#I’m so tired and yet sleep is elusive

[raeofgayshine]

Can’t tell if I’m experiencing symptoms of my new medicine or if I’m just dealing with symptoms of my existence

[yetanothersparrowofthedawn]

St Jude

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5k

Pairing: Jake x Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt, ex!Jake

Context: Y/N’s Bachelorette Party and an open bar don’t mix very well for one Jacob Thomas Kiszka.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language, so I apologize in advance for mistakes and awkward wordings to come.

Previous Track: The Way I Loved You

Chapter soundtrack: St Jude – Florence + the Machine

Another conversation with no destination, Another battle never won, Each side is a loser, So who cares who fired the gun? And I'm learning so I'm leaving, And even though I'm grieving, I'm trying to find a meaning. Let loss reveal it. St Jude, the patron saint of the lost causes. St Jude, we were lost before she started.

(By the way, for every ‘Chapter Soundtrack’, basically the idea is that it’s a song that YN eventually wrote with that chapter of her life in mind)

Alright, let’s get into this.

_______

The Florida sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the expansive beach. Gentle waves whispered tales of excitement as the beachside bar awaited the arrival of the bachelorette and her entourage.

The atmosphere was charged with anticipation when Sam, Danny, and Jake walked through the door, greeted by a lively crowd of friends and colleagues of YN’s.

As they took in the venue, Sam couldn't help but chuckle, "Well, would you look at that? The three of us are early for once!”

Danny grinned in agreement, “Must be some kind of cosmic event."

Jake, however, remained unusually quiet, his eyes scanning the room as though searching for something elusive.

The trio made their way to the bar area, where the clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversations offered a lively background. Sam raised an eyebrow at Jake, sensing something brewing within his brother. "You alright, man? You're quieter than a library on a Sunday."

"Yeah, just tired,” Jake took a sip of his drink, the bitter taste doing little to soothe the turmoil within. “Probably just need more of this," he quipped, attempting a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Truth was, he had been having a hard time getting proper sleep. Eating too, but he’d blamed it on the stress of their upcoming album.

Guests mingled, sharing anecdotes and laughter as the sun set over the horizon. Yet, Jake remained on the periphery, a shadow among the revelry. His gaze occasionally flicked towards the entrance, a subconscious yearning for something unseen.

In a sudden burst of energy, YN and her bridesmaids, including Josh in his bright pink bridesman attire, finally made their grand entrance. The room erupted in cheers and applause and the air filled with an infectious effervescence.

YN, radiant in her sparkly dress, moved with a grace as she made her way through the crowd, greeting friends and well-wishers. Jake was surprised to feel his chest tightening with an indescribable unease.

As YN approached the trio, her infectious energy lit up the space around her.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, behold the miracle,” Sam playfully teased, “she has arrived, and only an hour late!”

"Very funny, Samuel,” YN chuckled, giving a light shove to his shoulder.

Danny smirked, raising his glass. "Taking punctuality lessons from Josh, YN?"

Amidst the banter, her eyes met Jake's. "Hi," she beamed at him, her tone warm and friendly, “I’m so glad you could come.”

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world," Jake replied, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

As the night progressed, the sky darkened, and the party came alive with the sounds of music and champagne bottles popping open. The bachelorette, seemingly everywhere at once, danced from one group to another. Her laughter mingled with the rhythm of the music, a joyful symphony that echoed through the night.

Meanwhile, Jake found solace at the open bar, the cool glass in his hand offering a temporary escape from the overwhelming ambiance.

Each drink served as a futile attempt to drown out whatever was going on with him as he watched her from a distance. The alcohol in his empty stomach brought a temporary numbness, but the reprieve was only fleeting.

The atmosphere in the venue grew electric as the bridesmaids gathered to present YN with a playful gift—a sparkling tiara adorned with rhinestones spelling out ‘Mrs. Styles’. The crowd erupted in cheers as they crowned her, and YN, with a laugh, embraced the moment, wearing the gift with an air of mock regality.

Jake, however, felt an odd pang in his chest at the sight. He could’ve sworn the glittering tiara had been taunting him.

The night wore on and the tension within the guitarist continued to escalate amidst the pulsating beats and laughter. The bar, as per usual, turned out to be both his refuge and prison.

His gaze regularly flickered to her figure, unable to escape the magnetic pull she exerted, however much he tried to convince himself otherwise. And she looked so fucking happy.

The event carried on, and it seemed everything and anything only added fuel to the growing fire. A well-intentioned bridesmaid, unaware of the complexities that lingered beneath the surface, approached Jake to toast to the newlyweds.

A bitter taste lingered in his mouth at the girl’s words, and he thought he might just get sick all over the poor girl. It’s probably just the whiskey, right?

He somehow managed to retain composure, turning back to the drink he was nursing while the confused girl walked back to the dance floor.

It’s only a while later that a familiar voice interrupted his wandering thoughts.

“One Negroni, sugar.” Patty. “And don’t skimp on the Gin.” YN’s manager materialized to his side as she addressed the bartender. After a moment she turned to the guitarist. Leaning against the counter, she broke the silence.

“It’s nice for you to have come, Jacob.”

He clenched his jaw at her words. Yes, that was him, Jacob nice-guy Kiszka. He absolutely had not considered setting himself on fire for the past three hours.

The two of them once had a lovely friendship, if you could call it that. They never had that much in common, but they’d always shared one priority. YN’s well-being. Everything, of course, had turned sour when the rocky days of his and YN’s relationship creeped in, forcing Patty to step in more than once.

Memories of years past came back to Jake. Hushed conversations between the manager and him. Arguments behind closed doors. It’s for the best, Jacob. She won’t admit it, but she’ll eventually break if you two keep on going that way. It’s a necessary evil.

Patty had almost always been right, of course. Still, the bitter memories left his very flesh feeling raw.

