janasrdhr

[janasrdhr]

Sweet Dreams - Bakugou Katsuki

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Warning(s): Mild Explicit Language, Violence, Major Character Death, Angst

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You both lay broken amidst the ruins of the battlefield, the sky above smeared in smoke and crimson. Shigaraki and his legion held the upper hand now — chaos had chosen its side.

Your body trembled with exhaustion, a deep stab wound tearing through your abdomen, warmth pooling beneath you in steady betrayal. Beside you, he lay motionless, a gaping hole carved into his chest — where a heart should beat, there was only silence and slow, suffocating blood. It spilled from his lips with every fading breath.

You’d spent so long despising each other, built from hatred and scorn. And yet… in that fragile, crumbling moment, something unspoken bound you together — not as enemies, not as strangers, but as two souls slipping from the same edge.

With the last flicker of strength, he turned his head to you, pain etched into every twitch of muscle. His eyes, once sharp with fury, were dull now… distant.

“‘m…”

He choked, the word caught in the blood rising from his throat. He coughed violently — it sounded final.

“Sorry…”

“N-No… don’t.”

Your voice is a shaky whisper, barely holding together as the weight of everything crashes down.

“We did the b-best we could…”

You wheeze, breath catching on every word. The adrenaline that kept you going — that fragile illusion of strength — fades fast. And now the pain comes. Real and unforgiving. It sinks deep, like ice threading through your veins. You can feel it all now.

Every heartbeat hurts. Every breath feels like it’s being stolen.

And yet, you still speak… because if you don’t, the silence might just kill you first.

He tries to give you a reassuring smile — or something close to it — but it barely forms. The pain is written all over his face, and there's so much blood. Too much.

“Hey,” he breathes out, voice rough and faint, like it’s hanging by a thread.

His hand reaches for you — trembling, weak — and somehow, it still finds yours. His fingers are cold. Shaky. But they curl around yours anyway, like it matters. Like it’s enough.

Another cough escapes him, wetter this time. You feel it before you hear it. He doesn’t wipe the blood from his mouth. He just looks up at the sky, like maybe if he stares long enough, he’ll forget how close the end is.

And yet, even now… he’s trying to comfort you.

You blink hard, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill — but they’re stubborn, just like you. Just like him. The world around you is spinning, distant, but this — his hand in yours — is the only thing keeping you grounded.

With what little strength you have left, you squeeze his hand. It’s barely a movement, but it’s everything. A signal. I’m still here.

The pain claws at you instantly, sharp and unbearable. It radiates from your wound like fire, and you wince, breath hitching in your throat. It hurts more than it ever has — but you don’t let go.

You won't. Not yet.

Not while he's still breathing.

He lets out a low groan, the kind that barely escapes his throat. You feel the tremor through his hand as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenched from the pain. Another breath leaves him — shaky, broken — like it took everything just to let it out.

“I… I just gotta say something,” he murmurs, voice almost swallowed by the stillness around you.

Slowly, painfully, he opens his eyes again. They find you — heavy with something unsaid, something fragile. And in that look, you see it: the fear, the regret, the last traces of a war he never wanted to end like this.

His hand trembles again, but he doesn’t pull away.

He’s holding on. Just long enough to say it.

“S-Stop…” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “Save… save it for later.”

It’s a lie — and you both know it. But you say it anyway, because it’s the only thing you have left.

“We can stay up all night, just… just talking,” you breathe out, desperate, trembling. “We won’t s-stop. W-We’ll be okay. Please…”

The words fall apart in your throat, slipping out in broken fragments. You’re not even sure he can hear you anymore, but you say them like they might change something. Like they might rewrite this ending.

You shift your aching body, biting back a sob as the pain screams in protest. Slowly, carefully, you rest your head on his arm — what’s left of it — clinging to the warmth that’s already fading.

Silent tears carve paths down your face, mixing with the blood and dirt. You don’t wipe them away.

You just stay there, next to him, begging time to stop.

He lets out a soft, breathless chuckle — not because anything is funny, but because the pain makes everything feel unreal. His breath hitches again, shaky and strained.

“I…” he starts, voice barely there.

He tries to clear his throat, to steady himself, but the effort backfires. He coughs hard, blood bubbling up and spilling down his chin. It’s too much. He doesn’t even try to wipe it away.

Slowly, he turns his head to face you again. His eyes meet yours, glassy but sharp with certainty.

“No,” he says, barely louder than a whisper. “I’m not waiting.”

You feel your chest tighten.

“I know I won’t make it through the night.”

He winces, jaw tensing as another wave of pain cuts through him. You see it — how close the end is. How much it’s costing him just to keep his eyes open. Just to speak.

“I… just want you to know something.”

His voice falters again. But this time, not from pain — from the weight of what he’s about to say.

“S-Shut up!” you cry out, the words breaking as they leave you. “Shut-… shut up. Please just—… shut up.”

Your voice cracks, strangled by grief. You don’t even know who you’re begging — him, yourself, the universe — but you say it like if you say it hard enough, this will all stop.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block it out, all of it — his voice, his blood, the way the truth clings to every word he speaks.

But it’s no use.

Another sob rips through you, your body jolting from the force of it. The pain explodes in your side again, sharper than before, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t care.

You’re breaking. And you can’t stop it.

He’s slipping away. And you can’t stop that either.

He winces again, his whole body tensing, but he doesn’t let it stop him. Doesn’t even let it show for long. With all the strength he has left, he reaches up — hand trembling, bloodied — and brushes his fingers against your cheek, wiping away a few of your tears.

They’re still falling. He knows they will keep falling. But he does it anyway.

“Shh… look at me,” he whispers, voice softer now — not because of weakness, but because he’s trying to be gentle.

Because in this moment, he doesn’t want you to remember the pain, or the blood, or the chaos still raging around you. Just this. Just him.

His thumb lingers just under your eye, and though his touch is faint, it’s steady enough to hold onto.

Your hand trembles as you lift it, barely steady enough to move, but you manage. Slowly, you place it over his — his blood-warmed fingers resting on your tear-streaked cheek.

You don’t speak. You can’t. Your throat is too tight, choked with pain and denial.

But your eyes flutter open, just like he asked. Just enough to meet his.

He’s still there. Barely. But he’s still there.

And even as everything inside you screams that this isn’t fair, that it isn’t supposed to end like this — you look at him. Because he asked you to.

Because he needs you to.

Because he’s holding on… just long enough to say what he came here to say.

He looks into your eyes — really looks — and for once, there’s no tension, no guarded edge. Just softness. Just him, stripped bare in a way you’ve never seen before.

His chest rises unevenly, each breath harder than the last, but somehow, he still manages a small half-smile. It’s tired, faint… but it’s real.

“You have… beautiful eyes…” he whispers, the words barely holding together as they leave his lips.

Your heart twists. Because even now — as the blood pools, as the night closes in — he chooses to say something kind. Something true.

And somehow, that hurts more than anything else.

“Not as pretty as yours…”

The words slip from your lips in a trembling breath, barely more than a whisper. You don’t even know where you found the strength to say them — maybe it’s the truth, or maybe it’s the ache tearing through your chest, begging you to hold onto something.

Your gaze locks with his, unsteady, shaking — but you don’t look away.

You can’t.

You study every line of his face like it’s the last page of a story you’re not ready to finish. The way his lashes flutter with each breath. The way his mouth twitches at the corners, still trying to smile. The soft, fading warmth in his eyes.

You drink it all in — desperate, pleading — because deep down, some part of you knows.

This is the last time you’ll ever see him like this.

And you want to remember everything.

He lets out another quiet chuckle, broken and low in his throat. The sound is strained, cracked around the edges — and it’s followed by a soft wince, his body curling slightly from the pain it cost him.

“Sh-Shut up, nerd…” he murmurs, voice barely holding together, but there's still a flicker of teasing in it — weak, but familiar. Him.

He takes another shaky breath — longer this time, like he's trying to hold it in, like he’s trying to stay just a little longer.

Then, with what little strength he has left, his other hand reaches up. Slow, trembling, deliberate.

His fingers brush your cheek, gentle despite how unsteady they are. He cups your face like it’s fragile, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he lets go.

Maybe he’s right.

And still… even now, he’s trying to comfort you.

A soft, broken laugh escapes you — barely there, more breath than sound — but it’s real. Just for a second. Your eyes close, like maybe if you don’t look at him, this moment won’t be what it is. Like maybe time will stop if you just… shut your eyes long enough.

“I love when y-you call me that…” you whisper, voice cracking as you lean ever so slightly into his touch.

You don’t say why.

Maybe because it made you feel seen. Maybe because it meant he was still him, even when the world was falling apart. Or maybe just because it made you forget — even for a moment — how this is all ending.

You want to stay here. Like this. In the space between pain and goodbye.

But you can feel it — the way his hand trembles more now, the way his breaths keep getting shorter.

You’re running out of time.

His thumb moves slowly across your cheek, barely more than a ghost of a touch. It’s trembling now, but still full of a tenderness that makes your chest ache even harder.

More blood spills from the corner of his mouth, trailing down as he exhales shakily — like every breath is a war he’s fighting just to stay with you a little longer.

“Yeah… I know you do, you nerd,” he whispers, and even now, his voice holds that familiar warmth, stretched thin by pain but still there. Still him.

His hand stays on your cheek, though it’s weaker now — fingers twitching, barely able to hold on.

But he does.

Because he’s not ready to let go.

And neither are you.

You lift your hand, still shaking, and gently weave your fingers through his — the ones still resting against your cheek. His skin is cold now, colder than it should be, but you hold on like you can warm him just by staying close enough.

A soft smile touches your lips, bittersweet and trembling, but it’s real. For him. Just for him.

You nod slowly, blinking past the blur in your eyes as fresh tears slip down your cheeks and soak into the spaces between your joined hands.

You don’t have to say anything.

He knows.

And for a moment, everything goes quiet — just the two of you, holding on.

Even if it’s only for a little longer.

His fingers curl weakly around yours, returning your touch with the last strength he has. It’s not much — just a soft squeeze — but it’s enough to send another wave of pain crashing through your chest.

That smile is still there, faint and faltering, blood clinging to the corners of his lips, but it stays. Like he’s trying to make this easier for you. Like he wants that to be the last thing you remember — not the blood, not the battlefield, but him. Smiling.

He takes a deep, shaky breath, and his eyes flutter shut for just a moment — like he’s gathering the will to say what needs to be said.

Then he looks at you again, gaze heavy with meaning, with everything he never got to say before this.

“You… you mean a lot to me… you know that right?” he whispers, voice hoarse and strained, but laced with nothing but truth.

And behind it — all of it — is that quiet, desperate hope.

That you believe him.

That you knew, even before he said it.

Your smile falters — slips, crumbles — and then it’s gone, lost in the sob that tears out of you before you can stop it. It racks your already broken body, sending another wave of agony through your chest, but you don’t care.

You lean in closer, pressing yourself against him, trying to feel something — anything — that says he’s still here. Still warm. Still alive.

“T-This isn’t how it was supposed to go…”

The words come out cracked and small, like a child’s — raw and pleading. You’re not even sure who you’re saying it to. Him. The universe. Yourself.

None of it matters.

All that matters is he’s slipping through your fingers, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

So you just hold on tighter.

Because you don’t know how to let go.

He wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer, trying to offer what little warmth he has left. It’s weak, but it’s there. His hand brushes against your back, the touch a soft, trembling comfort — like he's trying to keep you from breaking, even though he’s the one shattering.

“I know…” he murmurs, voice thick with regret. It’s a whisper against your ear, rough but steady.

His body trembles against yours, and you can feel it — the tremor of his heartbeat slowing, the way his breaths are becoming ragged and shallow.

“I should’ve done better… I should’ve been faster…” The words come out like they’re tearing at him, like each one costs him more than he has left to give.

But he says them anyway. Because maybe, just maybe, if he says it enough, it’ll make this moment hurt just a little less.

It doesn’t.

It never could.

Your hand — bloodied, trembling — rises slowly. Every muscle protests, but you ignore it. You have to do this.

You cup his cheek, the skin clammy beneath your fingers, and gently turn his face toward yours. His eyes flutter open again, just barely, as if even now, even like this, he knows it’s you.

You meet his gaze, voice cracking under the weight of everything you should’ve said sooner.

“I should’ve told you…” you whisper, choking on the words. “T-Told you how hopelessly I’m in love with you. A-...A long time ago.”

Another sob escapes you as your thumb brushes against his cheekbone, smearing blood and tears together.

“I should’ve kissed you until neither of us could breathe. I should’ve been faster.”

Your voice breaks entirely at the end, collapsing into a whisper so soft it’s almost not there.

You’re not just mourning what’s happening — you’re mourning everything that could’ve happened. Everything you’ll never get back.

And still, you hold him like he’s your whole world.

Because he is.

His breath hitched, like your words had pulled the air straight out of his lungs. And somehow… somehow, even now, he smiled. Just the smallest curve of his lips — bloodstained, broken — but real.

His eyes closed for a moment, long lashes fluttering against your hand as he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing grounding him to this world.

“You… you love me?…”

His voice was disbelieving, soft — like it didn’t quite register, like it was something too impossible to be real. His eyes opened again, searching yours.

And in that moment, he looked at you as though you were the most unexpected, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Like he couldn’t believe you were saying it — here, now, at the edge of everything.

And you could see it — the quiet devastation in his eyes.

He’d wanted to hear those words.

He just hadn’t expected to hear them this late.

“S-So much. So fuckin’ much, Katsuki…”

Your voice is barely more than a whisper, cracked and bleeding around the edges. It slips out like a confession and a goodbye all at once, and it hurts — because it’s the truth. And the truth has never felt so heavy.

You force yourself to look at him, really look — but your gaze drifts, unbidden, to the gaping wound in his chest.

It’s bad. Too bad.

And you know it.

Your bottom lip trembles as you bite down on it hard, trying — begging — for the tears to stop, for time to stop, for this not to be the end. But the taste of iron fills your mouth and your chest starts to heave with quiet, helpless sobs.

Katsuki doesn’t look away. Even through the pain, even as everything starts to dim around him — he looks only at you.

Because you're the last thing he wants to see.

He let out a soft, breathy chuckle — what little he could manage. The sound was broken, shaky… but genuine.

His eyes never left yours.

And this time, there was something in them you’d never seen before. Not the usual fire, not the sharp edges or stubborn pride — but something gentler, softer. Something that belonged only to you.

“You don’t know how much I’ve wanted you to say that…”

His hand lifted with effort, trembling as it rose. He reached toward your face, brushing a strand of hair away with the care of someone who knew it might be the last thing he ever touched.

“I’ve always loved you too, dumbass…”

His voice cracked at the end — not from pain, but from feeling. From every unspoken word that had burned behind his silence for so long.

And in that moment, even with the world falling apart around you, it was just you and him.

