a corpse.

"No traces of the drugs were found in his body, but there's no way to really say in the early stages...He is displaying some symptoms however..." She reads off a clipboard.

You nod, though her words aren't really getting to your head, "Like...paralysis?" There's no movement from the bed, just the constant ringing from the machines.

The nurse pauses, "No. Headaches, and muscle pain, just the regular. Bullet shot in the shoulder, but that's been taken care off. We're still monitoring him. I'll be outside if you need anything." With that she leaves, shutting the door behind you. And you find yourself alone with Simon's corpse.

Simon's face looks like broken china, like fine art but damaged externally, yet still holding the essence of its beauty within. His features, usually composed and serene, now bore the cracks of strain and worry. His under eyes were now darker than ever, and you couldn't help but press your now tear soaked lips across his rough cheek, until you stopped.

His neck, though scarred, bore scattered red marks, which you know could be confused with a rash. But it wasn't.

They were hickies.

Fresh hickies.

It's been a month since you've last seen Simon, so you immediately rule out yourself, disregarding the fact that you haven't even been intimate with anyone in a while.

As you sit beside the bed, a surge of anger rises within you, fueled by the betrayal and disappointment coursing through your veins. You want nothing more than to confront Simon, to unleash a torrent of accusatory questions upon him, but you know it would be futile.

His chest rises and falls gently, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you.

The situations looks like that particular scene straight from your dreams. Dark room, alone with Simon, him laying there still.

His body is still intact, you think. Intact and littered with marks.

You try to recall what happens in the dreams after this, but you always wake up at the last second.

And you can't help but inch your hand towards your purse., the outline of the test tube screaming at you to finally use it.

Use it for the reason you had originally stolen it for.

Use me.

Drug him. It screams. It's not like he ever loved you? Francesca, remember her? The other women? Your own mother, your own flesh and blood? Think about the times he forgot your anniversary, your birthday, when he insulted you, in front of you, in front of others, hell, even behind your back! You're spineless remember.

I mean you'd be doing the world a favour, getting rid of this from this world, wouldn't you?

Wouldn't you.

John Price would be proud of you wouldn't he?

He finally be with you.

With a steady hand, you reached into your purse and retrieved the test tube, its contents glinting in the dim light of the hospital room. You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, before steeling yourself and uncapping the tube.

The acrid scent of the drug filled the air, its toxic fumes making you gag slightly. But you pushed past the discomfort, focusing all your attention on the task at hand. With precision, you extracted the entire liquid from the tube and carefully poured it into Simon's IV drip, mentally wincing at how effortlessly you had manipulated the situation.

You have to get rid of the drug somehow, and if it means using it against him, then so be it.

The next morning had come and you're awaken by the phone buzzing by your bedside table, the screen lighting up with John's name. You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before you finally answer, steeling yourself for whatever news awaits you on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" Your voice comes out strained, betraying the anxiety churning within you.

"Hey angel, it's me," John's voice crackles through the phone, the urgency in his tone palpable. "You need to come to the hospital. It's Simon."

Without a word, you hang up the phone and hail a cab, the journey to the hospital passing in a blur of anxious thoughts and racing heartbeat. Did they find out you stole the drugs? No...how could they? The empty test tube is in your bin, at home, not at the hospital and there's no cameras at you recall...

Arriving at the hospital, you're met with a scene of controlled chaos. Doctors and nurses bustle about, their faces tense with worry. You navigate through the maze of corridors, the familiar scent of antiseptic hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, you reach Simon's bedside, and what you see makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. Simon manually lies propped up against the pillows, his face pale and drawn, his body racked with violent tremors as he retches into a basin. The sight is enough to make you physically ill, although it slowly dissipates, seeing the now purple marks on his necks darkening.

John appears beside you, and without a word, he takes your hand in his, his grip steady and reassuring, pressing a small kiss at the side of your head. In that fleeting moment, the world falls away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time.

"I'll be outside," he mumbles, leaving with you with Simon.

With a heavy heart, you take a seat beside him. Simon looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion. It takes all your strength to meet his gaze, the truth burning like acid on your tongue.