“I can’t imagine it was easy,” she continued with a knowing look. Jake stared at his glass in silence. “But trust me, this, it’s good. It’s right.” she stated, “I suppose some things are just- meant to be.”Jake knew exactly what she’d meant to say. And some other are not.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Patty truly knew YN. Not the performer, not America’s sweetheart, not the tabloid-pleasing, award-winning, photo-posing girl. The true YN.

To be fair, she probably did. After all, Patty had been by YN’s side much longer than he had. She’d protected her in ways that went far beyond her role as manager. She’d cared the way a mother does. She’d wanted the fairytale for YN and, of course, with that came the prince charming, on his white fucking horse, with his stupid fucking English accent.

The chaos that clung to Jake’s very skin had most definitely clashed with that picture. Of course, the early days were fine. More than fine, in fact. Before Patty had witnessed them at their worst, she’d seen them at their best. But when the time came, when the chips were truly down, she had, of course, put YN’s interest first.

“If that make you feel better,” Patty carried on, “I’ll still look after her in London.”

Jake’s heart skipped a beat and he thought he might have misheard. He finally looked up to meet her gaze. Patty nodded, as sad understanding in her eyes, “They’ve been looking through houses, for after the honeymoon.”

Jake’s grip tightened around the glass in his hand. He might have burst out laughing had it not been so ridiculously tragic. He hadn’t even considered that an option. Why couldn’t Harry just move permanently to the US, huh? If he really was so giving and good? Why couldn’t he make that sacrifice? Asshole. And why on earth would YN ever accept to settle down with that guy to the other side of the world? Since when was she the kind to just follow someone around?

“You must be happy,” Jake eventually mumbled, taking another sip.

He couldn’t help but act as though it was all Patty’s doing. As though she had somehow planned the whole thing, the way a Bond villain does. As though she had wanted to make sure YN remained out of reach forevermore.

Maybe it was simply easier to believe that, than to accept the fact that YN, his YN, had wanted to follow her husband so far away. 4000 fucking miles away to be precise. That she had chosen all this.

“I am,” Patty replied with a gentle nod, “so long as she is, too.”

Some voices beckoned Patty back to the dance floor and with a gentle squeeze of his arm, she finally retreated. “Go easy on the whiskey, Jacob,” she uttered as she walked away.

Jake let his mind wander. A London townhouse. With a backyard and a fucking cat. An extra room on the second floor, just in case, with walls waiting to be painted in shades of pink or blue. Fucking baked beans for breakfast. And tea. Yeah, Harry probably drank tea. Harry probably wasn’t one to drown himself in booze and send the car flying off the road, glass shattering all over her skin.

YN would go to bed without worrying about where he was. Harry would be in bed before her, probably reading some posh poetry collection; reciting some Keats verses as she slid next to him.

Jake had never been one for words. It had been the delicate strumming of his guitar that filled the air when YN slid next to him in bed. Of course, that was before the stupid fighting, the tears, and the nights away. She must’ve had gotten used to sliding into an empty cold bed, with only the sound of city construction nursing her to sleep.

Now he was the one going to bed alone. Or he might as well have been. The coconut-smelling girls coming in and out of his apartment didn’t exactly constitute company worth mentioning.

 A bitter ache ran through him, and he ordered another drink.

It was around two in the morning when toasts started echoing through the venue.

 One of YN’s bridesmaids, took the stage. As she stepped forward with the microphone, the room fell into a hushed silence, the soft murmur of the ocean outside the only background noise.

She spoke eloquently, weaving tales of love and destiny, her words painted with the vibrant hues of celebration. "And here's to the happiest I've ever seen YN," she declared, raising her glass. "It's like fate itself intervened to bring her and Harry together. It's a love story for the ages, one that was truly meant to be."

Jake, further lost in the depths of intoxication, sat at the bar with clenched fists, the whiskey in his glass nearly forgotten. Each word intensified the throbbing ache within him. His gaze fixed on YN, who smiled with genuine joy, seemingly oblivious to his anguish.

As the applause erupted, drowning the room in a symphony of congratulations, Jake felt a surge frustration. No longer tethered by reason, he downed the remaining contents of his glass in one swift motion. The sharp burn of the alcohol igniting the dormant embers of his emotions.

 With an intensity that surprised even himself, Jake pushed away from the bar, his movements unsteady as he navigated through the sea of well-wishers.

Without a second thought, driven solely by a raw, unfiltered impulse, Jake ascended the small stage. The bridesmaid, caught off guard, relinquished the space, her eyes widening in surprise as Jake snatched the microphone from her hand.

The atmosphere hung heavy with a mix of tension and anticipation as Jake took center stage with a stumbling step. His jaw clenched, and a fire burned in his eyes.

"Good evening, everyone," Jake began, his squinting gaze momentarily lost in the sea of faces before him. His words slurred slightly, a testament to the alcohol coursing through his veins.

"As some of you may know, I am the ex-boyfriend and now dear, dear friend of the bride-to-be,” he paused for a second, the words making him nauseous. “Anyway, where was I?" he chuckled, the sound tinged with a bitter undertone. "Right. Y/N. What can be said about her? I mean, she truly is something, isn't she?" A nervous ripple of laughter spread through the crowd, uneasy with the unpredictability of the guitarist's unfiltered words.

Sam and Danny exchanged concerned glances, realizing that this impromptu speech had the potential to become quite a spectacle. "She's full of- surprises, a real freak, if you know what I m—" someone from the crowd attempted to interject, but Daniel swiftly got on stage, a diplomatic smile plastered on his face. He gently grasped Jake's shoulder, a silent plea for restraint.

"Come on, man," Daniel murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Let's go get some fresh air, huh?"