Just love.

Just heartbreak.

Just… goodbye slowly creeping in.

A broken, watery laugh escapes your throat, caught somewhere between joy and devastation. It rattles out of you before you can stop it, your chest aching with the weight of it all.

You look back up at him — and God, even now… even like this…

He’s still everything.

The blood, the bruises, the fading light in his eyes — none of it takes away from the way he looks to you. Like he hung the stars. Like he fought the whole damn world and still somehow managed to be yours in the end.

Your gaze drinks him in, every inch, every breath, like you’re burning him into memory — because some part of you already knows.

You’re running out of time.

And still, as you look at him — cradling his hand, holding on with everything you have left — all you can think is:

He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Even in death, he’s your goddamn hero.

His hand didn’t leave your cheek.

It trembled now, weaker with every passing second, but it kept moving — slow, reverent, his thumb tracing small circles against your skin like he was memorizing the feel of you.

Like he was begging time to stop.

His eyes searched your face, full of something raw… something fragile. He was looking at you like this was the last thing in the world he’d ever see — and he wanted to burn it into the very last beat of his heart.

Then, barely a whisper:

“Why…”

He cleared his throat, voice hoarse and fading.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even sad.

It was just… broken.

Not because he was dying.

But because you both could’ve had so much more.

And now all he had was this — your face in his hand, and a question that would haunt the silence you’d be left with.

“I—... I was scared.”

Your voice quivers, raw with the weight of everything you should’ve said long before now. The confession slips from your lips like blood from a wound — slow, painful, irreversible.

“I didn’t w-want you to think I was… weak,” you breathe, your throat tightening as more tears blur your vision. “That I’m some sick person who falls in love with the same man she thought she hated…”

Your fingers curl tighter around his, terrified of the moment his hand might go still.

“I c-couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk you not feeling the same for me.”

Your voice breaks on the last word, and your whole body aches — not just from the injuries, but from the unbearable ache of almost. Of what could’ve been.

And even now, with the world crumbling around you, you wonder what it would’ve been like to love him in the light.

Not on a battlefield soaked in blood and regret.

But in peace. In safety. In time.

He let out a soft, breathless chuckle — the sound fragile, barely hanging on.

But his eyes… his eyes never left yours.

“I could never think you’re weak…” he whispered, voice thin and unraveling.

His gaze burned into you — not with fire, but with truth, with something so raw and open it tore straight through you.

“And I could never hate you…”

He swallowed hard, blinking slowly as the world around him seemed to grow dimmer.

“Even when I thought I hated everyone…” His voice faltered, a flicker of pain cutting through his features. “I never hated you…”

Another sharp breath. His body tensed, a wave of agony rippling through him.

You felt it as his grip on your hand tightened — not by much, but enough to make your chest cave in all over again.

He was still holding on.

For you.

“I—... I know that now,” you whisper, your voice trembling like the world beneath your feet.

Your smile flickers, shaky and pained, but real — as real as the blood drying on your skin and the heat slowly draining from the battlefield.

“I f-feel like I can die easier.”

And somehow, it feels true.

Because now you know. Now you finally know what his heart sounded like when it beat for you. And for once, even with death brushing at your heels, there’s peace in that.

Your hand trails up to his cheek, gentle, reverent — like he’s fragile glass and you’re trying to keep him from cracking too fast. You rub slow, calming circles against his skin, trying to distract him from the agony clawing at his chest.

His eyes flutter under your touch.

His breath stutters.

But he leans into your palm, like your hand is the only thing anchoring him to the world.

And maybe it is.

He leaned into your hand like it was the last bit of warmth he had left in him — like he could imprint the shape of your fingers into his memory, even as it all started to slip away.

Your touch was soft… but it was everything.

And then, with a voice so fragile it nearly shattered between his teeth, he whispered—

“I… I don’t want to die…”

His eyes — wide, glassy, pleading — locked onto yours, and it broke something deep in your chest.

Because it wasn’t just fear.

It was want. It was longing.

He didn’t want to leave this moment — you — behind. Not when he’d just gotten to hold you like this. Not when he finally knew you loved him back. Not when the world had finally, finally made sense.

But life doesn’t care about perfect moments.

And time, cruel and indifferent, never slows down.

Not even for love.

“M-Me too…”

The words barely make it past your lips — broken, trembling, as if admitting them aloud might make the pain more real. But you say them anyway. Because it’s the truth.

You don’t want to die.

Not like this. Not here. Not without him.

You shuffle closer, body crying out in protest, but you ignore it — every scream of pain, every pulse of blood — just to be nearer. Just to feel him, even if it’s only for a little longer.

You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, pressing your face against the warmth that’s already starting to fade. His scent still lingers — smoke, sweat, him — and it’s enough to make your eyes spill fresh, silent tears down your cheeks.

He lets out a small, ragged breath at the feeling of you so close.

His arm tightens weakly around you.

Neither of you says anything for a moment.

You just hold on — to the silence, to the closeness, to the lie that maybe, somehow, this moment could last forever.

His arm curled around you with what little strength he had left, trembling but sure. He held you like he was trying to stitch the two of you together — like maybe if he held on tight enough, the world would forget to take him away.

Your body, warm against his, was the last good thing he could feel. The last real thing in a world that was fading at the edges.

He pressed his forehead gently against the crown of your head, his breath hitching in his throat as he inhaled you — memorized you. It was shaky. It was shallow. But it was filled with every ounce of him that still remained.

And then his grip tightened.

Not violently — no. Just desperate. Desperate in the way only someone who knows they’re running out of time can be.

He didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t let go. Not when he’d just found home — and it was you.

“Maybe-...maybe in another life, we’ll be happily married with… two kids?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, soft and dreamlike — like you’re trying to paint a future over the ruin around you. A fragile little giggle slips out, even as your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

You tilt your head, just enough to look up at him, waiting for him to laugh with you. Waiting for him to promise you that dream.

He looks down at you.

And despite everything — the blood, the pain, the creeping cold — his lips twitch into a faint smile.

His gaze softens, eyes shimmering with everything he never got to give you.

He chuckled softly, the sound cracked and low in his chest, but still undeniably him. For a fleeting second, it felt normal — like you were lying in bed after a long day, laughing about a future you hadn't even begun yet.

“I bet they’d be real brats just like me, huh?” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, laced with exhaustion… and affection.

His eyes fluttered closed as he pictured it — a messy little family, loud and chaotic and whole. You. Him. Two little firecrackers running around, carrying pieces of you both.

It would’ve been beautiful.

He let out a breath, then pulled you closer — like it physically hurt to have even an inch between you. You felt his arm tighten, shaky and weak, but full of need. He was holding on with everything he had left.

“A-and just as strong, j-just as smart… just as… brave.”

Your voice cracked with every word, the weight of the dream settling heavy on your chest. You pressed your forehead against his, blinking back tears that refused to stop. You wanted to give him that picture — a legacy of love and light in a world that had been so cruel to him.

He let out a soft, broken sound — something between a breath and a sob — as his thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your skin.

He chuckled again, the sound faint — barely a whisper carried by the wind — but still there. Still him.

“And just as beautiful…” he breathed out, voice thin and ragged.

His head inched closer, the last of his strength spent just to be nearer to you. His bloodied hand never left yours. His eyes, dulling yet warm, searched your face like it was the last light in a collapsing world.

“Just like their mother…”

That smile — small, cracked, fading — it still somehow made your heart skip. Even now. Even here.

The tears finally fell faster. You didn’t stop them.

Because what do you say to the man you almost had forever with?

What do you do when love arrives at the end?

You grin, sheepishly, weakly — like a flicker of warmth in the middle of a storm.

“S-shut up…” you mumble, voice small, cracking at the edges.

Your face flushes despite everything, and for a second — one impossibly fragile second — it feels like you’re just teasing each other again. Like you're lying on the couch at home, not on blood-soaked ground with time slipping between your fingers.

His smile deepened just a bit, like seeing your blush was the only thing holding him together.

He took in how flustered you got, the way your face flushed despite everything. Despite the battlefield, despite the pain, despite the blood.

A small, crooked smirk pulled at his lips — the kind he always gave when he knew he got under your skin.

“I’ll shut up when you make me…” he whispered, teasing, soft, but laced with the kind of ache that only came when you knew time was up.

And even with agony ripping through every inch of his body, he still leaned in — just a little closer. His breath was shallow, his lips trembling as he got near enough that your noses almost brushed. His forehead rested lightly against yours, the contact grounding him. Grounding you.

There was nothing but the two of you now — everything else had faded.

Your smile falters, trembling at the corners as the weight of his words hits you like another wound.

Your gaze drops to his lips — bruised, and stained red — and your chest tightens so violently it steals the breath from your lungs. Your heart aches in your ribcage, desperate and helpless.

Your breathing grows ragged.

Not because of the pain… not just the pain.

But because this is it.

This is the moment. The kind that only comes once. The kind that makes your soul scream.

You lean in, forehead still pressed against his, your hand ghosting over his cheek, fingers memorizing every inch like a final prayer.

His voice, though weak and ragged, still held that familiar teasing lilt ��� the one that always managed to cut through everything else and go straight to your heart.

“What are you looking at, nerd?…” he whispered, his smirk curling just slightly wider despite the pain etched into every inch of his face.

He noticed. Of course he did. Even now, he noticed everything about you.

His hand, trembling but still so warm, cupped the side of your face with more tenderness than you thought possible. His thumb brushed softly along your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

Your eyes stayed locked on his lips, helpless to look away, like they were a lifeline — a last chance at something real before it all slipped away.

Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper, trembling with every ounce of fear and longing tangled in your chest.

“P-please… I’ve always wanted to—”

You couldn’t finish.

The words caught in your throat like shards of glass, but the meaning hung in the air between you — heavy, desperate, undeniable.

You looked into his eyes, hoping he could see it all there: the love, the regret, the ache that had lived in you far too long. Your breath hitched as your fingers curled into the fabric of his torn uniform, grounding yourself in the only thing that felt real anymore — him.

His smirk faded into something softer — a gentle smile filled with warmth and longing — as his fingers reached up, delicately brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

“Then do it, you idiot… what are you waiting for?”

His voice was barely above a whisper, breathless and raw, as he leaned in just a little more — close enough that you could feel the tremble in his breath, close enough that your heart stuttered.

You shakily pull him closer, fingers trembling as they curl around the fabric of his torn uniform. The pain, the blood, the chaos of the battlefield — it all dissolves into nothing.

The world shrinks until it’s just him. Just you. Just this moment.

Your forehead rests against his as your breaths mingle, uneven and fragile, but finally in sync. Everything else fades — every scream, every fear, every broken piece — leaving only the desperate thrum of your heart as it beats for him.

And nothing else matters.

He let himself be pulled closer, your breath ghosting over his lips — warm, shaky, alive. In that moment, he was drowning in you. The sounds of war faded into a distant hum; the only thing anchoring him to this world was the rapid, uneven rhythm of your heartbeat pressed against his own.

His eyes flicked down to your lips, gaze heavy with longing. He didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t.

Before the thought even fully formed, he leaned in — and finally, finally — his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft at first, trembling and uncertain. But then the urgency kicked in. Like he knew — deep down — that this might be his only chance. That time was slipping through his fingers like blood on the battlefield.

His hand found your waist, holding you as close as he could despite the pain. He poured everything into that kiss — the regret, the yearning, the love he’d buried too long. The metallic tang of blood lingered between you, but neither of you cared.

He deepened the kiss, trembling fingers gripping the back of your shirt, desperate to memorize the way you felt — the way you fit into him like you always had. He kissed you like a dying man — because he was one. And all he wanted… was to stay here. With you. Just a little longer.

“K-Kats—”

You gasp out, pulling away just enough to see his face, your hands instinctively moving to steady him.

“Easy… d-don’t waste your energy, okay?” you murmur, brushing your thumb over his cheek with a shaky smile. “Once we’re back home… we won’t have to stop. Not ever again, hm?”

He smirked at your words, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and affection as his fingers lightly traced just beneath your ribs, leaving a trail of warmth on your skin.

“Who said I plan on stopping… even when we get home?” he murmured, voice rough but teasing, as if trying to hold onto every bit of strength he had left—just for you.

You chuckle, the sound barely louder than a breath, as your eyes soften and you nestle your head gently against his shoulder, finding solace in his warmth despite everything.

“Y-Your lips are soft…” you murmur, a faint smile tugging at your trembling lips, holding onto the moment like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

He chuckled again at the sound of your laugh, a quiet, strained sound that warmed his heart despite the pain. His hand moved up, fingers trembling slightly as he gently ran them through your hair, his touch as soft as he could manage.

“Yours are softer, dumbass…” he whispered, his voice thick with affection, as if that small moment was enough to make him forget the blood, the battle, the hurt. Just for a second.

You smile softly against him, your heart fluttering as your eyes slowly lift to meet his.

“…Katsuki?” you whisper, voice barely above a breath.

He blinked slowly, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet tenderness.

“Yeah…?” he murmured, his voice weaker now, but still holding onto every bit of strength just for you.

“We—…we won’t die, right?” you ask, voice trembling as doubt and fear creep into your words. “This is just a nightmare? You’ll be next to me when I wake up?”

He exhaled a trembling breath, his fingers weakly threading through your hair as if grounding himself in the moment.

“I promise… you’re not getting rid of me that easy. We’re… we’re both gonna make it out of this,” he murmured, even as the crack in his voice betrayed the fear he was trying so hard to hide.

You choke on your own breath, the weight of regret pressing hard against your chest.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice cracking as the words tumble out. “I’m sorry I wasn’t b-better to you. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I let my ego get in the way… I let it ruin everything.”

Your throat burns, your heart splintering with every word. You’d give anything to turn back time—but all you can do now is hold onto him a little tighter, hoping it’s not too late.

A soft, broken chuckle slipped from his lips as he tightened his hold around you, as if anchoring you to the moment.

“Hey… stop that…” he murmured, his voice low, strained but warm.

He lifted your chin with trembling fingers, forcing your tear-filled eyes to meet his.

“Quit apologizing… you’re fine… I wasn’t exactly a saint to you either…” he whispered, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips—one that said he forgave you long before you even knew you needed to be forgiven.

“I-...I know, but—”

Your voice cracked under the weight of everything unsaid, the guilt, the fear, the aching truth that time was slipping through your fingers like sand.

You clung to him, your hand gripping his shirt like it could keep him tethered to you, like if you just held tight enough, he wouldn’t slip away.

He pressed his thumb softly against your trembling lips, silencing the words before they could fall.

“None of that matters now, okay?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper—raw, ragged, and filled with everything he no longer had the strength to say.

“I love you… and that’s all that matters…”

His eyes searched yours as if memorizing you was the last thing keeping him grounded.

Your eyes widen for a split second, the weight of his words hitting you like a wave.