"Hey." He groans out. He can barely move, as his head painfully cranes to look at you, the effects of the drugs taking effect slowly.

"What happened." But it's more of a demand than a question.

Simon sniffs, "Traces of drugs..."

"No. I meant your neck."

He pauses, like he was trying to carefully choose his words, though he didn't have much of a escape now.

"Don't act like I see you and Price-"

"Don't bring him into this, Simon."

Don't lie to me anymore.

A tear rolls down his cheek, but you can't tell if it's crocodile tears or not.

"They-they... dismissed me."

You hum, a smirk gradually building up on your face.

"Why?"

Simon closes his eyes, "Back. My spine. Can't move it..."

You let out a slow, deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a heavy stone.

"I know." Your voice is barely above a whisper, but the words hang heavy in the air between you. "I drugged you."

Simon's eyes wince once again, studying your face silently.

"Excuse me?" He begins.

You stand up, placing your purse back on your shoulder.

"What- what do you mean? You he-heard me? Love. Listen to me-"

You walk towards the door.

"WAIT. Wait. What do you mean you knew? You said you knew. What. What did you do. Sweetheart. Come back. Let's talk. You love me don't you? I love you! Where's that ring I gave you?"

You laugh, twisting the door handle.

"Baby, you better not fuckin' leav- THEY'LL FIND OUT-"

"And who's going to believe a damaged, deluded man, Simon Riley? You were out on a mission, I'll pin the blame on the enemies."

Simon shakes in his bed, unable to control any part of his body now. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME- HOW FUCKIN' DARE YOU- After that life I gave you-"

"Life? You call that living?"

"I LOVED YOU WHEN NO ONE ELSE DID-" His voice is painfully loud now, you're wondering how no one's running to his room already.

"Love? You don't know one thing about love, you fucker."

"I should have never fucked you, you- YOU BITCH-" He shouts, his body flailing violently, globes of tears racing down his clenched jaw and red cheeks.

"Rot in hell Simon Riley, I guess we're both fucking spineless now."

And that's a wrap for this mini seriesss - thank all of you for sticking around ;D IM AWARE IT TOOK SO LONG- I KEPT WRITING IT AND FOR SOME REASON IT DIDN'T AUTOSAVE LIKE TWICE??? SO I HAD TO REWRITE IT- Quick Notes: Let's all be real. We wanted reader to get with ol' john boy. But let's also be for real, if Reader was an object, she'd be a doormat. Although I've implied John Price x You, the bitch really needs to focus on herself and sort her shit out right now 💀 in the near future they're together for sure. ALSO the reference of drugs is highly inaccurate but let's all switch our imaginations on <3 lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12 , @restrictionsapply-blog , @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyyysho3s

[blackbullet99]

Debunking The Stupidest Pro-Zutara Claims.

Howdy y’all.

If you follow me, you know I’m a Kataang truther and a Zutara hater. I always thought Kataang was cute as a kid, but I honestly didn’t appreciate how mutual and well developed their relationship more until I was older. By contrast, I didn’t think much of Zutara initially, I knew it had a huge following and I kinda got why, they have a very interesting dynamic that drastically changes and them becoming friends is heartwarming, but I never got the hype. Then I saw this…

And I was utterly baffled at the mischaracterization, media-illiteracy, Zuko dickriding and Aang demonization on this post. Let’s have a look…

See what I mean about the Zuko dickriding and Aang demonizing. You compare one scene of Zuko making tea for everyone in Book 3, to Aang showing off in Book 1. Need I mention that Aang later apologized for getting big-headed by the end, and later episodes show that Aang (and the rest of the group) all work together. Right off the bat and we get this dumb Katara/Cinderella narrative.

Not another Dadko. Momtara I kind of get, but Zuko is not a father figure. Zuko himself is still young, still growing, still capable of being immature. The first moment isn’t even a parental thing, it’s more Zuko stopping Katara from confronting Aang because he somewhat understands Aang’s frustration of being unsure and conflicting about a huge decision, because he’s been there not long ago.