Jake brushed off the boy’s attempt with a dismissive wave, his focus resuming on the microphone. "No, no, no, it's okay," he insisted, his words carrying a touch of defiance. "I'm just- joking around. That's what you do at a bachelorette party, isn’t it? Recount the future bride's past adventures,” he giggled bitterly, looking to the crowd, “and boy, you would not believe—"

"Jake, let's go," Sam intervened, his presence adding a sense of urgency to the situation. The crowd's gaze shifted from Jake to Sam, to Danny, and a hushed murmur swept through the venue. Jake, however, seemed caught in a trance, his eyes seeking YN’s figure in the crowd.

Sam and Danny attempted to guide him off the stage. "Hey! Let go of me," he protested, swaying unsteadily in a mix of intoxication and defiance. "Come on, I'm just joking around!” he resisted, his hand still holding tightly onto the microphone, “Sammy, come on, you, of all people would know what I'm talking about. I mean, you did catch us fucking a couple times, didn't you?" A collective gasp swept through the crowd in audible shock.

The atmosphere shifted from celebratory to uncomfortable in the blink of an eye. Jake's words hung in the air, leaving those in attendance in a state of stunned silence.

Before Jake could utter another word, Josh leaped onto the stage. Swift and decisive, he forcefully grabbed the microphone. The screeching feedback filled the room, momentarily drowning out any further words from Jake. The abrupt halt cut through the tension and the venue filled with an uncertain hush.

Sam and Danny, each with a firm grip on Jake, guided him away from the unfolding chaos, their expressions a mix of concern and frustration. "Alright, time for bed," Sam asserted, his tone firm as they led Jake out the door.

Back on the stage, an uncomfortable silence lingered. You could’ve heard a pin drop. Josh, perhaps for the first time ever, found himself dumbfounded with a microphone in his hand and spotlight shining on him.  

 His gaze met YN’s. Clearly shocked, she stood completely still. Patty at her side, was offering a comforting presence by rubbing her shoulders. He searched for words to fill the void left by his brother's reckless outburst.

"Alrighty then,” Josh quipped, attempting to inject a dose of humor into the tense atmosphere, “seems like my brother has, in true Kiszka fashion, overindulged in the open bar." A few chuckles broke through the awkward silence, and he offered a sheepish grin, acknowledging the awkwardness that lingered. "You know how it is with rockstars, always a bit- unpredictable." The crowd responded with a mixture of laughter and relieved smiles, grateful for the comedic relief.

As Josh said a few more words, the music gradually resumed, filling the venue with lively beats once again. The party mood, momentarily disrupted by Jake's impulsive antics, slowly rekindled.

____

A few yards away from the vibrant venue, Sam and Danny grappled with Jake, who continued to argue drunkenly, his resistance growing more erratic with each step. The trio moved further away, the rhythmic waves providing a somber soundtrack to the guitarist's inebriated protests.

Eventually, Jake crumpled to the ground. His suit, now adorned with wet sand, presented a testament to his unwillingness to cooperate.

Danny sighed, glancing at Sam who, frustrated, chose to distance himself from the situation for a moment. Few things could truly irritate the youngest Kiszka, and the disruption of a good party just happened to be one of them.

Left alone with Jake, Danny stood silently by his sitting figure, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

Sam returned after a brief respite, holding a glass filled with seawater. "That ought to sober him up," he declared, tossing the contents of the glass in Jake's face.

 "Hey, what the fuck?" Jake sputtered, lurching to his feet abruptly. His venomous gaze settled on his younger brother, and in an instant, the atmosphere shifted. Jake, fueled by alcohol-induced bravado, was in a fighting mood.

Sam, unyielding, met Jake's gaze with a stern expression. "Just calm down, Jacob,” he urged, his tone firm but laced with brotherly concern, “You're making a fool of yourself.”

The stars overhead witnessed the unfolding drama, casting a gentle glow on the sand as the two youngest grappled with the complexities their bandmate’s emotions.

Jake stood defiantly, wet sand clinging to his clothes.

"Come on, man” Daniel's voice cut through the night, firm but gentle, “you have to know you were way out of line." He always served as the voice of reason, an anchor attempting to steady a ship tossed in turbulent waters.

In that moment, however, Jake couldn't help but despise the drummer's calm demeanor. He only wished for a spark, an ignition to match the wildfire within him, and his bandmate's rationality only seemed to fuel his own frustration.

 "And what the fuck would you know about that, huh?" Jake spat with anger. His words edged with bitterness as he got up in Daniel’s face, "Always playing the calm, collected one, like you're above it all. Just back the fuck off." The night echoed with the strained conversation, the waves crashing against the shore.

Jake, fueled by a concoction of alcohol and resentment, wanted a release, a confrontation to validate the storm within him.

Daniel sighed, a weary acknowledgment of the futility of the situation. "We're just trying to help. You don’t want to do this."

Jake scoffed. Feeling the weight of his own frustration, he muttered in defeat, "Whatever.” The sand crunched beneath his shoes as he turned away, a solitary figure against the backdrop of a restless sea, “Just go back inside."

"Oh,” Sam sneered, “if you think we're about to leave you unsupervised after this shitshow, you are dead wr—"

"You should get back inside," someone interrupted from behind them. Jake's face dropped, recognizing the voice instantly. Sam and Danny turned around to see YN standing a few feet away with her arms crossed. An unreadable expression was etched on her face.

Sam and Danny exchanged glances. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog that refused to dissipate.

 Sam sent YN a inquiring look. Are you sure? They respected YN's judgment, yet the worry lingered like a silent undercurrent beneath the surface. They were all too aware of Jake’s unpredictability when he drank too much.

She nodded wordlessly, her gaze shifting to Jake’s back. Her eyes, once filled with laughter and joy, now held a depth of emotion that was difficult to decipher. Sam and Danny eventually walked past her, offering apologetic smiles. They headed back into the bar, leaving Jake and YN alone on the moonlit beach.