You feel the burn behind your eyelids as tears rush up, blurring your vision. You manage a small nod—fragile, desperate—because it’s all you can do to keep from falling apart completely.

He pulls you in tighter, his grip trembling but firm, like he’s trying to merge your heartbeat with his—trying to make this moment last just a little longer.

“Say it back, dumbass…” he mutters, voice low and cracking, laced with a desperate edge.

You press yourself gently against him, arms wrapped around his trembling frame as if holding him together could somehow keep him here longer.

“I love you too… so much,” you whisper, your voice barely holding together as you shut your eyes tight—wanting nothing more than to freeze time, to burn this moment into your memory before it slips away forever.

His fingers found their way back into your hair, stroking gently, almost trembling. You could feel it—his strength fading, second by second, slipping through your grasp.

“Say it again…”

His voice was soft—barely a whisper—but laced with a desperation that cracked something deep inside you.

“I love you…”

The words fall from your lips again and again, fragile and trembling, like a prayer meant only for him. Your eyes grow heavier with each breath, your body sinking further into his hold as you repeat it—like it’s the only truth left in the world, like saying it enough times might keep him here.

Every time those three words slipped from your lips, it shattered something in him—in the most beautiful, unbearable way. It was the only thing grounding him, the only sound that still made the world feel a little less cruel. He clung to it like a lifeline, desperate, aching.

He dipped his head, pressing a trembling kiss to the crown of yours, voice barely more than a breath:

“Again.”

Your voice was barely a whisper now, trembling with exhaustion as each word fell from your lips like a final vow.

“I love you, Bakugou Katsuki.”

You could feel your chest tighten, breaths growing shallow, but you pushed through, because he needed to hear this—needed to know.

“No matter where you are… I’ll always love you.”

And with a soft, fading smile, you let your heavy eyes close, holding onto the feeling of his warmth one last time.

To him, it was heaven—each time the words left your lips, it was like breathing again in a world where everything was collapsing. He clung to it, to you, like a lifeline.

His trembling hand rose to your cheek, gently cupping it, thumb brushing against your skin as his voice cracked with urgency.

“Don’t close your eyes… I’m not done hearing you say it yet…”

His gaze pleaded with yours—desperate, breaking—as if sheer will could keep you here just a little longer.

“I’m tired…”

You whisper with a trembling smile, lips quivering as you force the words out. Your voice is barely more than a breath, thin and strained. Your body feels impossibly heavy, like the weight of the world is sinking into your bones. Every breath drags like fire through your chest, jagged and sharp. The warmth that once lingered in your limbs is slipping away, replaced by an aching cold that spreads fast—too fast.

Your eyes flutter half-lidded, the pain catching up to you in waves. Each throb in your chest is a cruel reminder that time is running out. It’s getting harder to tell where the ache ends and you begin. Every nerve screams for relief, for rest—but your heart aches more for him than your wounds ever could.

Still, you try to smile through the torment. Just for him. Just to keep him from falling apart.

He took in the sight of you—broken, bleeding, barely clinging to consciousness—and it shattered him. His throat tightened, eyes stinging with tears he refused to let fall.

“Stay awake…”

His voice cracked under the weight of desperation. He knew—god, he knew—it was a losing battle. Your body was giving in, your breaths growing shallower with each passing second. But he couldn’t let go. Not yet. Not when you were still in his arms. Not when he hadn’t had enough of your voice, your warmth, your love.

So he begged, even if it was pointless. Even if the world was already slipping through his fingers.

“L-let’s sleep, okay? Just for a bit…”

Your voice is fragile—barely more than a breath—as it cracks under the weight of everything. You press yourself tighter against him, chasing the warmth that’s already starting to slip away. Your body aches, your chest burns with every shallow breath, and your limbs feel too heavy to move anymore.

Your eyes begin to close on their own, too tired to fight it, but you manage one last whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

“You promised you’ll be here when I wake up… yeah?”

You don’t even wait for the answer—you just need to believe it.

You felt him nod against you, barely there—just enough to hold onto. His breath trembled as it left his lips, worn and slow, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he held you even closer, what little strength he had left pouring into the embrace.

“Yeah… I promise…”

His voice was faint, almost lost to the silence around you. And even though his arms still held you, you could feel the way his grip was faltering—like sand slipping through your fingers. But for now, that promise was enough.

You whisper the words, your voice barely audible, trembling like a fragile thread holding your heart together.

“I w-wish our children have your eyes…”

A soft, broken smile tugs at your lips as you gaze at him, even while your vision begins to blur at the edges. Your breaths come slower, shallower, as if your lungs are struggling to keep up with your aching heart. You reach up weakly, your fingers brushing his jaw, trying to memorize the shape of him—his warmth, the way his eyes still burned with so much love despite the fear swimming behind them.

“They’d… be so lucky,” you add, your voice catching in your throat, “to grow up looking at the world through eyes as fierce… and kind… as yours…”

He doesn’t speak. He just holds you tighter, his own tears falling silently now, landing warm against your skin. You don’t have to look to know he’s breaking inside. You can feel it in every trembling breath he exhales against your hair, every desperate squeeze of your hand.

And still… you smile. Because even if this was the end, you’d had this moment. You’d had him.

Even if only for a little while.

You felt his voice more than you heard it—low, cracked, strained beneath the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

“Yeah..? Well… I wish they have that pretty smile of yours…”

His words trembled, wrapped in a forced chuckle that barely masked the shatter in his chest. You felt the way his body shook, the uneven rhythm of his breathing against yours. He was trying to be strong—for you, for this—but his voice betrayed him.

His vision was swimming now, blurred by the tears he hadn’t let fall until now. You reached up, brushing your thumb beneath his eye as one slipped free, your heart squeezing at the sight of him breaking down piece by piece.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was loud with everything you both wanted, everything you’d never get to have.

He let out a trembling breath, the corners of his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile—fragile, fleeting.

“When we wake up…”

But the way his voice cracked near the end, the way he held you just a little tighter as if anchoring himself to the promise—it said everything the words didn’t.

Because deep down, you both knew.

That sleep might be the last thing you ever shared.

Your voice is barely a whisper, the syllables shaky as they leave your lips.

“S-Sweet dreams, Suki…”

You manage the words with what little strength you have left. Your trembling fingers reach up to press a soft, lingering kiss against the edge of his jaw—slow, tender, full of everything you never got the time to say. Then, you let yourself fall into the warmth of his neck, your body giving out as you take one last deep breath.

It’s heavy. Final.

And in that moment, the world goes quiet around you.

His breath hitched.

Your kiss—soft, warm, final—burned into his skin like a brand he never wanted to fade.

“Sweet dreams, nerd…”

His voice cracked on the last word as his arms clung to you with the last of his strength. He felt your weight grow heavier against him. Still. Quiet.

He buried his face in your hair, his body trembling.

“I’ll… see you when I wake up.”

But even as he whispered it, the silence that followed shattered something inside him.

The gaping wound on his chest throbbed with each slowing heartbeat, but it wasn’t the pain that stole his breath—it was yours, gone. Your stillness. Your final exhale. It broke him more than any injury ever could.

And in that moment, he knew.

You weren’t waking up. And neither was he.

His grip loosened as his forehead stayed pressed to yours, tears slipping down his cheeks.

If this was the end… at least it was with you.

Together. Always.

Even in the silence.

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masterlist - anime masterlist

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[janasrdhr]

More Than Blood - Jason Todd

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Warning(s): Explicit Language, Mild Violence, Angst

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“Hey, dork.”

You don’t even have to turn around. Jason’s voice hits your ears a second before he plops beside you, proud like a cat that managed to sneak up on a bird. You’d think you’d have learned by now, but rooftop brooding makes you an easy target — especially here, your usual hideout on top of Wayne Manor, where the air’s quieter and the family noise can’t reach you.

“Heard you and Bruce went at it... again.” His smirk says it all: nosy but not heartless. Just his way of asking if you’re still in one piece.

Out of all the chaos that makes up the Wayne family, he’s the one who feels the least like work. No masks, no pretending. Just you and him, same old, same old.

You don’t answer — not properly, anyway. Just a hum, slow and lazy, your eyes stuck on the horizon, your mind too tangled up to bother untangling for conversation.

Jason’s smirk flickers when he gets a proper look at you. You must look like hell. Sleep-deprived, heavy-eyed, and worn so thin the cracks are practically showing.

He fidgets, clearly not built for soft moments, but still, his hand lands on your head in a clumsy comfort.

“I know talking’s not your thing, but seriously... get some rest, dork.”

“I’m not tired…” you mumble, voice trailing off in a way that makes the lie laughably obvious.

Jason rolls his eyes, leaning back on his hands.

“Yeah, sure. And I’m the Easter Bunny.” He tips his head, half-watching the sky, half-watching you. “You forget I know you too well to fall for that crap.”

“I’m fine, Jay. Drop it.”

Your voice is flat, distant, and you don’t even bother glancing his way — though both of you know damn well he’s not the type to let things go.

His mouth pulls into a thin line, but he lets the moment sit, silence stretching between you while the wind tugs at your hair. Finally, he mutters, voice quieter now:

“If you’re gonna lie to me, try to sell it better.”

You sigh, long and heavy, like the weight of the day finally caught up to you. Slowly, your gaze drifts his way, eyes glassy — the glassy you can’t blame on the wind.

“Remember when we were kids? That trip to the amusement park. You, me, and Dick. I was, what... five?”

Jason’s face softens. The mention of the memory flicks a switch in him.

“Yeah. I remember. You were tiny.”

He snorts, shaking his head at the thought.

“You were too scared to ride anything unless Bruce bribed you with four bags of cotton candy. Even then, you clung to him like Velcro.”

A small laugh slips out before you can stop it, and the weight on your chest lifts for a second.

“Yeah... He never let go of my hand. Glued to his side the whole damn day. Even cheated the scale so I could stay on his lap for the rides.”

Jason huffs out a quiet laugh, but there’s warmth behind it.

“He was overprotective as hell back then. Still is. You’re the baby, after all.”

There’s a pause. The easy nostalgia starts to sour, and you let the words slip, barely a whisper.

“I miss that, Dad, Jay.”

The sentence hangs between you both like a stone.

Jason’s smile fades, his voice lowering to match yours.

“Yeah. I know. It was easier back then.”

His gaze lingers on you, tired and sad.

“Sometimes I wish you’d stayed five. Things were... less screwed up.”

You huff a dry laugh.

“At least back then, I was just a kid being a kid, Jay. Not you, out there stealing car tyres at eight.”

Jason lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Oh, shut up. Like you’re one to talk — weren’t you the one hoarding knives under your bed? I’m still convinced Alfred hasn’t found all of them.”

His smile dims, the conversation sinking back into the quiet truth neither of you can avoid.

“But yeah. You were lucky in your own way. You didn’t have to steal. I did.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, your hand absently rubbing his arm, grounding both of you.

“I was four when Dad brought you home. Never thought of you as anything less than blood.”

His muscles eased, and the tension finally gave a little.

“You were just a kid. You didn’t know any better.”

Jason glances down at you, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Bet I looked like hell back then, huh? All scruffy and gross.”

You snort, shaking your head.

“Alfie shoved all three of us into one bathtub. Poor guy must’ve aged five years that day.”

A soft smile creeps onto your face, small but real.

“Those were good days, though. Too bad we grew up... and so did Dad.”

Jason leans back, gaze drifting out across the city.

“Yeah. He grew into Batman, and we... we just grew up.”

The quiet stretches thin again until he notices the shift in your expression — that distant look you wear when your thoughts turn heavy.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low. “What’s going on up there?”

You hesitate, but the words crawl out anyway, heavy and sharp-edged.

“All we do is fight now. That’s all I see when I think of him. Not the dad who’d carry me when my legs got tired or lift me up so high I thought I could touch the moon. Just... the cape. The cowl. I lost him to that fuckin’ costume, Jay.”

Jason’s jaw tightens, the anger flickering behind his eyes.

“I know,” he mutters. “I lost him too.”

He lets out a slow, steady breath like it’s the only thing keeping him from blowing up.

“Feels like I haven’t seen Bruce in years. Just Batman.”

Your throat feels tight, the words barely making it past the lump.

“I just want him back.”

Your voice cracks, hands covering your face as the tears finally slip free.

Jason’s heart clenches. He reaches for you, rubbing slow circles across your back, his voice barely holding together.

“I know, dork. I know.”

He stays like that, letting the silence settle again, giving you space but refusing to let you feel alone.

A while later, when your breathing evens out, he speaks, soft and steady.

“Hey... You don’t want to hear it, but you need to sleep. You look like crap.”

You sniff, wiping your face on your sleeve.

“Y-Yeah. I’ll crash. Thanks, Jay. G’night... love you.”

You kiss his cheek quickly before pushing yourself to your feet and heading for the door.

Jason watches you go, a sad little smile tugging at his mouth.

“Love you too, dork. Get some sleep, alright?”

You pause in the doorway, your voice small but sure.

“You too.”

And then the door clicks shut, leaving Jason alone on the rooftop, staring at the city, lost in his thoughts.

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The sound of fists slamming into the heavy bag echoes through the Batcave, sharp and relentless. Jason’s knuckles throb, sweat dripping from his brow, but he doesn’t stop. His mind is too loud, too full.

Thoughts of Bruce, of all the broken pieces their family had become, loop through his head with every hit.

And then your face flashes in his mind. How you looked on the roof — drained, small, like the world’s weight had finally caught up to you. His punches slow, hands resting against the bag as his chest rises and falls, trying to catch his breath.

“Dammit...” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face, worry tightening his chest. He hated seeing you like that. Hated knowing there wasn’t much he could do to fix it.

As he throws punches, his mind drifts to a memory of you when you were younger, all smiley and happy. He scowls, his punches getting more aggressive as he tries to push those memories — and the loss that came with them — from his mind.

Grunts and gasps fill the cave as he hits the bag with renewed fury. His thoughts grow clouded, his frustration spilling out with every punch.

His mind drifts to the present, to the sight of you crying on the roof. Seeing you so broken, all because of Bruce’s neglect, only fuels his anger. He throws a more brutal punch, his arms straining with each blow.

Thoughts of Bruce flash through his mind again, imagining the man’s face — cold, detached.

“This is his damn fault,” he mutters as he continues to beat the bag.

His fists tightened the weight of the frustration, making his punches more violent.

“You damn idiot…” he mutters, his fists striking with each word.

“You let that damn suit consume you. You lost yourself. You lost us.”

His mind spirals further, each hit becoming more intense, each punch another release of pent-up anger.

“You were everything to us. You were my Dad. My hero. And now… now you’re just a damn shadow of who you used to be. A cold, distant stranger.”

His punches become erratic, his vision turning red with fury.

“You were supposed to be our hero. You were supposed to keep us together. But you failed. You abandoned us. You failed me. You failed her.”