Comforting someone when they’re worried or grieving isn’t parental responsibility, that’s being empathetic and good friend. Katara comforts Zuko when he’s worried about comforting Iroh and these people lap that scene up.

“Aang acts like Katara’s son” is such a baseless argument. Ignoring the fact that Aang canonically has romantic feelings for Katara and vise-verse, the first moment was a one-off joke about Katara being motherly, the second was also a joke where Katara PRETENDS to be Aang’s mom and her brother’s husband, the last moment is Katara telling Toph how she TRAINS Aang because she’s his Sifu and so it Toph, does that mean Toph is also Aang’s mom?

Let’s go over this for the umpteenth time: Aang kissing Katara was wrong, it was bad, we should’ve seen him apologize, but he immediately regretted what he did, he knew he messed up, he’s not a sexual-assaulter, blah, blah blah. The problem with this is that these are both completely different situations and also Zuko had to be told to get off Katara, so not only is this point meaningless, but it doesn’t even support Zutara.

This has gotta be one of the dumbest arguments here, Aang has always seen Katara as an ally and dear friend first and foremost since day one. Admittedly Aang was somewhat possessive here, but him nodding mean he literally though Katara was his possession, more so him thinking Katara returned his feelings (which she did). But throughout the entirety of the show Aang sees Katara as not only an ally, but a friend, a fellow waterbender, Zuko only saw her as a friend and ally near the very end of the show, before that he simply saw her as a peasant in the way of his goal.

Again, both of these are completely different contexts and both Aang and Zuko were pretty adamant about how Katara feels about them. Zuko frustratingly confronts Katara about why she’s mad it him, he wants to earn to trust and sleep deprives himself so he can resolve this as soon as she wakes up. Katara asks why Aang is so crestfallen, he explains part of the reason, Aang (while being somewhat pushy) wants to know how Katara feels before he confronts Ozai in life or death.

Both are different situations and really I wouldn’t say either is better than the other.

Okay, there’s a lot wrong with these points, lemme go over them as best as I can.

Aang has put his needs over Katara’s several times, just to name three: he gave himself so the Fire Nation would spare her home, was willing to forgo his own Waterbending because Pakku wouldn’t train her, willingly put aside mastering the Avatar State because SHE WAS IN DANGER!

Aang understands the importance of Katara’s family, he leaves so as to to come between Katara and her family when she threatens to leave, he brings back her necklace knowing how much it means to her.

In both of mentioned Aang instances, he realized he was wrong and he and Katara reconciled, the first instance was out of a misguided attempt to set things right after he was killed, and the former is something Aang would never do again, in a later episode he actively takes Sokka to his father and Aang is content for he and Katara to go their separate ways for a while. I find it utterly hypocritical to be a Zuko dickrider while bashing Aang for mistakes he regrets, apologizes for and learns from, you know who else does that?

Once again, THE CONTEXT! In the first scene Katara mentions her mother’s death in a more matter of fact way to explain to Aang that the Fire Nation have killed a lot of people including his own. Aang however in a state of denial dismissed the idea of his own people being killed. In the second scene Katara lashes out at Zuko for all the trouble he caused and Zuko after going through some development prior empathizes with her in a way to get Katara to understand he means no harm.

Aang also empathized with Katara’s loss. In this same episode, he himself says he knows what it’s like to feel the pain and rage Katara feels, specifically when he found out all his people were dead and encouraged Katara to confront the person who caused said pain.

I REALLY HATE making a Katara centric episode about shipping, I really do, many people say Zuko was right Aang was wrong, or Aang was right Zuko was wrong. Neither side was entirely right or entirely wrong.

Zuko was right to take Katara to confront Yon-Rha and this was when he truly began to understand what Katara had been through and see her as an individual, while Katara comes to see Zuko as a friend and forgive him, however he had no idea what Katara was going to do and didn’t think of toll this would take on Katara if she did end up choosing violence.

Meanwhile Aang not agreeing with Katara and confronting her isn’t a bad thing, he understands just what it’s like to lose someone close to you and to feel unbridled rage and hate, he’s been there, he also knows Katara isn’t cold-hearted and she could come to regret seeking violence. He actively encourages Katara to face Yon-Rha without killing him, which she does and as Zuko says he was right about what Katara needed. But as Katara points out she didn’t forgive Yon-Rha, forgiveness wasn’t the right choice, and you know what, this is something Aang accepts.