The distant murmur of the party and the sound of waves crashing against the shore served as a backdrop to their silent standoff. The night held its breath, caught between the residue of a disrupted celebration and the muted tension.

With his back still turned, Jake closed his eyes.

The stillness was finally broken by YN, unable to bear the quiet any longer. "Aren't you gonna say anything?” Her tone was sharp, a mixture of bitterness and anger lacing each word, “you seemed to have a lot to say back there."

Jake flinched, the gravity of his actions washing over him like the freezing tide. Slowly, he turned around to face her. There she stood, arms crossed against the night chill, her hair gently swaying in the wind. Goosebumps adorned the delicate skin of her arms as she seemed to shiver against the breeze. The moonlight cast a melancholic glow on her features, framing a face etched with disappointment. Caught off guard by her candor, Jake struggled to find the right words.

"I—" he began, but before he could complete the thought, she sprung towards him.

"I cannot believe you would do this to me," she spat, her words cutting through the night air like shards of glass. A forceful push against Jake’s chest caused him to stumble backward, "you, fucking asshole!" The sting of her words hung in the air as she continued to unleash her frustration.

Jake, attempted to downplay the situation with a dismissive sigh. "Come on, no one will remember a thing in the morning," he remarked, reaching out to grab her wrists to stop the damage.

YN struggled against his grip, her eyes ablaze with a mix of anger and hurt. Feeling the weight of her gaze, Jake's eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, he saw the hurt reflected in her eyes. "Come on, it's a just party, for Christ's—"

"That's not the issue here!" she asserted, pulling away from him. "Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? How could you pull that crap?" Her voice wavered slightly, and he could feel the weight of her hurt settling in his chest. "Why even bother coming?" she shook her head in disbelief, "If you were just going to—"

"Well, it's not exactly like we'll have that many opportunities to see each other,” he spat, the bitterness in his words slicing through the night air like venom, “once you officially become Mrs. Styles."

"Yes, I am getting married!" she yelled in frustration. "I know that! And I tried doing what I could to make it easy on you, but—" she paused, her words hanging in the air like a heavy curtain, "Honestly? I don't even know why I should anymore. We broke up ages ago—"

"Yeah, and whose fault was that?" he interjected, his tone accusing and filled with a bitterness that had long festered in the shadows of their past. The charged atmosphere between them crackled, the pain of their shared memories surfacing like ghosts in the moonlit night.

YN's reaction cut through Jake, the hurt evident in her downturned gaze. In that moment, regret gnawed at him, his impulsive words now a bitter aftertaste. He knew well that their breakup had been entirely his doing, fueled by demons of his own making. But the anger, amplified by the drink, had led him down a senseless path.

 “Believe it or not," she stated, "things were as difficult for me as they may have been for you.” Her voice was a mix of hurt and frustration, "I honestly thought we'd outgrown all of that. But- you—saying that shit about me, in front of my friends, my colleagues, m-my future stepfamily? What is wrong with you? That’s just—” she shook her head, “do you really despise me that much?" he flinched at her words, guilt settling heavy on his conscience.

"Of course, not—" he started.

"Do you hate me so much that you can't stand, let it only be, the thought of me finally being at peace?" Her words pierced through him, each syllable carrying a vulnerability that echoed in the stillness of the night.

"No, that's not it—" he tried to explain, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between them.

"Well then, what the fuck is it, huh?" she demanded, frustration evident in her voice. "A few months ago, everything was fine, we were fin-"

"You wouldn't get it!" he snapped.

"Well, I sure as hell won't get it if you refuse to talk to me," she retorted in exasperation. Almost six years down the line and they were still stuck, facing the same issues they did on day one.

Despite his strong front, Jake remained silent, the weight of his emotions stifling any coherent response. "Jake—” she continued, calmly, “you—this past couple of years, us- managing to be- to get along, it’s been so good, I’d missed it so much," she confessed, stepping closer until her chest touched his. Her eyes sought his, "I’d missed you so much, but this? This angry, bitter jackass? I don't want him in my life,” she scowled. Her words cut through him like shards of glass, each syllable a painful reminder of the person he had become in that moment. “And yes, I know, it probably sucks having an ex get married first but- Jesus Christ, Jacob, grow the fuck up. We're friends, aren't we?"

He clenched his jaw, his throat tightening as he struggled to contain the whirlwind of emotions. Stepping away, he attempted to shield the tears that threatened to escape.

“Aren’t we?” she repeated, her voice breaking. A fragile silence lingered in the night.

"Just—" he finally muttered, his voice laced with a bitterness that mirrored the bitterness within him, “just go back to your fucking party,"

The sadness on her face slowly morphed back into anger. She gulped, her resolve finding new strength.

"Gladly," she spat, turning on her heels to walk back to the bar.

He clenched his jaw, hands on his hips, frustration and self-loathing churning within him as he watched her retreating figure. In a futile attempt to reclaim some semblance of control, he shouted out, "Fuck you!"

She didn’t bother turning around, but without missing a beat, she shouted back. "Well, fuck you too!"

____

Jake sat on the sand alone. The weight of the night’s events settled heavily on his shoulders as the alcohol-induced fog slowly dissipated. The crashing waves seemed to echo the turbulent thoughts swirling in his mind.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" a voice erupted, and Jake didn't bother looking up, recognizing the tone of his twin brother. Josh sat down next to him, a mixture of frustration and concern etched on his face. "An asshole, too."

"Yeah, right," Jake scoffed, bitterness coloring his words. "I'm the asshol—"

"She doesn't know," Josh cut him off, gently. The words hung in the air: a heavy truth finally spoken aloud. Josh, with his intuitive understanding, had always read his twin better than anyone.

"Please," Jake eventually muttered, his voice low and strained. "Of course, she does."