The sound of footsteps reaches his ears. Bruce steps into the cave, distracted by his thoughts and plans for the night patrol. He freezes when he sees Jason relentless in his assault on the punching bag. Bruce’s eyes narrow, recognizing the anger in every movement.

“Jason.” Bruce’s voice is stern, filled with authority. “What’s going on?”

Jason pauses mid-punch, ragged breath escaping him. His body is tense, his muscles taut with frustration.

He glares at Bruce, jaw clenched, trying to contain his emotions.

“What the hell do you care?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow at Jason’s response, his expression hardening. He approaches the training area.

“Don’t start with me, Jason. I know something’s going on. You’ve been more aggressive than usual during patrol, avoiding everyone at the manor. And your outbursts against me—”

Jason scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, so now you’re playing the concerned parent card? That’s rich.”

He grabs the punching bag again, pounding it harder.

“You want to know what’s going on? Let’s start with the fact that you’re a shitty father, how about that?”

Bruce narrows his eyes, the coldness in his expression sharpening as he watches Jason.

“Watch your tone, Jason. I won’t tolerate that kind of language from you.”

He crosses his arms, his body stiff with the need to control the situation.

“And I don’t appreciate you calling me a ‘shitty father.’ I’ve done everything I can to protect and provide for this family, and you know it.”

“Everything you can? Is that what you call it?” Jason laughs bitterly, his voice heavy with anger.

“You call ignoring us, neglecting us, and treating us like strangers’ protecting and providing for this family’? You might as well be a damn stranger at this point!”

He turns to Bruce, eyes burning with anger.

“And you dare to act like you care now, after months — no, years — of being a distant, uncaring father?”

Bruce clenches his jaw, visibly fighting the urge to snap back. He takes a deep breath, trying to stay composed.

“You don’t understand the responsibilities of being Batman, Jason. I have to make sacrifices.”

He doesn’t deny Jason’s accusations, knowing there’s some truth in them. But his pride keeps him from admitting it.

“SACRIFICES?” Jason explodes, throwing a final punch at the bag, sending it flying.

“Don’t talk about sacrifices to me! Do you have any idea how much I’ve sacrificed? How much we’ve sacrificed? All for your goddamn crusade?”

Bruce steps closer, tension rising between them.

“You don’t understand, Jason. Gotham needs Batman. I have a responsibility to protect this city, to bring justice.”

He pauses, narrowing his eyes as he looks at Jason.

“And sometimes… that means making sacrifices.”

“I don’t comprehend? You think I’m too dumb to understand, is that it? Too dumb to know that you care more about being Batman than this family?” Jason spits out, his anger dripping in every word.

“We’re not just tools, Bruce. We’re not just here to serve your crusade. We’re your family. We have needs. We have feelings. You need to start comprehending that.”

Bruce’s expression remains cold, but inside, something is shifting. He feels a crack in his armour.

“I understand that you may feel I’ve neglected you, but—”

He’s interrupted by Jason, his voice louder, venom lacing every syllable.

“Neglected, huh? Is that what you call it? When you disappear for days at a time without a word? When you’re so caught up in your damn mission that you can’t spare a moment for your own kids?”

Bruce’s grip tightens, but Jason’s words sting, and for a second, the anger falters.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be Batman.”

Bruce repeats his mantra, trying to make Jason understand.

“I have a duty. Gotham needs—”

“To hell with Gotham! To hell with your damn crusade!” Jason’s voice rings out, fury rising. “We don’t need Batman to protect us, we need you, our damn father. We need you here. With us.”

Bruce’s expression hardens further, fists clenched, jaw tight.

“So what do you want me to do? Stop being Batman? Abandon the city and give up on my mission?”

Jason steps forward, eyes full of disdain.

“You could start by putting us first for a change. You could act like a father instead of a distant, careless stranger.”

Bruce’s body is tense with anger, but a hint of guilt gnaws at him.

“Do you think I enjoy neglecting my family? Do you think I like being away from you all the time?”

He steps closer, his voice low and dangerous.

“Oh, really? Because it sure seems like you prefer being Batman over being a dad.” Jason snaps, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“It’s like you’d rather fight Gotham’s lowlifes than spend time with your own flesh and blood.”

“You don’t understand,” Bruce says, the anger simmering beneath his words.

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Jason shouts. “I understand perfectly, Bruce. I understand that you care more about Batman than us. That you’re willing to lose us to keep being him.”

Bruce’s anger finally explodes, and before Jason can react, he lunges, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and slamming him against the wall.

Jason grits his teeth but doesn’t back down.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me, Jason.”

Jason struggles, grabbing Bruce’s wrists as he tries to break free.

“Yeah, I do. And you’ve been running from it for years.”

Bruce’s grip tightens.

He slams Jason against the wall again, his voice a snarl. “I’ve sacrificed everything to be Batman. Everything!”

The tension in the Batcave was suffocating, the air thick with unspoken words and the sharp sting of betrayal. The only sound was the ragged breathing of two men, standing locked in a brutal stalemate — a father and a son, trapped in a war neither of them ever wanted to fight.

Jason, unrelenting, twists and growls.

“Yeah, you sacrificed everything...including us.”

Jason’s voice was low, cracked, and brimming with years of pain that no mission or mask could ever cover. He twisted his body, desperate to break free from Bruce’s iron grip, but Bruce’s body stayed rigid — tense with rage and desperation — muscles coiled like a bowstring on the verge of snapping.

“You think I enjoy making these sacrifices? Do you think I enjoy being away from you? From your brothers and sister?” Bruce snarled, his voice low but shaking under the weight of emotions he could barely hold back.

Without warning, he slammed Jason against the cold, unforgiving wall, his voice breaking its restraint, rising higher.

“It’s the only way to keep you and this damn city safe!”

“Safe?” Jason let out a bitter, broken laugh, the sound fractured by all the nights spent waiting, all the mornings spent hoping.

“You think being locked up at Wayne Manor, worrying about you all the damn time is safe? You think waking up every morning wondering if you’re coming back home is safe?”

Again, he shoved against Bruce’s hold, trying to break free. His voice cracked with anger and exhaustion.

“We’re not stupid, Bruce. We know the risks; we know the dangers. But we still worry about you each and every damn night. We’re not children anymore.”

Those words struck deeper than any blow Jason could have landed. Bruce’s grip faltered, his mind caught between his burning anger and the creeping shadow of regret. But the armour of the Bat wouldn’t let him crumble. His jaw locked tight as he forced his hands to press Jason harder against the wall.

“You don’t understand. The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done... you can’t comprehend the weight of it all.”

The weight of his own body leaned into Jason’s, forcing him still. His voice dropped, quiet but sharp as a blade.

“I do what I have to do. I do it to protect you.”

Jason’s bitter scoff was like a dagger to his chest.

“Yeah, sure you do. But you don’t have to be a complete dick about it.”

The sarcasm laced through Jason’s voice, but the anger and hurt were unmistakable.

“You could at least try to act like a father. Be there for us. Spend time with us. But no, you’d rather run around playing the hero than be an actual father to your kids.”

Again, Bruce’s defences cracked, his grip loosening slightly as the guilt crept through the walls he’d spent years building. But pride, or maybe fear, shoved the emotion back down, hardening his expression.

“You don’t understand. I do spend time with you and your brothers and sister. I teach you. I train you. I prepare you for the real world.”

Jason’s following words weren’t loud, but they sliced through Bruce’s soul like glass.

“You’re right, Dad. You trained us till we bled. We just weren’t trained enough to face you.”

And then the room shifted.

Soft but sharp, your voice pulled them from their fight like a sudden downpour on a house fire. You stood at the threshold, tears streaking your face, eyes hollow and distant — a coldness Bruce had never seen from you before, not even on the worst nights.

Both Bruce and Jason froze, and the air went still and heavy. Bruce slowly released his son, his arms falling limp at his sides, as his rage gave way to something worse — guilt. Raw, suffocating guilt.

“Sweetheart... I—”

The words stuck in his throat, choking on themselves before they could make it out. He could see it all in your face, the damage, the betrayal, the exhaustion. He didn’t need to hear it to understand. But you said it anyway, and each word landed harder than a punch.

“Look at you, Dad. Look at what you’ve become. You’re not the same man who cradled and tucked us into bed. The same man who shielded us from the world. Jason’s your son, not some fuckin’ villain you should beat up.”

You moved to Jason, helping him to his feet with trembling hands, draping his arm around your shoulder for support. He slumped into you, his breathing shallow, his body bruised, but his eyes softened the moment you touched him.

And Bruce stood frozen — powerless, silent, a statue made of regret.

“Be Batman. Save Gotham. Do the greater good, but don’t expect us to wait until you finally decide to return home, not like we always have until our tears dry up. We love you more than we value life itself, and that’s something you’ll never understand.”

Your voice didn’t waver. It didn’t rise. It was steady. Cold. Final.

You turned, leading Jason out of the room without another word. Bruce didn’t move. Couldn’t. His heart hung heavy inside his chest, every muscle numb, his mind replaying your words on an endless loop.

For once, the great Batman had no plan, answer, or excuse.

Just silence.

And as the cave swallowed him whole, he whispered the only truth left.

“I’ve failed.”

────────────────────────────────────────────

masterlist - dc masterlist

© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.

[janasrdhr]

Salvation - Simon “Ghost” Riley

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Warning(s): Slight NSFW, Explicit Language

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The rain hammered against the roof of the safe house like an incessant drum, a reminder of the storm both outside and within its walls. The room was stark, illuminated only by the intermittent flicker of an old lamp, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. You sat opposite Simon Riley, the man who was as much your nemesis as he was your ally in this precarious mission. The Ghost.

You had been on opposite sides more often than not, each encounter a chess game where moves were calculated and every gesture could be a feint; two operatives with a common goal but divergent methods.

Maps and documents were strewn across the table, but they were momentarily forgotten as the tension between you and Ghost reached a boiling point.

“For fuck's sake, Ghost, can you not see you're compromising the whole operation with your damn recklessness?” you hissed, your voice low and fierce.

He slammed his hand down on the table, leaning closer, his expression hard. “I get the job done, dove. I always do. Maybe if ya' weren't so bloody rigid, you’d see that.”

The space between you was electric, the air thick with every harsh word and challenging stare you had ever exchanged. It was as if all the years of rivalry and grudging respect had built up to this singular, explosive moment.

“You're being reckless, Ghost!” you snapped, your voice sharp as a whip. “This isn't some solo mission where you can play the hero. We have protocols for a reason.”

Ghost's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. “And ya' think playin' it safe is goin' to get us out'a this? We're not in some bloody trainin' exercise, dove. This is real, and it's dirty, and sometimes ya' have to adapt!”

“Adapt? Is that what you call compromising the entire operation?” Your voice rose, each word laced with accusation. “You think you're the only one who wants to get the job done? I'm not here to clean up your messes, Ghost.”

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping back violently. “Maybe if ya' stepped out from behind yer' manuals and protocols, you'd see that. Ya' think you're always right, but you're blind, dove. Blind to the fact that this world doesn't play by yer' rules.”

The room seemed to shrink, the air charged with your mutual frustration and anger. You stood as well, meeting him eye to eye, neither willing to back down. “And you're blind to the consequences of your actions! It's not just about us, Ghost. There are lives at stake—”

“Lives are always at stake!” he cut you off, his voice booming over the sound of the rain. “'nd I do what I have to, to protect them. Ya' think I don't know the cost? Ya' think I don't carry it w'me, every damn day?”

His words hung heavy, laden with an emotion you hadn't expected to see. It was a glimpse into the burden he bore, a side of him he rarely showed. But the moment of vulnerability was fleeting, quickly masked by his frustration.

“You're not the only one with scars, Ghost,” you said quietly, your anger giving way to a pained understanding. “We all have them. But that doesn't give you the right to be a martyr. Not at the expense of the mission, not at the expense of our team.”

Ghost's expression hardened, the brief flicker of vulnerability vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He stepped closer, his posture rigid, the intensity in his eyes almost palpable. “Martyr?” he scoffed, his voice laced with disdain. “Ya' think this is about martyrdom? You're so wrapped up in yer' rules and yer' protocols that you've lost sight of what's at stake here.”

He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his words punctuated by the fierceness of his conviction. “I make the hard calls, dove, the ones you're too scared to make. Ya' hide behind yer' guidelines, thinkin' they'll save ya', but out here, in the real world, it's adapt or die. And I'm not ready to die, 'specially not for yer' idealism.”

You felt a surge of anger at his accusation, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “Idealism? Is that what you call valuing human lives? Because I call it humanity, Ghost. Something you might have forgotten in your 'my way or die' philosophy.”

Ghost's smirk was cold, unyielding. “Humanity? In our line'a work? You're delusional if ya' think that's what keeps us alive. It's about making the tough decisions, doin' the dirty work so others don't have to. If that makes me reckless in yer' eyes, so be it.”

The tension between you was explosive, a live wire sparking in the damp air of the safe house. Neither of you moved, the space between you charged with a volatile mix of anger and unresolved tension.

Finally, Ghost straightened, his expression set into a mask of determination. “We're wastin' time here, dove. Ya' can either get on board or get out of my way. But I'm finishin' this mission, with or without yer' approval.”

Your frustration boiled over as you watched Ghost dismissively turn his attention back to the maps. His words echoed in your mind, each one a spark igniting your temper further. He was so certain, so infuriatingly resolute in his methods, and his dismissal felt like a direct challenge to your convictions.

Stepping forward, you snatched a map from the table, crumpling it slightly in your grip. “Just because you're ready to die for this mission doesn't mean you have to drag the rest of us down with your god complex,” you spat out, your voice sharp and biting.

Ghost paused, his back still turned to you. The muscles in his shoulders tensed, and for a moment, you thought he might continue ignoring you, but then he slowly turned around. His eyes were a storm themselves, dark and intense.

“Ya' think y'know better? You think yer' way is the only way?” His voice was low, a dangerous calm that contrasted with the fury in his eyes. He stepped towards you, closing the space with a few determined strides.

“Yes, because my way doesn’t get people killed!” you retorted, your voice rising to match the intensity of the storm outside.

Ghost stopped just inches away, his gaze fixed on you. “You're so damn stubborn,” he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration and something else you couldn't quite place.

“And you're so damn reckless,” you shot back, unwilling to back down, your breaths mingling in the charged air between you.

Suddenly, Ghost's demeanor shifted, the anger in his eyes giving way to a different kind of fire. Before you could react, he closed the gap, his hands gripping your arms as he pulled you into him.

Ghost's grip on your arms wasn't just firm; it was electrifying, sending a jolt of unexpected energy through your body. His eyes, dark and intense, searched yours for a moment that stretched endlessly. Then, without a word, he pulled you harshly against him, erasing the space and the lingering traces of your argument with one swift motion.