These points in particular really highlight the stupidity and hypocrisy of the OP. For one, as we can literally see Aang ignored his training specifically because Katara was in danger and he wanted to save her, this is no different from Zuko sacrificing himself to save Katara, in fact Aang has put his life on the line for Katara multiple times. Furthermore OP gets on Aang’s case for leaving Katara to fulfill his duties in the Book 3 premiere, but then praises Zuko for leaving Mai to fulfill his duties. They’re literally praising Zuko for doing the same stuff Aang’s doing and whining about Aang whether he chose to ignore his duties to be with Katara or if he leaves Katara to fulfill his duties, you can’t win!

Okay, screw this guy, this has nothing to do with the Zuko saving Katara, OP just wanted to bitch about Aang not wanting to kill Ozai as if this supposedly makes him selfish even though Aang is literally facing Ozai to save the world and is simply trying to find a peaceful solution, it’s like the theme of this show was lost on this dude.

This was the creep who made weird comments about Katara’s appearance wasn’t it.

I really don’t get what this final point is trying to prove. The first scene is Katara happy that Zuko is alive, the second is Katara happily gazing at Aang, who never at any point tried to change Katara, at all. Point me to one scene, one moment. If this is about how Katara looks, she doesn’t look that different, at the very least, her eyes are slightly bigger in the second pic because she close to someone she loves, but even then it’s a lot of whining from this guy about nothing.

Case in point, this is when I realized Anti-Kataang Zutara shippers have are media-illiterate morons with not a single good take, fake-fans who only care about mischaracterization for the sake of a mid middle-school ship.

Maybe I should make a counter post about what Katara gains from Kataang.

[hina-has-no-life]

Mori’s big plan [Theory]

So my theory is relatively simple:

Mori wants Dazai and Chuuya to take over the Port Mafia after he retires from the Job as PM Boss.

But how did I come to this conclusion?

Well I got a bit suspicious of the way Mori differentiates in his treatment of the people in his life.

In fifteen it's clear that Mori realizes that Dazai is not just a pawn he can use when Dazai explained to him how keeping him alive is a mistake on Moris part.

It's at that moment Mori truly realizes how smart Dazai is and how dangerous this child could be to him.

Objectively it would be the smart move to dispose of Dazai then. But he doesn't and that makes no sense if you look at the situation from an outside perspective.

And here comes the first thing that I realized.

Just as we learn through the Beast universe, the different universes are largely differential because of decisions Dazai makes. But since Beast is a mirror image of the Canon universe we know that until Dazai makes a different decision the universes are the same.

So we know that Mori actually cares for Dazai.

He wants to save Dazai from himself, wants to give him a reason to live.

But he underestimated just how much of a danger Dazai actually can be before they made the plan to kill the old Boss.

Here we learn that Mori not only was the PM Boss like in canon, but that he cares for Dazai and regrets not being able to help him.

In the events of fifteen we actually see him trying to give Dazai a reason to live, if we look at it through the eyes of Mori.

Mori actually knows how Dazai thinks and wants Dazai to grow attached to the PM, that is why he gives him the silver oracle and let's Dazai choose who he works with, until he meets Chuuya that is.

Mori sees Chuuyas potential, just as he sees Dazais and that is why he wants to partner them up.

He wants chuuya to become a member of the PM and he wants Dazai to find an attachment in the PM.

And this ploy does work to a certain extend.

Chuuya becomes part of the PM through his and Dazais scheme.

And Dazai becomes attached to Chuuya.

But from this point onward we see something happening in the official art.

Since Asagiri confirmed to be working closely with the different productions of BSD we know he has a hand in how it's presented to the audience

And while we get shown in fifteen that Mori mentors Dazai, we get shown Dazai with Chuuya after they are both part of the Mafia.

And here comes an interesting part I noticed as an artist:

The official art, be it Bones, Harukawa or Hoshikawa always shows Dazai and Chuuya as equals.