"How could she?" Josh retorted; frustration evident in his expression. Jake had watched as YN got in the stable, healthy relationship he had failed to give her. And he had sat patiently as she stepped towards the life of a married woman. Yet, through it all, he had remained silent, failing to express the one thing she’d needed to hear.

"Yeah, well," Jake mumbled, eventually, clearing his throat as he stared off into the distance, "It's not like I can do anything about it now."

Josh remained silent. His brother had a point. The opportunity to come clean had passed, and the consequences of his silence weighed heavily.

"Come on," Josh said finally, getting up on his feet and brushing the sand off his suit. "I'll drive you back to the hotel."

"You're a bridesman,” Jake said, “isn't it your job to be here?"

 "My job” Josh stated, “was to make sure everything went smoothly for Y/N, which I miserably failed to do tonight, thanks to you, brother. Now, come on," he held his hand out, a silent invitation, "I'll drive back here once you're in bed."

Jake chewed on his lower lip, his gaze fixed on the sand beneath him. He finally asked hesitantly, "Shouldn't I go and apologize first?"

Josh chuckled sadly, a knowing expression on his face. It was always impossible to stay mad at his twin for long. "It's probably better to give her some space right now."

____

"Alright," Josh called out, his eyes on his phone as he texted Sam, informing him he was on his way back. The ride to the hotel had been quiet and Jake had collapsed on the hotel bed the second they arrived. "I put aspirin and water on the table, your phone is charging and—" he stopped abruptly as he heard a muffled sound, his eyes lifting from the screen.

"I—" Jake muttered shakily, the word barely escaping his closed throat, as Josh approached his bedside. "I just- I don't know what to do," he managed to get the words out of his closed throat.

Josh didn't need more to understand what that meant, his heart breaking at his brother’s unusual display of vulnerability. He knew the pain that must’ve been tearing him apart. The admission hung in the air, a poignant acknowledgment of the emotional turmoil that swirled within him.

Jake had had his fair share of flings after their breakup, and he had expected YN doing the same. After all, she was nothing short of incredible, and admirers were bound to line up at her door. But marriage? That was a different realm entirely. Marriage meant forever. Marriage was the final nail in the coffin of what they once shared.

Josh sat silently at the side of the bed as Jake, exhausted both physically and emotionally, slowly succumbed to sleep.

“Me neither, Jakey,” Josh eventually whispered, pulling a blanket over his twin, “me neither.”

Next Track: All You Had To Do Was Stay

Series Masterlist

Hope you liked it! Once again, I am begging you all to interact and leave comments it makes me so happy to get feedback and reactions xxx

Also, this is only the beginning lol. I have a billion drafts for other chapters so stay tuned, peaceful army.

Taglist

@aintthatapity

@sinarainbows

@vanfleeter 

[syn4k]

you know why I’m here.

(From the @hermits-in-space Space AU, more formally known as Scar's Failsafe Guide to the Galaxy (SFGG)! Interested in this oneshot? Go follow the account!)

---

Really, thought Chrys, shimmying through an annoyingly constrictive air vent, it's not like they hadn't expected anyone to show up. They shouldn't have. And yet, here he was: very weak motion sensors on this side of the ship, an unopened vent with an easily enough hijackable airlock bay, crawling through and trying to figure out where in hell Hex was.

They could be being contained against their will. Or forced to do slave labor. Or knocked unconscious. Or worse.

We don't think about worse, Chrys firmly told himself. We get in. We get the idiot. We leave. Simple enough.

Who's "we?" another, quieter voice in his brain whispered, and Chrys sighed.

He'd been tracking down his annoyingly elusive younger brother for... a couple cycles now. Six, maybe seven? It's not his fault that Hex had managed to get off of the planet somehow and promptly disappeared into the greater universe, and yet everyone seemed to think it was.

The job here was to get this idiot back home, sign the pact or whatever, and then things would be okay-ish. Normal-ish. Then again, being out in space running with the stars know who change a person, and not always for the better.

Off-track. He was getting off-track. Were those voices he could hear? He crawled closer to the opening in the vent, making sure that nobody could see from any angle. Stars, it was cramped in here.

"-found a ship docked to the side of ours," sighed one voice. Shit. Five doubles says that's mine.

"Markings, affiliation?" asked another voice, slightly nasally and undoubtedly tired. Chrys didn't know what time this ship ran on, but it was probably early. Good.

"None that I can see so far from the cameras," said the first. "It's yellow, though, which is an odd choice for a singleperson ship."

"Any sign of the person themself?" asked a third voice. Chrys caught sight of a long reptilian tail flapping. He couldn't see the other two yet.

"None," said the first voice.

"Might run another scan," sighed the second. "It's ass-o-clock in the morning, False. Rock paper scissors to see who has to do it?"

"I don't need sleep," said the third voice icily. "I need answers."

Somewhere, Chrys could hear a door opening but not shutting. The second and third voice (False?) walked off together, arguing about... something. The first person stayed where they were, and walked slowly into the view of the slats between the vents. Pink helmet, solid build, is that a... tail???

"Hex, what are you doing up here this late?" asked the guy in the pink suit. Chrys pressed his face to the vent, trying to get a good view of the person he had been looking for for so long.

"Couldn't sleep," said Hex's voice- yep, that was Hex- from just out of seeing range. "What's going on?"

"Unrecognized single-person flyer docked," said the first voice. "Take a look."

Hex finally came into view, but what Chrys saw was absolutely not what he expected.

See, in a species of shapeshifters, their family had made a pact with a neighboring one of a different kind so that when their kids came of age to change into their forms, they would choose the form of the other species.

Speculti (or, Hex and Chrys' species) could only shapeshift once, into the likeness of the first person of another species they touched.

Before he left, Hex had not undergone this procedure. Now, though, he looked markedly different..?

"Huh," said Hex, bending down. "Looks kinda like... oh, shit."