His lips met yours with a force that spoke volumes, silencing your protests and melting your resolve. The kiss was not gentle; it was a clash, fierce and demanding, as if he was determined to prove a point. Ghost's mouth moved against yours with a desperate urgency, his frustration and pent-up energy translating into a passion that caught you off guard.

You gasped into the kiss, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding against yours, exploring and asserting dominance. The world around you—the maps, the storm, the mission—faded into a blur of sensations. All that mattered was the overwhelming feel of his lips on yours, the stubble of his jaw scratching at your skin, heightening the raw intensity of the moment.

Your hands, initially caught in the moment of surprise, now roved over his body, tracing the hard lines of his back through his shirt, pulling him even closer. Ghost responded with equal fervor, his hands moving from your back to your waist, gripping you tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin as if he couldn't get close enough.

The intensity escalated as his hands roamed further, exploring the contours of your body with a boldness that fueled the heat between you. One hand slid up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, while the other traced down to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. Every touch was electric, sparking a fire that threatened to consume you both.

You responded to his urgency, your own hands exploring his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. Your fingers dug into his hair, pulling slightly, eliciting a low groan from him that vibrated through your lips. The sound only added to the intensity, driving you to explore further, your hands slipping under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin against your palms.

When the need for air finally forced you apart, you were both panting, foreheads pressed together, the storm outside echoing the tumultuous rush of your heartbeats. Ghost's eyes were still closed, his breaths heavy and uneven against your face. His hands still rested on your waist, not ready to let go, as if breaking the contact would shatter the connection you had just forged.

The room thick with the heat of your encounter, the earlier chill replaced by an undeniable warmth.

“We really shouldn’t keep doin' this,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire, but his grip on you contradicted his words.

“No, we shouldn’t,” you agreed, your voice breathy, but like him, you made no move to step back, to break the spell that the intense, touch-filled encounter had cast.

The silence that hung between you and Ghost was thick, charged with the aftermath of the intense connection you'd just shared. The storm outside had dwindled to a soft drizzle, mirroring the quieting of the tumultuous energy inside the safe house.

Suddenly, Ghost broke the silence with a muttered, “Fuckin' hell,” his voice a blend of wonder and frustration as he ran a hand through his hair, looking at you with a complex expression.

You simply nodded, understanding the multitude of emotions behind his words. The air was still heavy with the unsaid, the future uncertain.

Ghost looked at you, his eyes searching. “The hell we do now?” he asked, the raw honesty in his voice stripping away any remnants of his usual composure.

“We'll figure it out,” you responded, your voice calm and sure despite the chaos that seemed to always be at the edge of your lives. “Whatever this is, we'll figure it out together.”

Ghost stepped closer, his presence enveloping you in a sense of security that contrasted sharply with the uncertainty of his words. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace that felt like a safe harbor in the midst of the storm. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, a tender gesture that felt like a promise. With a heavy sigh, he murmured,

“We always do.”

──────────────────────

masterlist - cod masterlist

© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.

[janasrdhr]

Hiraeth - Simon “Ghost” Riley

(n.) A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

──────────────────────

Warning(s): Major Character Death, Angst

──────────────────────

The morning holds a gentle crispness as you hold Beth's hand, her small fingers curled trustingly in yours. Today is a special day, though the weight in your heart makes each step heavier than the last.

“Mama, Dada see?” Beth's voice is a mix of hopeful babbles and coos, her eyes wide with the innocence of a child who still believes in the magic of presence.

You smile down at her, the familiar pang of sorrow tightening around your heart. “Yes, sweetheart, we're going to see Daddy.”

As you walk through the quiet streets of your neighborhood, memories cascade around you like leaves in the wind. Here is the playground where Simon, your beloved Simon, once spun Beth around until both of their laughter filled the air. You remember how he'd hoist her onto his shoulders, declaring her the queen of the park.

“He made you fly so high, didn't he?” you whisper, more to yourself than to Beth.

She nods, her curls bouncing with each step, her small voice attempting to mimic your tone, “Dada fwy high!”

So high. The phrase echoes in your mind as you approach the quaint little café where Simon would get his morning coffee—black, no sugar, but always with a tiny cookie for Beth, because “a little sweetness makes every day better,” he'd say.

You don't stop for coffee today. Instead, you continue on, each landmark a testament to Simon's love, each corner a memory of laughter and love.

Finally, you arrive at the place you've been both longing for and dreading. It's peaceful here, a small hill overlooking the town, the grass whispering secrets to the wind. You guide Beth to a particular spot, one that overlooks a small pond, the surface shimmering like a mirror.

“Wai hewe, Mama?” Beth's question is a gentle tug on your sleeve, her words still a jumble of sounds that barely form a coherent sentence.

You kneel down, helping her to sit on the soft grass. “This is a special place, Beth. A place where we can feel close to Daddy.”

Beth looks around, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Dada hide?” she asks, her voice a mix of curiosity and misunderstanding.

Your heart clenches, and you pull her close, enveloping her small body in your arms. “No, baby. Daddy...Daddy's always with us, but we can't see him anymore. He's here,” you say, placing your hand over her heart, “and here,” you touch her head, “in every memory and every laugh.”

Beth is quiet, her eyes searching yours for understanding. She reaches out, touching your cheek, clinging to your larger frame as she crawls into your folded lap; the soft afternoon wind gently sweeps across the hill, playing with Beth's curls. Each delicate strand dances lightly, caressed by the breeze, framing her curious, orbs, a striking mirror of Simon's, capturing the same intense and vivid hue that once defined him as she looks around.

Deep pools of resilience and warmth, reflecting a spirit much like his—fearless and kind. In her gaze, there's a spark of mischief and the boundless curiosity that Simon carried with him always, making it feel as though a part of him continues to look out at the world, through her. Something you wordlessly promised yourself to forever cherish the moment those eyes were opened to defy him.

The wind, almost tender in its touch, seems to whisper secrets of the past, bringing a sense of closeness to the father she adores.

“Dada?”

“Dada.” you repeat, agreeing. Voice thick with unshed tears.

You spend the afternoon there, under the vast sky, telling Beth stories of Simon. How he was a hero, not just to many, but especially to you and her. How his laughter could light up the darkest room, and how his bravery was as vast as the ocean.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow over the yard, you stand up, brushing the grass from your jeans. You look back at the simple stone that marks Simon's resting place. A smile tugs at your lips as you remember the words you'd always say to him before he left the house: “Come back to me.”

“Come back to me,” you whisper with a gentle smile, echoing the promise of your daily farewell.

You kiss your hand, feeling the warmth of your lips tingle on your skin, and then gently press your fingers against the cool stone. “I love you, Simon. Always.”

Beth, watching your actions, attempts to mimic you. She presses her tiny hand to her lips, then onto the stone, her babbling attempt at “Luw, Dada!” filling the quiet air with the purest form of love.

As Beth's tender voice whispers into the tranquil air, the surrounding nature seems to hold its breath, absorbing the purity of her love. The gentle breeze, which had been playfully teasing her curls, now carries a deeper warmth, as if Simon himself is responding through the whisper of the wind.

The leaves of the nearby trees sway softly, creating a hushed rustling that sounds almost like a comforting sigh, acknowledging her words. Above, a single ray of sunlight breaks through the clouds, casting a golden glow around Beth, enveloping her in a celestial embrace.

It's as if the very essence of Simon, intertwined with the spirit of the natural world, is affirming his everlasting presence and love, echoing back to her in every gentle touch of the wind and warm beam of light.

Watching this serene communion, you feel a profound sense of peace wash over you. The spiritual connection between Beth and the essence of Simon, manifesting through the elements of nature, touches something deep within your soul. Tears of mixed emotions well up in your eyes—sorrow for the loss, gratitude for the memories, and awe at the palpable sense of Simon's presence.

A moment of profound beauty and comfort, a silent reassurance that though Simon is no longer physically with you, his spirit continues to watch over and connect with you both in the most tender and ethereal ways.

This spiritual embrace from nature, responding to Beth's innocent love, strengthens your faith in the unseen bonds that tie your little family together.

And with that, you take Beth's hand once more, and together, you start the walk back home, your hearts full of love and memories, carrying Simon with you in every gentle whisper of the wind; forever intertwined with the rhythm of the natural world around you.

His world.

──────────────────────

masterlist - cod masterlist

© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.

[janasrdhr]

hey lovelies!

i just wanted to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude for all the love and support on my latest post. your kind words and enthusiasm mean the world to me as an aspiring author. your response has truly touched my heart 🫶 🫶

as an underrated yet growing author, each like, reblog, and comment fills me with joy and motivates me to keep writing. your encouragement is the fuel that keeps my creative fire burning bright.

while i am thrilled to see the positive reception of my recent work, i also want to take this opportunity to invite you to explore my other posts. there are hidden gems waiting to be discovered, stories that may not have received as much attention but hold a special place in my heart.

your support on all fronts is vital to me as a writer. knowing that my words resonate with you keeps me inspired to craft more stories, weave more worlds, and share more of my soul through writing.

so, if you have a moment, i would be over the moon if you could dive into my other works, give them a read, and perhaps share them with your fellow story lovers. every view, every like, every bit of feedback is a treasure to me and a stepping stone on this incredible writing journey. personally letting me know your thoughts is just as appreciated, i'd love nothing more than to explicitly incorporate your thoughts and ideas into my work to provide a more personalized reading experience. feel free to tell me what your fav part was or what more i can do/improve to enhance your 3 AM binge. i adore reading about how your rollercoaster went just as much as i love writing them for you :)

thank you so much once again for being such an amazing community. your love and support are the wind beneath my writer's wings. overall, i am truly honored and would love to continue this adventure together, exploring new stories, sharing heartfelt moments, and spreading the magic of words to all who seek solace with either my 🫀clenching angst or 🐱 clenching smut <33

with all my love and gratitude,

jana xo

[janasrdhr]

Stay - Simon “Ghost” Riley

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Warning(s): Major Character Death, Explicit Language, Angst

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Ghost signals to proceed towards the fourth floor of the building, indicating it as the final hurdle to overcome.

An eerie silence envelops the surroundings.

Suddenly, Ghost forcefully pulls you downward with a shout, sending waves of pain coursing through your body.

In the midst of chaos, an explosion shatters the floor beneath you.

You find yourself wounded, partially trapped under concrete, as Ghost's voice reaches you amidst the wreckage.

“You stay with me. Don’t you die on me. That’s an order.”

You whimper, your body wracked with excruciating pain, swallowing hard as your eyes glaze over.

Ghost's arms wrap around your body tightly. His touch firm, reassuring. His eyes are locked into yours. He needs to see you holding onto him. To see your eyes and make sure that you're still there. That you're not gone.

He looks at your chest. His hand presses up against it. He needs to see your chest rise and fall beneath the rubble.

“Stay with me. Stay. Please.”

Your hand darts up, seizing his own in a desperate grasp, fingers trembling to match the tremors of his own chest. “I-it hurts,” you stammer, the pain coursing through you like molten lava, threatening to consume you whole.

You're losing strength. He can see your free hand struggling to grip his hand as tightly as it was.

He's silent for a moment, then a short, quick command to no one in particular.

“I need morphine now.”

The rubble starts moving slightly, and you know that Ghost can't move you just yet.

But he's not leaving your side.

“You stay with me dove, yeah?”

“It hurts so much. F-fuck...I can't-” you heave, drawing in air as though each labored breath were a lifeline.

“I need you to do somethin' for me, dove.”

Ghost's voice is firm. Almost an order. But his grip on you is gentle, as if he doesn't want to hurt you more than you are already hurting.

“You're goin' to take slow, deep breaths. And you're goin' to keep lookin' at me. Only me.”

You nod pitifully, your concussed head barely able to comply, your consciousness teetering on the brink.

“Good girl.”

The rubble continues to shift. As the debris slowly gets removed from your body. The morphine slowly enters your system. Pain alleviating, as the world starts to spin.

“I need you to stay awake for me, love?”

Ghost's voice is reassuring, comforting, warm. Even with the mask covering his mouth, his eyes are intent - waiting. Waiting to see if you're still there.

“Stay with me.”

Your eyes begin to roll back, struggling as if trying to stitch themselves shut.

“Dove.”

Ghost's tone is urgent now. As if he's going to shake you into staying awake. Into living.

“I need you to look at me. Look at me.”

His grip presses into your hand. Trying to find some semblance of life in you. It must kill him to see you like this. See you suffer.

“Look at me, pretty.”

Your eyes snap open, fueled by the dwindling remnants of your energy, slowly succumbing to the pull of slumber; despite the plea in his usual taut voice.

“That's it,” Ghost whispers, his voice filled with relief.

“Don't you dare close your eyes. Keep lookin' at me. Keep lookin'.”

There's still rubble pinning you to the ground. The EVAC team trying their hardest to free you - and keep you alive.

“Don't you close your eyes again. Ya hear me?”

“...s-so tired...” You stutter, your voice faltering, as weariness grips you like a heavy cloak.

His voice, normally resonant and commanding, now carries a plea, a desolate edge honed by urgency. Each word is measured, and delivered with a staggering resolve. A raw vulnerability that struggles to break free from its jagged, rusty confines, something only you seem to have the key to. It echoes the weight of unspoken fears and the fervent hope of finding salvation amid turmoil.

God, does he push on. For you.

Anything for you.

“Keep lookin'.”

You're slipping away. His grip on you grows tighter as he pleads.

“Don't you go on me. Ya hear that? Don't you go on me.”

It would tear his heart out to lose you. He knows that. He knows just as well as you do.

But you have to stay. You have to stay.

“Ghost,” you stammer, your words catching in your throat like a fish struggling against a hook, “I d-don't think I can...”

“You have to. You get me?”

He's so desperate. So desperate. He can't lose you. Not here. Not now where you lie in a pile of rubble. Where everything is chaos.

There's noise around you, the rubble being lifted, the sound of feet and voices.

Your hand, barely clinging to him, tightens ever so slightly, a silent plea for reassurance.

“I-If I don't make it...you'll miss me, r-right?”

“Don't you dare talk like that, dove.”

Ghost's voice cracks. His grip has tightened to the point that it's painful.

“You're makin' it out of here, and I'm not leavin' until you do.”

His eyes narrow.

“You're not goin' anywhere.”

A solitary tear escapes, tracing a silent path down the contours of your weary face. “I...I'll miss you,” you confess, your voice trembling with emotion, each word a delicate thread in the tapestry of your heartache. “So much...”

“You're not dyin', damn it.”

Ghost hisses the words. The frustration is evident in his voice. The fear and dread, the knowledge of just how close you're to the end of the line.

Ghost can't even begin to describe the emotions he's feeling. The guilt over bringing you to this. The anger over someone else doing this to you.

A strained whimper manages to escape your parched throat. “I-...I had everything planned, y-y'know?” you confess, your voice strained, carrying the weight of stolen expectations. “E-Everything.”