Despite reaching the same level in the PM at different times they always get depicted as the same rank

And then bones started dropping PM art where Dazai and Chuuya are shown as equals, on thrown like chairs.

Hoshikawa gives us art where both of them wear crowns and Chuuya seems to wear a crown more similar to Dazai’s at one point.

It gets subtly shown in the cannibalism stage play that Mori also starts to mentor chuuya at one point

We also learn that chuuya is supposed to take over the PM one day

But Chuuya lacks something that made Mori want to have dazai as the PM boss, a certain ruthlessness. He deeply cares for people, wether he knows them super well or not. 

Don't get me wrong, Chuuya can be ruthless when he needs to be but he can't sacrifice PM members as easily as Mori and Dazai if it’s necessary. 

Dazai on the other hand thinks a lot like Mori and even acknowledges that certain sacrifices need to be made sometimes. He certainly has the guts and stomach to sacrifice people if they don't have any other option.

Together they would be the perfect team to lead the PM. Dazai the mind of the PM and Chuuya the heart.

It’s made clear time and time again that Soukoku, Double Black, is the perfect partnership.

Dazai doesn't have a steadfast moral code of his own, but he has no problem to follow the moral code of other people. While dazai would keep the PM successful Chuuya would make sure they never ever reverse to the way of the old Boss.

But there was one thing that gets clear in Dark Ear to the readers and Mori.

Dazai may have attachments to members of the PM but he is slowly walking down the path of the old PM boss in the way he handles things.

The members of the PM fear Dazai, a teenager. He rules with fear like the old Boss and Mori can't have that.

“We have a saying in the Port Mafia. The greatest misfortune of Dazai’s enemys is that they are Dazai’s enemys.”

So Mori, who first cultivated relationships between Dazai and Mafia members , not needs to get Dazai out of the Mafia and into the light until he learns to be more gentle, to empathize with people and to lead with loyalty instead of fear.

To form attachments Mori let Dazai collect people:

Chuuya

Oda

 Akutagawa

While Chuuya and Akutagawa were clearly beneficial to the Mafia, they also formed a connection to the Mafia for Dazai. Chuuya as his partner and Akutagawa as his student. (as fucked up as the latter relationship turned out to be)

Oda was another story. He doesn’t bring something beneficial to the Mafia because he refuses to kill. The only use Oda had to Mori was his connection as Dazais best friend.

Dazai’s attachments come in handy in the fact that he won't attack the Port Mafia because it would hurt the people he cares about.

In his own fucked up way Dazai did care about Akutagawa from the start but the way he mentored him did show Mori (and the reader) that he isn't gonna be a good leader if he doesn't change

So Mori looked at his options on how to get Dazai out of the Mafia but not hating the Mafia and the solution was Oda. Getting rid of Oda had only positives for Mori.

He got the permit.

He freed resources that went to a grunt that didn't have much use.

He got dazai to leave the Mafia but not hate the Mafia.

And he made it nigh impossible for the government to stop the PM without catching them red handed in illegal activities while cementing their international standing by getting rid of the internationally known Mimic.

So Mori let’s Dazai go.

Fast forward to 4 years later:

And now that he has seen that Dazai in fact did change for the better, as shown with Atsushi and Kyouka, he actively tries to get him back.

He openly invited him back into the Mafia, he made sure Double Black was still working together and trusted each other.

And then he made the deal with Fukuzawa.

With the Guild Arc we not only learned from Mori that he wants Dazai back as his right hand man, the defacto shadow leader of the PM, we (and Mori) also learn that while Dazai has changed, he isn't above using his old tactic if the situation calls for it.

While Dazai doesn't hold and loyalty to the Mafia, he is loyal to certain members.

And his position with the Agency and Government puts him in the perfect position, if he were to come back to the Mafia. 

He has positive ties to both organisation's that would actually make the Tripartite Framework work.

I'm pretty sure Mori wants Chuuya to be the official leader of the PM and Dazai to be lead with Chuuya from the shadows. 

And a big THANK YOU to @severaltuesdays for helping me get all the pictures I needed!! You are the best!!