"Like what?" asked the first voice.

"Like me," said Chrys, dropping down onto the floor (that was a bigger drop than expected) (that hurt) (goddamn OW). "Hex, what the fuck did you get yourself into?"

"This was not on my bingo card for the year," muttered Hex. They sighed. "X, this is my brother Chrysalis, better known as Chrys. Chrys, this is Xisuma, or shortened X, the captain of this ship, a.k.a the H.S.S."

"You assholes better unhand my brother right now or there'll be hell to pay," Chrys growled, taking out a pair of nunchucks and popping them threateningly.

"No, listen," said Hex, walking in between the two. "Listen. It's not like that. I'm here of my own free will, sorta."

"Sort of?"

"...do you have a reason for breaking onto my ship?" asked X.

"Good question, actually," said Hex, looking over his shoulder to look at X and back at Chrys. "Why the hell are you here?"

"Oh, you know why I'm here already," said Chrys, starting to spin his nunchucks absently around. "We're going home."

[hadesforpreswrites]

sleepless nights

a/n: hi! i hope you enjoy this little fic! i started it writing it based on my own issues with insomnia and mental illness because i wanted some comfort and i thought that maybe someone else could be looking for something similar.

there's a character friend named scarlett mentioned in here. she's just mentioned but is a good friend to the main girl. also, i feel like i'm shit at writing dialogue, so i'm very sorry lmao.

there may be a part 2 to this, i haven't decided yet. if you want a second part let me know and what you might want to see in it! (which is why it's marked explicit for the time being)

pairing: kim namjoon x unnamed female character

genre: hurt/comfort, mutual pining

warnings: insomnia, mental health issues, namjoon calls her 'babe,' "platonically"

word count: 1,844

summary: when her brain won't let her sleep, she calls her best friend

part two

she let out an audible groan as she felt around for her phone hidden somewhere in her comforter. once her hand hit the elusive electronic, she brought the lit screen up to her face so she could read the time. 03:00 am. great, it was one of those nights. 

she’d been living with insomnia for as long as she could remember; only being diagnosed about a year ago. on top of that, her manic states that came with her bipolar disorder often assisted the insomnia in keeping her awake. 

tonight she didn’t feel manic but she sure couldn’t sleep. she’d tried almost everything. she took sleep aids, she meditated. she felt tired exhausted but she just couldn’t fall asleep. 

she sighed as she looked at the clock on her phone again. there was only one thing left to try and she was already feeling guilty about it. she scrolled on her phone until she landed on his name, which admittedly didn’t take long as he was in her favorites list. she let her thumb hover over his name for a minute before taking the plunge. she put the phone on speaker as it rang, biting her nails unconsciously.

while it rang, she thought about what she might say this time if he answered. and what she might say if it goes to voicemail as those will be two very different things, she thinks. 

after three rings she was about to hang up when, on the fourth ring, he answered. “hey, you.”

“hey,” she answered, quietly. she hadn’t noticed she was on the verge of crying until she heard his voice. 

“hey, what’s wrong?” she heard him stop whatever he was doing.

“it’s just not fair,” she said, fighting the tears.

“what’s not fair, babe?” normally the nickname caused her heart to flutter, even if it was platonic to him, but tonight she couldn’t focus on that.

“why can’t i sleep?” her voice broke.

she couldn’t know but his heart broke to hear her like this. every time she called him in the middle of the night sounded like she was losing a bit of herself. she was his best friend, the one who usually took care of him (save for nights like this). 

“i wish i knew,” he all-but-whispered. 

“i’m literally so tired, joon. exhausted. i should be able to fall asleep with how tired i am,” she rambled, frantically wiping her face.

“i think i already know the answers but you know i have to ask,” he started.

“i know,” she sniffled.

“took your meds?”

“yeah.”

“meditation?” 

“yep.”

“tried counting sheep?”

“of course.”

he looked over at his desk and computer screens. he could use a break, he thought to himself. he checked the clock, shocked at the time. he could really use a break. 

“want me to come over?”

“then what would happen? you also stay awake? i can’t ask you to do that, joonie,” she said, stubbornly.

“babe,” he sighed. “i’m already awake. i’ve been working all night.”

“then you should sleep!” her heart resumed its normal activity of fluttering at the sound of him calling her ‘babe.’

“how could i sleep knowing you’re awake, crying, possibly entering the ‘bad times,’ hmm?” she could hear him moving around the room, shutting things down.

she was silent as he ordered an uber to take him to her, knowing he was right and, also, she was too tired to put up more of a fight. “do you have your key?” she asked after a few minutes of listening to him get ready to leave.

“yep,” he jingled his keys for her to hear.

during the approximately thirty minute ride to her house, she lived across town from him, he kept her on the phone. they didn’t say much but he knew it made her more comfortable to hear him when he was out this late. the driver made some small talk with him as he drove, mostly inquiring as to why he needed a ride at 3 am in the morning. namjoon assumed he assumed that it was a hookup because when he told him about his friend’s predicament he didn’t seem too convinced it was innocent.

part of namjoon wished his assumption was at least semi-accurate. he often found himself wondering what would happen if they bridged the gap they had created in their relationship, however unknowingly. they did most things couples did and their friends took notice right away, often teasing them. well, him mostly. but for now, he counted his blessings that he could just be in her world. even when nights like this happened, he counted himself lucky. of all the people she could call, she chooses him every time. 

when the car pulls up to the apartment complex she lives in, the driver curses. “why is a girl out here at this time of night, in this weather, wearing that? she’s gonna get sick.”

namjoon lifted his head from his phone where he was reviewing the driver to see who he was talking about. he sighed when his eyes met the figure of the girl he was just thinking about. she was outside, on the sidewalk, in shorts and a hoodie with no shoes, in the middle of winter. “that would be her,” he said to the driver. and then into his phone he said, “what on earth are you doing?”