“Shut it.”

It's quiet this time. As if Ghost is trying to deny the truth in those words. As if he can push it back and make it not real.

“Shut up... you're not thinkin' like that. Don't you dare.”

A pause as a tear falls from his eye. A low, grunted curse as his lips tighten under the balaclava.

Your words emerge in fragments, like fragile petals torn from a wilting flower, each syllable a struggle against unspoken desires.

“I...I wanted,” you begin, your breaths strained as if wrestling with unseen burdens. “I wanted to marry you.” you manage to confess amidst the tumult of your emotions, the words hanging in the air like delicate threads on the verge of snapping.

“And...and children...” you choke back tears, the image of a future slipping through your trembling grasp. “I imagined...a home,” you continue, your voice a whispered plea, “filled with love.” But even as you struggle to speak, the words falter, slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“I...I can't hold on,” you admit, weak gasps punctuating the realization of time slipping inexorably away. Tears stream down your cheeks, each drop a testament to the depth of your longing.

“I wanted...so much.” your voice trails off, fading into the silence battered breaths.

“Stop.”

Ghost tries. He tries to block it. The truth. The reality.

You're lying here, barely hanging on. The life within your body slipping away.

“Don't say that. It's...”

There's a pause as he swallows hard.

“It's not slippin' away.”

Another beat as his grasp on you loosens slightly. The fear, the anger, the panic, the pain, the guilt. It's all in his voice. His voice cracking. Breaking.

“A d-destination wedding,” you manage, a dry chuckle escaping your lips, as if dust had settled upon your laughter.

“Italy....Tuscany.” Your voice wavers, painting a picture of distant shores and moonlit sands. “On the beach, m-maybe? Barefoot, under the nighttime sky. Just us and the stars,” Your thoughts drift away by the current of your yearning.

“White roses...everywhere,” you continue, the image forming in your mind's eye like a fragile constellation.

“I love white roses...” you trail off, lost in the reverie of what could have been.

Ghost listens to your dreams. Your thoughts of a future together. A life together.

A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. His eyes narrow more as it's barely noticeable, only if you really look at his face.

“Italy.” Ghost repeats, his voice stronger now. “White roses.”

A pause as he swallows hard. A deep sigh to collect himself.

“What else?”

“It s-should be intimate,” you falter, your voice wavering with sincerity, "just family and friends with us.” You pause, gathering your thoughts before continuing with a soft giggle, “I've always imagined Captain Price officiating, maybe even walking me down the aisle too...”

“Price?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. The faintest of smirks pull at the corner of his mouth for a moment.

“No chance in hell is Price going to be our priest.”

It doesn't last long. That faint flicker of joy. Because it's drowned out by everything else.

“Why not?” you pout, suppressing the pain coursing through you as you raise your gaze to meet his.

“Because, believe it or not, Price still has a level of professionalism to him. He's not going to be marrying off some of his best soldiers in the middle of a war.”

Ghost tries to smile. Tries to find some humor in this situation.

“Besides, he wouldn't know how to officiate a proper wedding ceremony. He'd just ramble on about how the relationship is a battle.”

You laugh softly, a melody to him. “I also w-wanted to retire from the military,” you confess, your words weaving a tapestry of aspirations. “Opening a bakery or a floral shop... or maybe both,” you muse, letting the possibilities dance.

“A bakery... a floral shop.”

Ghost's voice is soft, almost a whisper as he speaks.

“I'd buy an entire bakery from you just to try some of whatever you'd make.” he chuckles lightly. A breath as he swallows hard.

“And a floral shop,” His grip tightens ever so slightly on your hand.

“I'd buy that, too. I'd bring you flowers every day. All sorts. Roses. Sunflowers. Lilies. Hydrangeas...”

You shake your head, a wince flickering across your features like a shadow passing over the sun. Almost instantly, you feel the sting of ripped arteries creeping in. “Just white roses,” you murmur.

“...white roses,” Ghost repeats quietly, his grip on you softening.

“I'd bring you white roses, dove.”

Another pause. The silence is deafening.

“White roses. The brightest, most beautiful ones out there.”

Just for you.

You gaze upwards, absorbing the expanse of the skies above, as if embracing the vastness of the unknown that lies ahead. “I'll have to get used to this,” you whisper, the realization settling in like a gentle breeze on a summer day.

“Two kids,” you continue, your voice progressively dimming, “a boy and a girl. Spend everyday t-taking care of 'em, watching 'em grow” With a tremble in your voice, you add, “I'll send you off to work each day, stealing a kiss from you b-before you go.”

“Two kids, I can agree to that. A boy and a girl, definitely. You'll spoil them horribly though.” he teases gently, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

A long pause. The sounds of the world around them finally register. The sounds of the medics working to free you.

“W-wouldn't,” you muse, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “our daughter become a daddy's girl?”

“Our daughter...she'll definitely be a daddy's girl. But our son...” Ghost's voice softens. “...our son would be a mommy's boy. For sure.”

He'd be just as protective of his mother as she is of him."

“What would you name her?” you inquire.

Ghost hesitates for a moment. As if he's trying to pick the perfect name.

“Beth.”

He pauses again.

“She'd be a lovely little girl. She'll have her mother's smile. Her mother's laugh. Her mother's heart.”

“And what name would you give our son, my love?” Simon asked.

You ponder, feeble eyes fluttering.

“Tommy.”

“Tommy,” Ghost repeats. The ghost of a smile is just barely visible under the mask.

Another beat as he holds you tightly. As if by holding you, he can make things right again.

“...yeah. Tommy's a good name.”

You find yourself whimpering more frequently now, each sound a plaintive note in the symphony of your agony as the pain sets in again. “I...I don't wanna die,” you murmur, your words a fragile plea.

“You're not going to die. You're not going to die”

But Ghost doesn't seem entirely convinced with his own words.

The medics are still working furiously to free you.

But the fear and anxiety inside of him is clear. He's afraid that he's losing you. That the wounds you've suffered are irreversible.

He tries to block it. To be strong for you. But he can't deny that feeling inside of him. The dread.

“I don't wanna leave, Ghost,” you sob, the words choked with emotion, longing to remain by his side.

“I know...I know.” He whispers, his words soft.

“I don't want you to go, either.”

Oh, how he didn't.

The medic finally manages to remove a large piece of rubble that was weighing you down.

“Stay with me. Focus on me,” he tells you softly, gently squeezing your hands.

“Look into my eyes.”

You let out a piercing scream as the oppressive weight is finally lifted from you.

Ghost's grasp on you tightens. He holds you tighter, squeezing your hands even harder as if somehow, he can spare your pain.

“Keep lookin' at me, dove,” he whispers.

“Le' me see those pretty eyes.”

You sob uncontrollably, each breath a struggle as if your lungs were drowning in white-hot pain. “Don't leave me,” you plead, your voice a trembling whisper. “s-so scared..."

“I'm not leavin' you.”

His voice cracks. His grip tightens even further so as to try and relieve your own pain.

“I am not leavin' you.”

Another beat as Ghost forces himself to continue. To look at you. To stare into your eyes as if he could somehow spare you from this.

“Just keep holdin' me and everythin' will be okay.”

He tries to soothe your pain, rubbing your shoulders with one hand and squeezing you tightly with the other.

“Yeah? Everythin' will be okay.”

You nod, your grasp on him tightening every so often.

“He should have your eyes,” you murmur, a sentiment blooming between you once more.

“He'd be as strong as you, as brave as you, as protective as you...as s-safe as you are.”

“He would.”

Ghost tries to smile. To imagine the son that he'd have.

“He'd be as stubborn as me, too.”

You break into a soft smile, “You'd be a g-good father, Simon,” you murmur, your words carrying certainty.

The smile falters. The realization hitting him again.

Ghost's grip on you tightens further. This is the only thing he can do to prevent himself from breaking down.

“Yeah," he murmurs. “I-...I'd be a good father. Yeah.”

Two heartbeats.

One irregular, the other irregular too.

“....A-And our daughter?”

“Our daughter.”

Ghost's voice cracks.

“She'd be so beautiful. The light of my life.”

Another heartbeat as a tear rolls down his cheeks.

“Like her mother.”

Your hold on him slackens, as your exhausted eyelids surrender to an eternal slumber. Yet, even in your final moments, a serene smile graces your lips, an enduring emblem of peace. As you draw your last breath, you depart adorned with that same tranquil expression, leaving behind a poignant echo of your essence.

“Like you.”

A pained whimper escapes Ghost. Soon, a sob.

“She'll definitely be like you.”

Another beat before he whispers again.

“But you should live to see her. You should live to see our son...”

Your vision blurs, colours fading into shades of grey as the world around you dims. Sounds muffle and distance themselves, like echoes fading into the night. Surrendering to the engulfing pain, you muster the last of your strength to whisper a fragile declaration: “I love you.”

Another beat before a soft cry hitches in his throat.

Another whisper.

“Don't leave...”

Ghost's grip on you tightens. He whispers one more time.

“Stay...”

Your chest stagnates, trapped in a moment of suspended animation, as if time has folded in on itself. The vibrant hues drain from your once radiant skin, leaving it as pale and lifeless as cold wax. Your body begins to chill, a stark reminder of the journey ahead. Muscles slacken, limbs surrendering to a weighty lethargy. The rhythmic ebb and flow of your chest's rise and fall fades into a profound silence. Consciousness slips away like a whisper on the wind, leaving behind naught but a hollow, silent void.

Ghost squeezes you tighter. Trying to fight the inevitable.

But he can feel it.

He's losing you.

Slowly, your grip goes slack. The rise and fall of your chest stops. Your once warm body growing cold.

The medics are still working, trying to remove the rubble that remains.

All Ghost can do is hold you. Hold you in his arms.

All he can hear is the silence. The void.

“Stay...”

──────────────────────

masterlist - cod masterlist

© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.

[janasrdhr]

‘her dream ride is probably a jeep or something…’

my dream ride :

[janasrdhr]

A Night Too Young - Simon “Ghost” Riley

──────────────────────

Warning(s): Slight NSFW, Explicit Language, Possible OOC

──────────────────────

Stuck playing a lovesick married couple for a mission to gather intel, Ghost had his arm looped through yours as he walked beside you. “Don't even think about pulling some dumb move. There'll be hell to pay, angel," he warned, giving you a sharp look before ushering you inside the building.

“Keep it together. I'm dead serious,” he muttered, his deep voice wavering slightly. Those phoney wedding rings you both wore sparkled under the party's strobe lights, a fake sign of love that turned your stomachs.

“What?” you retort with a scoff, a hint of irritation on your face. “Do I look like a six-year-old to you? Watch your tone, Ghost.”

“I don’t need to know how old you are, princess.” He hissed back, keeping a firm grip on your wrist as he guided you through the crowded place. “I’ll be your damn babysitter if I have to. You’ll either play along with this marriage or get yourself into shit.”

His eyes flickered with a dark look as he dragged you toward a private area, away from prying eyes. “There are stakes in this. Do not screw this up.”

You grit your teeth, inhaling deeply. “Fuckin' hell, imagine actually having to be your wife and returning home to you every single day,” you mutter with a sigh.

“You really shouldn’t complain.” He shot back, dragging you into a corner that had a more secluded view from the rest of the party. His eyes were sharp, a slight glare toward you. The way you were acting made him mad. “If you were really in this position, you could be in trouble.”

You scoff and shoot him a defiant look. “Believe me, I won't,” you glare.

“Good.” His eyes narrowed as he pulled you closer to him, your bodies almost touching. He looked you up and down, his gaze making you wonder. “Good, because you may just be my ‘wife’.”

He whispered the last word, his tone slightly sinister as a small smirk spread across his face.

You force a fake, sickly smile and give him a little shove. “You're quite the smartass, aren't you? Don't get ahead of yourself,” you warn.

“Oh, careful, princess.” His eyes flickered with that dark look as he grabbed your wrists, pinning you against the wall of the secluded area. “You’re gonna just get yourself into loads of trouble.”

Your stomach turned as you felt his warm body heat up against yours, and you felt yourself blush as he leaned forward. His deep voice spoke again, sending a chill through your spine. “This ‘act’, is for you and me only. You hear me?”

“The hell are you on about?” you press on with a furrowed brow.

A chuckle escaped his throat as he ran his fingers lightly along your waist, sending even more shivers down your back.

The smile on Ghost’s face grew wide as he looked back at you in the corner of his eye. His fingers still running along your figure in gentle strokes, his smirk growing slightly larger.

“I can see right through you, princess.”

You arch an eyebrow and snort, “Someone seriously needs to humble you.”

A soft chuckle left Ghost’s throat as he looked away from you, his hand still running along your waist as if he was mesmerized by your figure.

“Oh really? And how do you plan on doing that?”

Without letting you answer, Ghost suddenly had your hand in his grasp, gently pulling you close to his body. You were almost breathless.

You gasp, “Fuck are you-”

His fingers traced over your body, sending shivers like electric sparks.

With your mouth slightly ajar, Ghost shot you a smirk and whispered in your ear, “That's it, princess...”

His deep voice gave you chills as he abruptly pulled you close. In the dim, secluded corner, your wedding rings glimmer, the distant strobe lights from the party casting a faint glow.

“Someone's gonna-” you squirm, afraid someone might walk in.

“Stop struggling, princess.” His deep voice was smooth as silk, his hand running along your waist still as he lifted you up against the wall.

“Oh, look at that…our rings match.” He smirked, keeping you close to his body.

You roll your eyes, “No shit.”

A soft chuckle left his throat as his gaze remained on your face and your struggling. “No need to roll your eyes like a brat, princess, I know it’s hard for you to handle this..”

You chuckle, saying, “The only thing that's hard here is you, sweetie."

Ghost smirked at you before suddenly moving even closer, his hand moving even lower on your waist as the other grasped your thigh.

“Sweetie?” He whispered, his mouth almost touching your ear. “Why don’t you show me just how sweet you are, princess?”

“Wouldn't you just love to find out?" you tease, smirking as your finger traces along his jawline.

Ghost’s eyes flickered a bit, his gaze darkening, his lips almost touching yours. You saw the light shine in his pupils before his other hand grabbed your neck, pulling you closer.

The room became silent as he smirked. “Oh, I do need to know…”

The limited space between the either of you, closing in.

You halt him by placing your palm over his mouth. “Forget our little agreement already? No kissing, unless it's absolutely necessary."

“You really are a brat, huh?” Ghost chuckled, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine as he slowly lowered his hand from your mouth.

“Fine, for the mission, right?” He smirked at you and brushed your hair out of your face. “What if I wanted to kiss you, though?” His voice raised a bit, an odd blush adorning him.

You just shrug, giving him a playful grin. “Oh come on, use that military training of yours. Exercise a bit of self-control, Lieutenant," you chuckle.

“…You didn’t answer my question.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“…What if I wanted to kiss you?” Ghost suddenly mumbled, his voice a soft whisper as if he wanted nobody to hear it. “Would you let me…?” His eyes held that same odd look as they stared down at yours, almost looking soft, his expression almost innocent.

Your eyes briefly flicker down to his lips, just for a moment, before lifting back up to meet his gaze. “Only if necessary."

“Right…” His eyes locked in on yours before he smirked, his body becoming more tense as he leaned forward slightly. “What if I tried to…”

Ghost suddenly closed the gap, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss as his other hand grasped the side of your cheek. His lips were soft and his body heat radiated against yours.

Your eyes flutter closed as you try to savour the moment, but he pulls away, prompting you to instinctively follow his lips.

Ghost leans over you, his taller frame creating an encompassing presence. His forearm casually finds support on the wall above your head, creating a subtle but firm barrier. The proximity is intense, his gaze possibly locking onto yours, and the touch of his forearm adds a protective and somewhat possessive quality to the moment. It's a gesture that speaks volumes, blending an aura of intimacy with a hint of dominance.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as you looked at him.

“Why did you-"

Ghost took a moment before his deep voice spoke again, the flirtatious tone making your heart rate spike. “I don’t know…”

“…Maybe it’s because I’ve wanted to for a while.”

You roll your eyes and let out a groan, giving him a shove before pressing on into the crowded bar. Your focus shifts back to the mission, but you can't shake the racing beat of your heart as you try to keep things under control.

He eventually followed you, his hand gently placed on your back as you walked.

“I think we got off to the wrong start earlier. Just don’t do anything stupid and we’ll be fine, alright?”

You stay quiet, but flash a faux smile to keep things low-key, casually looping your hand through Simon's to dodge prying eyes.

With his free hand, Ghost grabbed your hip and nipped it slightly. It was still all for the mission…right?

He looked down at you with those eyes, now staring just a bit deeper into yours. “We look pretty good together.” His whisper sent a chill through your spine.

“…Don’t you think?”

“It doesn't matter," you push out, staring straight ahead.

Ghost scoffed as he let go of your thigh, his grip tightening on your hand. “I think it matters…to me at least.”

You abruptly stop and face him. “Why are you doing this?"

Ghost looked down at you for a moment before speaking, his tone almost sincere. “I don’t just…”

He looked down at your wedding rings, the ones that sparkled in the dim lighting. He was suddenly silent and still.

“…I think I…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence as his eyes looked back up at you, his expression profound. “Fuck- never mind. It’s stupid.”

You grasp his collar and yank him down to eye level. “Did you ever actually care about not acting like an idiot around me?”

Ghost swallowed as he looked right into your eyes, your face inches from his. His voice broke slightly.

“Alright…fine.” His expression was serious as he took a deep breath. “Look, princess…I-...I think I have feelings for you, alright? There, I said it…”

“No, we can't—you-” you begin, but your words are suddenly silenced as he crashes his lips onto yours.

The mission…the act of marriage. It was becoming less and less of a role, and more of an actual experience for you both.

Your heart pounded as you heard a small moan escape from the kiss, his hand holding yours a little tighter. He pulled away for a moment, breathing out hard and fast. “Princess…”

“Shut up,” you whisper before pulling him back in.

He let a small moan escape his lips too as his one hand grabbed the back of your head, the other tensing the grip on your hip. You were both making the mission harder to follow.

The kiss grew deeper and it almost felt like nothing else mattered, except for this moment. Simon kissed you again, his passion growing again as his tongue lightly pressed into your lips. Both so lost in the moment…

You pull away ever so slightly, catching your breath. “The mission, Simon-”

Ghost swallowed the moment his lips broke from yours, his breathing heavy as he looked at you, a deep blush on his cheeks.

He tried to speak, but his voice was slightly rasped as he looked right into your eyes. “The mission…” he started, his deep tone sounding a bit more cautious. But then, “Fuck it.”

He grabbed you close again before pulling you back into a kiss, a smirk on his lips as he gently nibbled your lower lip. God, he wanted you.

“D-don't,” You whimper.

“Fuck, princess,” He rasped, his breaths growing shallow.

You gaze into his eyes, your own glossed over. Your composure wavering by the slow second.

Until...

“Say, Mr. Riley, mind if we skip to the night of our wedding?”

A chuckle.

Simon's fingers glide tenderly to meet the metal of your wedding band. The cool touch of his skin contrasts with the warmth of the ring as he lifts your hand, cradling it gently. With a soft, affectionate kiss, he presses his lips against the symbol of duty, all while burning his velvet browns into yours.

“Your wish is my command, Mrs. Riley”

──────────────────────

masterlist - cod masterlist

© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.

[janasrdhr]

Princess? - Simon “Ghost” Riley

──────────────────────

Warning(s): Slight NSFW, Explicit Language

──────────────────────

Hours away from their base, Task Force 141 embarked on a mission. Military trucks, brimming with soldiers, conveyed them to their destination. The mission unfolded smoothly until a critical misstep by one of your team members threw the entire operation into jeopardy, compelling an almost immediate retreat.

Amid the chaotic scramble to reach the trucks, you found yourself among the last to board, alongside Ghost. With no available seats left, you were left with no choice but to take refuge in the trunk. “Fuckin' hell,” Ghost muttered in frustration before leaping inside and tugging you onto his lap to make room.

“Ghost,” you grunt, murmuring sharply, “The hell you doin'?”

His eyes remained cold as he placed a finger on your lips, to shush you. “Shut it. Don’t draw suspicion,” he stated quietly.

“Fuck you mean, draw suspicion? I'm literally sitting on your lap, Lieutenant.”

“That’s what we want to avoid.” Ghost hissed quietly before bringing his lips against your ear, “Keep your voice down.”

You elbow him in the chest, grated. “Quit breathin' in my ear, goddamnit.”

With an exasperated sigh, his fingers trail down your lips, a hint of irritation in his touch, yet an undeniable allure in his intent. In a mix of frustration and desire, Simon pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a demanding kiss, “I said, keep your voice down.”

As the abrupt kiss from Simon leaves your senses tingling, a tidal wave of embarrassment rushes over you like a hot flush. Your cheeks ignite in a deep shade of crimson as if betraying the intensity of the moment you just shared with him. The tingling sensation on your lips lingers, a constant reminder of the passionate exchange.

With a graceful and almost delicate turn of your head, you shyly avert your gaze from Simon's conceited one, your eyes momentarily seeking solace in the surroundings.

You could feel his arms wrapped around you tightly, as he watched you squirm around. “Stop moving.” He spoke sternly, “You’ll only make this more difficult.”

You let out a sigh and lean back against his chest, your voice tinged with resignation. “Whatever,” you mutter.

You could hear his breathing calm as his arms remained around you tightly. “Now hold still.” He ordered, moving a strand of hair away from your face.

You nod in agreement, a soft hum escaping your lips.

Wrapped up in each other's arms, a comforting silence descends like a warm, familiar blanket. The soft rumble of the rusty truck's engine provides a gentle backdrop, its low, rhythmic sounds almost lulling you into a sense of security.

Your bodies are nestled closely together, and you can feel the reassuring beat of each other's hearts. The warmth of your entwined limbs adds to the cocoon of comfort, making it feel like nothing else exists beyond the truck's confines.

Until...

His gaze bore into you with an intense heat, his fingers sensually gliding through your hair. In a sultry, whispered tone, he asked, “You been a good girl, princess?”

“Lieutenant!?” You turn around in a startle, your eyes widening in surprise as you look at him.

He smirked, playing with your loose waves. “What? What’s wrong?” He chuckled, his hands still playing in your hair, seemingly unphased.

Your eyelids flicker rapidly, unable to hold back the reflexive motion of blinking. Your eyes widen in disbelief, and for a brief but intense second, your voice escapes you entirely.

His smirk grew as he turned your face to face his, his lips inches from yours as he stared at you deeply. “Is there somethin' wrong?” He asked as he caressed your cheek.

“Ghost," you murmur in hushed tones, your voice laced with a subtle urgency, “We're in public...” Your gaze momentarily darts towards his lips, your words carrying a hint of restraint and temptation.

In a sultry dance of desire, he leans in closer to your lips. His movements slow and deliberate, filled with a sensual magnetism that draws your lips nearer. The air between crackles with anticipation as breaths mingle, and the world seems to slow down, savouring the tantalizing moments before your lips meet.

“Who cares? No one can see us,” he hissed, almost like he was challenging you.

“God. Don't,” you whisper, holding back a burning need.

He chuckled quietly, pressing his lips against yours in an assertive kiss. His strong arms envelop you, pulling you close until there's barely any space between your bodies. You can feel the reassuring pressure of his hold, and it's as if the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in your own intimate universe. It's a sensation that radiates warmth, safety, and a profound sense of belonging, where his presence is your sanctuary, and every moment in his arms is a moment of cherished closeness.

A gentle, exploratory connection of lips, where your breaths mingle in a slow and sensual exchange.

As the kiss deepens, it's as if a hypnotic force pulls your mouths together with increased urgency. Your lips part slightly, allowing tongues to tentatively explore. The rhythm quickens and your bodies move closer, seeking a deeper connection.

Simon lets out a low groan, his tongue running along your bottom lip as he tastes and explores your mouth. He lifted you up higher onto his lap, his hands still cupping your face, his fingers tracing along your lips.

Your fingers glide tenderly into his hair, treating each strand with a gentle yet purposeful touch. Your touch conveys a delicate balance between firmness and tenderness. Fingertips caress his scalp, a sensual harmony that heightens the intimacy of the moment.

You pull away, breathless.

He fixed his gaze on you, a seductive grin playing on his lips, observing as you inhaled deeply. “Enjoyin' yourself?” he purred, his voice low and husky.

“Depends,” you smirk, leaning in closer to his lips. “Is there more where that came from?”

A heartbeat passes.

He lifts you off of him, and you can feel him shift in the tight confines of the trunk before he pulls you back down onto his lap. His hands trail up your shirt, his fingertips tracing the sensitive skin underneath. “You look like you have something that needs to be taken care of.” He whispered enticingly, teasing you.

“I could say the same about you,” you whisper with a wink.

“Maybe you could help me with that, princess” He hisses, his breath warm on your neck. “Or I could find out what you need help with.” He murmurs, his voice hoarse.

He sneered, as his fingers began to tug on the hemline of your shirt gently. “Maybe I could do more than just that.” He muttered, his fingers now tracing along your skin.

“The night's still young,” you say with a smile as you encircle your arms around his neck, drawing him closer to you.

“Then it’s going to be a long one.”

──────────────────────

masterlist - cod masterlist

© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.

[janasrdhr]

This is the Anime Masterlist. As shown, it features multiple tabs, each designed to facilitate navigation to the particular story of your choice. Please note that a few are yet to be introduced and updated further. Happy reading, lovelies!

© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.

⋆ My Hero Academia

Bakugou Katsuki:

⤷ Sweet Dreams

[janasrdhr]

This is the COD Masterlist. As shown, it features multiple tabs, each designed to facilitate navigation to the particular story of your choice. Please note that a few are yet to be introduced and updated further. Happy reading, lovelies!

⋆ Simon “Ghost” Riley

⤷ Oh baby, Oh baby ⤷ Princess? ⤷ A Night Too Young ⤷ Stay. ⤷ Hiraeth

⤷ Salvation

⋆ John “Soap” MacTavish

⋆ Alejandro Vargas

⋆ Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.

[janasrdhr]

This is the DC Masterlist. As shown, it features multiple tabs, each designed to facilitate navigation to the particular story of your choice. Please note that a few are yet to be introduced and updated further. Happy reading, lovelies!

⋆ Batfamily

Bruce Wayne:

Richard (Dick) Grayson:

Jason Todd:

⤷ Are you tired, Jason? ⤷ More Than Blood

Tim Drake:

Damian Wayne:

© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.

[janasrdhr]

Oh baby, Oh baby - Simon “Ghost” Riley

──────────────────────

Warning(s): Slight NSFW, Explicit Language

──────────────────────

“What the fuck is up with you!” Ghost's voice surged with intensity as he forcefully closed the door to your office, his eyes locked onto you with unwavering scrutiny. Lately, you've been elusive, and he's determined not to allow it to persist without an explanation.

“Why the hell have you been avoiding me?!” He secured the office door, leaning against it with his arms folded in resolute determination. “Not fuckin' repeatin' myself, angel.”

The ensuing silence weighed heavy in the air, filling the room with an oppressive tension that was impossible to ignore.

You maintain your focus on flipping through the paperwork, remaining utterly unfazed by his presence in the room.

He sighed, his frustrations boiling over. Grabbing you by the neck, he pinned you against the wall. You dropped the papers you were working on onto the floor, as you scrambled for breath. His hands tightened, and Ghost’s eyes flickered with anger.

“Why have you been avoidin' me? Tell me.”

No words, only a strained grunt left your throat. His grip lessened, and with a smirk he released you. “Fine. If you won't tell me how you're feeling, I'll assume the worst, and we'll work it out my way.”

You give him a forceful shove, causing him to stagger backwards. With a clenched jaw, you gently rub your throat, bending down to collect the scattered papers.

“The hell you doin'?!” He barked, regaining his composure. In an instant, he pinned you against the wall again, a snarl pulling at the edges of his face.

“Seriously angel, what's gotten into you?” He asked, though you know he was fishing for an answer, an explanation. “The hell have you been avoidin' me for?” His tone was softer now, yet the air in the room still felt tense, almost heavy.

You emit a disapproving click of your tongue as you neatly stack the papers on your desk. You take a seat as you resume your work, barely focused.

“All I get?” He asked, and you knew he was being sarcastic, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. He stepped forward, his arms going around you from behind, and pulling you close. His lips ghosted your ear.

“Quit teasin' me sweetheart. I want to know what's wrong.”

“Look at me,” He murmured, his lips feathering down your neck. He waited for what felt like an eternity, before adding: “Please?”

You throw him a sharp, disapproving glare. “You come all this way just to throw such a dramatic fit but don't know shit?”

“Tell me then. Help me understand why.” He whispered, taking your trembling hand between his, and kissing it.

“All I want is to know what I've done, or what's happened, that's all.” His voice sounded genuine, and he seemed almost remorseful.

His thumb ran the inside of your wrist as if he were trying to calm you down, yet his stare was pleading.

“This. Because of this. Do you not fuckin' see it?” you exclaim sharply, spitting out your words, yanking your hand away.

He stiffened, taking a step back. The remorse faded from his eyes, and they narrowed as he glared at you. “Maybe I wouldn't have to act like this if you didn't act so goddamn distant!”

His voice rose, teeth clenching. “Do you have any idea how frustratin' it's been to deal with you being this closed off?”

“Why the hell would you even care, anyway? You're the big, bad Ghost, aren't you? A man devoid of any human emotion,” you mocked.