“waiting for you, hurry up,” she chattered. 

how he didn’t hear her leave her apartment was beyond him, maybe it was during the conversation with the driver. he quickly finished his review so he wouldn’t forget and exited the vehicle as fast as he could. he shed his overcoat and threw it over her shoulders as he waved to the driver.

“i told you i had my key,” he scolded as they moved to the entrance of the complex.

“i thought it’d make my brain go to sleep if it froze a little,” she said, sheepishly. “and besides, you always wait for me when i come to your house.”

“yeah, but not without at least shoes,” he argued.

she turned to smile at him, he was behind her with his hands on her shoulders. he could see the tear stains on her face and the exhaustion in her eyes but here she was smiling at him. it made his heart flutter.

once they were in the elevator, heading to the fourth floor, he leaned his back against the wall of the elevator and pulled her to him. she turned around and circled her arms around him. “thank you,” she mumbled in to his chest.

“any time,” he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

they made their way to her apartment and once inside, he kicked his shoes off and hung his overcoat up on the hook by the door. “well, what do you wanna do?” he asked her.

“you mean aside from the obvious?” she cocked an eyebrow.

“aside from the obvious,” he nodded matter-of-factly.

she thought for a moment before answering. what would she like to do if she’s not sleeping? nothing really sounded appealing to her. she must have made a face because namjoon chuckled. “what?” 

“nothing. you’re just cute when you’re thinking,” he said, a blush creeping up his neck. he hoped it wasn’t noticeable. 

“i’m having a hard time landing on something to do. i should’ve gone to your house, then i could sit in while you work,” she whined.

“too late,” he said with a laugh. 

“can we just lay down?” she asked. it didn’t matter how many times this happened, she was always shy about it.

“of course, whatever you want,” he grabbed her hand and led her down the hall to her bedroom.

she climbed into her bed. something that felt like both an escape and a prison. once under the comforter and sheet, she curled herself into namjoon’s side, one hand on his chest. she sighed as she began to trace shapes on the fabric of his shirt. 

he wrapped his arm around her and held her close, placing another kiss to the top of her head. after several silent beats, he thought that maybe she had finally fallen asleep. but then she  spoke.

“you know i love you, right?” it was just above a whisper.

“i know. i love you too.”

“you’re the best thing in my life,” that was a whisper.

“hey,” he maneuvered so he was looking at her. it was hard to see in the dark of the room but her eyes were shining in the little light that came from a night light that she always insisted was for safety purposes. she was tearing up again. “there’s so many good things in your life. i can count eight right now, would you like me to name them?”

she nodded.

“one: scarlett. that girl wouldn’t know what to do without you,” the mention of her friend made her give a choked laugh. “two through seven: jin, yoongi, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, and jungkook. they have gotten so much joy getting to know you, you bring them back to the world when they get in their heads. eight: me. you’re my best friend and much like scarlett, i wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

she was full-on crying now, head buried in his chest, hiding. 

“do you know what makes these things so good?” he asked.

she shook her head.

“you do. without you all of us would have a little less light in our lives,” he used his hand that wasn’t around her to run his fingers through her hair.

he didn’t know what was going through her head at this moment as she was buried in his chest. but he kept his motions in her hair with his hand, hoping to sooth her and maybe she could sleep for a few hours. he was starting to feel tired himself for the first time all night, now that he was in a dark room, in a bed, comfortable. he willed himself to stay awake until she was asleep, however. he knew that this could mean he doesn’t sleep until the next night but it was a risk he was willing to take. for her.

he saw the sun start to poke through the crack in her curtains. he guessed it must be about 5 or 6 in the morning now. he ignored it as he tightened his arm around her. he felt her hum in contentment. he thought maybe she had fallen asleep so he quietly questioned, “babe?”

when he got no answer he smiled to himself and closed his own eyes. he didn’t know how long she would sleep but he felt good enough in that she had at least dozed off for a bit. he also knew that if she woke up before him, she’d do her best to not wake him as she moved around the apartment, no matter how many times he told her she didn’t have to let him sleep.

[verbo-s-e]

june 5, 2023 9:38 pm (pst)

i had so much more i wanted to add, but now i don’t know what to say or do. i’m second guessing. everything. if i were to zoom out as a third party spectator, i’d see a girl — mentally ill and too much love to give because she’s never had it herself. that makes me sad. embarrassed. sad again.

i’m afraid to fall asleep. i don’t say this to be dramatic. simply just a truth. because in sleep, i go far beyond any earthly or human realm/plane. there, we exist as two people who don’t have the weight of the world on our shoulders. we’re just us and not a square peg, round hole. we actually fit. we just exist peacefully within each others company. no labels of anything. just ourselves. it’s a recognition, a knowing i’ve felt since the moment we met.

i’ve always been sensitive to everything. a symptom/side effect of the life i was born into. but i’ve also, more importantly, been sensitive to the elusive. the strange forces that bind us as a human race. energy. vibes. whatever you wanna call it. i remember being so small and feeling things i had no business feeling. knowing things i had no business knowing, but did anyway. it’s a muscle i’ve grown my entire life and i trust it explicitly.

or, at least i used to. these days? i don’t know. it’s been a long time since i have. when everything fell apart the first time, i felt like i didn’t just lose you, but my intuition. my religion.

when our worlds collided, i felt and knew things i shouldn’t have known. trusted the universe with every molecule and atom in my body. can’t say it’s been exactly great, but even in the ‘losses’ i’ve gained profound abundance. those moments when we’re synced together hold so much magic for me. i know you know what i mean. for so long i begged you to see me. just once. to really see me. i feel like i should be used to not getting what i want but it doesn’t get easier. i think you did/have/do. but it scares you because maybe you see what i see too. i don’t say that out of projection, yet a deep deep knowing. i use that word a lot, knowing. but it’s true. my truth.