“I’m not some cold-hearted monster.” Ghost spoke with a stern, low tone. “I do have emotions, you know, but I find it difficult to express them when you fuckin' avoid me…”

He took your hands again, though this time in a looser grip. His thumb traced a pattern on the back of your hand, and his brow furrowed as he waited for your answer. “Do you care about me? At all?”

“Don't,” you warn.

“That didn't answer my question, angel.” Ghost kept his gaze locked on yours, despite your attempts to look away. His thumb traced the same pattern again, waiting for you to look at him.

“I've put up this shit for all this time 'cause, damn it, I care too much for my own good.”

“Too much?” Ghost's eyebrow raised, and he smiled slightly. “So, you do care about me.” His thumb brushed the side of the palm of your hand.

“I just want to know if our feelings are mutual.” He sighed, taking a small step closer. “You say you've put up with this for far too long, but I've been patient with you. Only want to know if my patience is payin' off.”

His thumb stopped its movement, and he paused for you to answer him.

You stare up at him, wearing a puzzled expression. “Our feelings?”

Ghost held his breath as you finally looked him in the eyes. “Us. You and me.” He tilted his head, his eyes flickering with hope.

“We've been working together for months, and this whole time, I've been waiting for something to happen... something between us.”

You shake your head while swallowing your emotions. “No, there's nothing between us,” you assert.

Ghost's face turned stoic, his thumb stilling. “There is," he paused, his voice growing quiet. “I know it.”

He dropped your hand, and crossed his arms, staring at you with a blank expression. “Whether you admit it or not, there is. I've noticed every change in your voice, the way you walk, and your moods, and despite you avoidin' me, it's clear that your behaviour changes in my presence.”

Ghost took a step closer to you, his expression blank. “I think you're takin' the piss.”

“Think what you want Ghost,” you hiss, settling back into your seat to resume your work.

Ghost took a small step closer, and then another one, until the space between you was little to none. His gaze flickering to your lips as he spoke, his voice hushed.

“I know you feel something. I know it. I can see it in you, I can hear it in you. Your anger, your sadness, it's all a facade, and I want to see through it.”

“Well, I don't, okay?!” you lash out, urging him to drop the subject.

Ghost sighed heavily, letting go of your hand. His eyes hardened, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. If you want me to drop it, so be it.”

He turned away from you and took a step towards the door. "But know this, angel.” He paused, and turned back to you, meeting your gaze. “I've been patient with you. But it won't last. So either tell me what's wrong or suffer the consequences.”

“Suffer the consequences? And who the fuck are you to tell me that, huh?” you retort.

“Me.” He whispered, the menace and stern tone of his voice now returned. As he stepped closer to you, he brought his hands down by his sides, his gloved palms face up as if awaiting you to be placed within them.

“I've been more patient than I should've been, but that patience is wearing thin. Don't push me any further.”

“Your threats won't cut it here, sweetheart,” you grumble, unimpressed.

“You just don't get it, do you?,” with a swift, forceful motion, Ghost's fingers clamp onto your cheek, squeezing firmly.

“I've had enough of your games. Look at me, angel. Right in my damn eyes and tell me you don't feel somethin'.”

Silence.

A chuckle. “You think you know me, darlin'? If you did, you'd know exactly what I was capable of doing to get the answers I want.”

You rise from your seat abruptly, fingers tightly clutching his collar. “I've got you pegged well enough to give you a piece of advice, Lieutenant: Get the hell out of my room.”

In a sultry and ominous manner, his fingers glide sensuously to your throat, applying gentle but deliberate pressure. The slow, tightening grip serves as a provocative warning, making it abundantly clear that encroaching on his path may lead to more than just a warning.

“I don’t take to threats.”

His hand slipped lower, resting at the small of your back, as he pulled you closer and against him. “But I do have a likin' for obedience.”

He smirked, and the air between you was suffocatingly dense. “Obedience.” His breath was hot against your neck, and you felt your body flush.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, as he looked down at you. “And I think you'll find that I have a likin' for a lot of other things too.”

The hand on your waist moved, fingers running slowly up your neck, before moving back down to your waist, stilling, as he brought his mouth closer until his lips were centimetres away from your own.

The tension between you spiked, as his eyes flickered with desire. “I'm not goin' to stop, angel.” His voice faint.

You let out a sharp gasp, your eyes tightly shut, while your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt.

He could feel your body tremble at his touch. You knew you wanted him. His mouth slowly drifted towards yours as he spoke.

“I know what you want, angel.”

His lips gently caressed yours, and you felt yourself lean into his touch. “What you've wanted for a long time now.”

“You don't know shit,” you hiss.

“I know more than you want me to,” His voice was quiet, and his body so close.

His fingers tightened on the hem of your shirt, as he gripped the fabric. Slowly, he lifted it up towards your abdomen, his other hand wrapped around your neck.

“Give in,” his breaths whispered against your skin. His lips brushed against yours, and this time they clung.

Your eyes widen in alarm as you forcefully push him away.

His hand fell to his side, as he watched you step away. His gaze was cold, and you couldn't help but feel the chill through the air.

“You want me,” He hissed, staring you down as if he were daring you to prove him wrong.

His jaw clenched, and the veins in his neck bulged as he leaned forward and rasped out. “You're just too much of a coward to tell me."

When he utters those words, something inside you snaps. “Coward?” you repeat with a dangerous edge, before crashing your lips onto his.

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he froze. His lips parted slightly as you forced yours onto his. He leaned into the kiss, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed against one another. His hand tightened around the back of your neck, and his other hand slid down your back.

“There it is,” He whispered.

Your fingers clench his shirt in tight fists as your lips engage in a passionate battle for dominance.

He pulled you closer with every kiss, the apprehension in the air growing with each movement. His tongue probed your mouth, and you found yourself moving to meet his every step.

A heavy silence overcame the office, and the only sound was the quick, steady breaths that each of you took. His hand wrapped around your neck, and he held you against him in the embrace.

“Tell me you like it, angel,” he growled, his voice low and husky. “Tell me you want me.”

His hand went to the zipper of his waistcoat, and with a jerk, it came unbound. Underneath was a crisp, white shirt. The top buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his muscled arms on display.

“Tonight, I'm going to take what I've spent months wanting.” His hand ran through your hair. “I'm not taking no for an answer, darlin'.”

You felt your body tense, your head reeling as Ghost brought his lips to yours.

You chuckle slyly. “Got that dick too far in, eh?”

With an empty scoff, he sank his face closer to yours, pressing his lips to yours again, and taking you by the chin as he broke the kiss.

“Tell me you want me to make you feel good.”

With a laugh, you leap up, encircling your legs around him. Your fingers delicately trace every contour of his face as you draw closer to his lips and softly murmur,

“Make me feel good, baby.”

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[janasrdhr]

This is an overall checkpoint. As shown, it features multiple tabs, each designed to facilitate navigation to the particular category of your choice. Please note that a few are yet to be introduced and updated further. Happy reading, lovelies!

⋆ Detective Comics (DC) ⋆ Call of Duty (COD) ⋆ Anime - Multifandom ⋆ Extras

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[janasrdhr]

Are you tired, Jason? - Jason Todd

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Warning(s): Angst?

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The subdued illumination within the church accentuates your aura of sanctity.

“Why?” Jason inquires with a quivering voice. “Why didn't he respond to my prayers?”

Your majestic wings are unfurled before him. During his captivity under Joker's cruel grip, this was the vision that haunted him: a divine saviour, whether it be God, Bruce, or anyone else, coming to his rescue. Jason's clenched fist crashes onto the ground, causing his knuckles to bleed, yet he remains unfazed.

You are an Angel, and yet, you also did not heed his call. If God truly exists, could it be that Jason simply did not merit salvation?

You grace the moment with a beautiful smile, descending like a delicate feather to caress his cheek, “All is done in due time.”

Your presence brings Jason to tears.

“Can…can you really hear me?”

Jason is a mess. He feels like he’s been in hell for months, but to be seen and recognized by an Angel has brought him to his knees.

“I did so much wrong,” Jason choked out. “Did he ever hear my pleas for help?”

You guide him to his knees, cradling his head against your chest, “In a world where so many stray from the path of righteousness in the name of justice, the Holy One's pleas for understanding remain unanswered, eternally unheard.”

Jason cries, head buried in your chest. You’re warm, so comforting. But your words ring true: he did so much wrong in the name of right.

“Can I ever be forgiven?” Jason asks. “Can I ever truly be redeemed?”

You delicately cleanse away the blood and grime from his face, your smile a graceful enigma. “The answer,” you whisper, placing your hand upon his chest, “lies within the cadence of your actions.”

“But is he real?” Jason asks in despair. “Does he even hear me?”

Jason’s eyes meet yours, filled with anguish.

“Of course, he is real. He dwells within every breath you draw, every tear you shed, every drop of sweat that glistens on your brow, every peal of laughter that escapes your lips, and every beat of the blood coursing through your veins. He is none other than your very essence.”

“No, I’m nothing like him,” Jason says sadly. “I’m a monster. He’s perfect.”

Tears streak his face. He feels lost, broken, and in the presence of a divine being.

You laugh, your hair cascading gracefully as you brush the ground beneath you, where flowers bloom in all their imperfect beauty. “Imperfection,” you muse, “is akin to perfection, my child. Just as he is, just as his choices are, and just as you are yourself.”

Jason feels the weight of those words. Perfection being imperfect, and God being imperfect. How can that be true?

Jason looks up at you.

“Are you him?” Jason asks softly.

You gently trace your fingers across Jason's face, causing his eyelids to flutter close, a knowing smile graces your lips as you opt to remain silent.

Jason experiences the gentle touch of your hand upon his face, a sensation as comforting as a sunbeam's embrace. A divine warmth envelops him, and in that moment, he finds serenity, prompting him to open his eyes and behold your presence.

Jason looks lost in your eyes. How could one have ever created such an entity?

How could he be worthy of something so perfect?

“Why are you here?” Jason whispers. “Why me?”

You smile, “I am a mere thread woven into the tapestry of existence, a part of everyone and everything. The very air you nourish, the blood that flows, the tears that fall, the laughter that echoes, and the prayers that ascend. You are no different, my child.”

Jason is a bit taken aback by your words. You are part of everything? Part of him? And he is part of you?

“If you are here, that means he is listening to me, right?” Jason asks..

“I hear you, don't I?” You chuckle.

Jason nods in the dark. The candlelight caresses your hair, giving it a golden sheen. Your eyes sparkle, radiating beauty.

Jason feels as though anything is possible.

“Does that mean…does that mean I can be redeemed?” Jason whispers.

“That, my child, is in your hands,” you say with a gentle smile, your touch tracing his cheek like a whispered promise.

Jason's fingers graze your hand as it caresses his cheek, the reality of your presence seeming almost surreal, like a reverie.

“What should I do next?” Jason implores, his desire to make amends and seek forgiveness from a higher power burning within him. “I yearn for my words to reach God's ears.”

You release a weary sigh, gently closing your eyes.

Jason envelops you in a fierce yet tender embrace, his arms encircling your form with an unwavering grip. You sense the tremors coursing through him, a stark departure from the Jason Todd you once knew.

Jason's voice quivers, breaking like fragile glass.

“I’m scared,” Jason whispers.

You catch your breath for a moment, a smile dancing across your lips as you embrace him, your arms encircling him like a comforting shroud. “Do not fret,” you whisper, brushing his hair tenderly. “After all, am I not your mother?”

“My mother…” Jason murmurs.

You’re warm, loving. Jason craves this intimacy.

“Yes, you’re my mother,” Jason replies. He’s almost in tears.

He can feel his emotions flowing through him, and they are overwhelming.

You hush him with a soothing gesture, rocking him gently like a fragile vessel on calm waters.

Jason clings to you as though you are his lifeline as if releasing you would shatter the fragile illusion around him.

You sway him tenderly, your presence a balm to his troubled soul. Jason shuts his eyes, savouring the sensation, wondering if this is the ethereal touch of a mother's love, a feeling long yearned for.

You’re his mother.

Jason squeezes you tighter, tears streaming down his face. The sensation of a mother’s touch is beyond words.

“Can I stay here?” Jason asks. “With you. Always.”

“Jason, I've been a constant presence in your life,” you say, your words a comforting anchor in the tumultuous sea of his existence.

“Is it true, ma?” Jason asks, still clinging to you.

He wants to believe your words with all his heart. All he has ever wanted is to be loved.

“You love me?” Jason whispers.

“I will endure for eternity, in every conceivable universe,” you murmur softly, your words brushing across his soul like a gentle caress, sealing the promise with a tender kiss upon his forehead.

Jason's heart soars, an unfamiliar warmth flooding his senses. Throughout the long years of his agonizing existence, this emotion has eluded him—never has he experienced such profound love and solace. He realizes with unwavering certainty, “You're my mother.”

With his head nestled against your shoulder and eyes gently shut, Jason finally basks in the embrace of love and solace he has long yearned for.

“Are you tired, Jason?” you inquire, lowering him gently to the ground. Your arms cradle his form, and your wings wrap around him like a protective cocoon, offering solace and shelter.

“So tired, ma,” Jason says as he closes his eyes. His body seems so small next to yours, and he feels as though he is truly returning to a womb. He feels safe, loved, and peaceful.

The torment is gone. It’s just him and you now.

“Then surrender to slumber, my child… let joyful dreams be your refuge,” you murmur tenderly as you rock him, your touch tracing the path of his scars, each mark a story etched in his journey.

“What if I never wake up?” Jason whispers.

Your caress is so sweet, so tender.

“Don’t leave me, ma,” Jason murmurs. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” There is so much he wants to tell you, so much he wants to cry about.

“I don’t want to die,” Jason cries, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Can I ask for one thing before I close my eyes, ma?”

“Whatever you desire,” your hushed words a gentle breeze ready to carry the weight of all 7 seas.

Jason looks up at you, his eyes raw. He holds on with all the strength he has left. He can feel himself wanting to let go, to let sleep wash over him. But his eyes remain open.

“Stay with me, ma.”

“Forever my angel,” you whisper with a tender smile, resting your head against his as he draws his final breath in your embrace. A solitary tear descends down your cheek, an eloquent tribute to the moments shared.

Jason’s breathing grows shallow. His eyes flutter closed. He holds you, and he knows that you are with him as he closes his eyes.

You can feel him drift away from consciousness, as he drifts into sleep and finally…peace.

You hold him, and you hold the love of a mother. It’s a feeling he knew he would never feel again, and yet…you are with him.

“Rest, my child,” you whisper, the echoes of your words spanning eternities. With a serene smile, you cradle Jason in your embrace, a timeless lullaby at heart.

Time slows as Jason relaxes, his eyes finally closed as sleep envelopes him. He is no longer Jason Todd, haunted by fear and pain.

He is Jason, your beloved son, asleep and at peace in your arms.

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