so sleeping: my favorite activity. used to be anyway. now, i dread it. i dread the dreams. the roller coaster rides i go on. i wake up more exhausted than when i went to sleep. this is the worst part of all of this. that in these moments, i want to say fuck it. i don’t need to break things off. if i can just get some sleep, and keep you close, i’ll make it work. i can make it work.

this is what we call the ‘bartering’ stage of grief, ladies and gentlemen.

i can’t make it work anymore. i’m so tired that my bones hurt. it’s dysfunctional.

during this last semester we explored a lot in abnormal psych. to the point where i got so wound up and triggered i almost dropped out again. it was a painful reminder of my own illnesses and hyperfixations and quirks and traumas and everything else. bpd? check. love addiction? check. depression? check. anxiety? check. ptsd? check. autism? check. check check check check check.

i really had to look at myself in the mirror and ask, ‘is my love - my experience- with and for this person, just a symptom of my fucking mental illness?’ let me tell you: that’s not a fun fucking feeling to sit in. and oh my god did i sit in it. so much mental laundry to sort that i’m STILL sorting. i’m still bartering. i’m still trying to fit a square peg in a round fucking hole. how do you separate the clinical and logical from the cosmic and spiritual? pro tip: you can’t.

and honestly, i’m too broken to try anymore. for any of it. i don’t want to hurt you. it hurts me knowing this might/will.

so which is it? am i right and an almighty powerful bad bitch who is psychic and connected to it all? or….. am i a severely mentally ill child trapped inside a 30 year old woman who suffers from grandiose delusions inside her fucked up head? my glib answer: both. i shrug tiredly. self awareness is a bitch and a half.

what we ‘are’ to each other will forever be unexplainable. maybe you agree, maybe you don’t. for me, this entire time has been me chasing that feeling — that fantasy — of what i felt/knew right at the start. that one day we could exist as just two people who just see lmk and know each other. without ever even speaking a word. am i giving this too much weight?

you’re overthinking again.

don’t worry, i can hear you say it too. to that i say you’re both right and wrong.

[sparrow-stunned]

seconds of infinity | yan xiao x reader

content warning: yandere behaviour. (very) brief mention of adepti art mind control. oblivious reader. author’s notes: pure self-indulgence featuring xiao’s intense, borderline creepy stare, xiao not fooling anyone except himself, in celebration of angsty boy finally coming home. may be a prologue of things to come depending on how thirsty I am for him (answer: extremely).  word count: 2.5k reader discretion is advised.

The torment ate away at his heart like an insatiable wolf, and an infinite number of lifetimes could have done nothing to reduce it.

— Yakshas: The Guardian Adepti

ꕥ

In the end, Verr Goldet is the one to deliver the message.

Xiao scans the paper, bold ink brushstrokes penned upon luxurious white. He knows this elegant handwriting. The signature at the end merely confirms it: Zhongli, Consultant to Wangsheng Funeral Parlour.

He sighs and folds the paper, fingers swift yet careful as he tucks it into his sleeve with something akin to reverence. Xiao furrows his brows and considers Master Zhongli’s words. While he would not deny his sovereign’s request, how should he best resolve it? Such close contact with a mortal…

“Sir?” Verr Goldet prompts.

Preparations would be needed, he decides. The adeptus crosses his arms, resisting the urge to scowl. “…I understand. Let the mortal know I have received Master Zhongli’s words.”

ꕥ

(You should not have sought him out, you will come to learn, dread creeping into realization. Now, he will not relinquish you so easily.)

ꕥ

By the fifth night of your stay at Wangshu Inn, you are a mess. The adeptus you seek is a phantom. No one has seen hair or hide of the elusive young gentleman rumoured to frequent the roof of the inn. But finally, through Verr Goldet, Mr. Zhongli’s letter has arrived in the hands of its intended recipient.

You close your eyes, sending a short prayer to whichever deity was listening now that Rex Lapis has passed. You cannot live like this. The death of your younger brother had been enough, but the dreamless sleep afterward… You shake your head, trying to scatter the memories.

“May I ask… did he respond?” you finally say, nervously tapping the counter with half-bitten nails.

Verr Goldet looks at you with something akin to sympathy. Or was it pity? You must make quite a sight, having gone days without sleep. While you’ve tried to keep up some semblance of appearance, you’re sure the bloodshot eyes don’t help in that matter.

The innkeeper speaks, apologetic. “He said nothing of note—merely that he’s read it. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“Is that a refusal then?” you say, confused. The adepti of old tales were renowned for their vague words, and it proves true in this case. “I don’t know what to do with that information.”

“I don’t think it’s a refusal. He seems to have plans of his own,” Verr Goldet soothes. “The gentleman will come when he is ready, esteemed guest.”

You sigh in half-formed relief. Until you meet him face-to-face, the worry won’t disappear. But her words help. The boss of Wangshu Inn was a sharp woman; whatever observation she has made of the man, you trust.

With a murmur of your thanks, you slowly make your way back into your room. The stairs beneath your feet creak with each step, but your tired mind barely takes notice. You open the door with trembling hands, staring blankly at the mussed sheets as you collapse into bed. The sigil in your breast pocket from Mr. Zhongli pulses, as if alive.

When you close your haggard eyes, the world blurs. Hazy colours condense into memories.

A cave entrance. Your hesitant steps toward the darkness, desperation overriding fear.

A misstep, despite your caution.

The sensation of falling, seized by terror as the darkness swallowed you. Even now, on firm ground, you still feel it. Your heart beating rabbit-fast, as if one beat quicker and it would explode. Wetness along your cheek.

A silent scream.

Then nothing.

Nothingness. That is all you remember.

When you awoke, there was pitch-black darkness, pierced by one single beam of light. Even though the fall had been an eternity, and the impact must have been great, you were not dead. You were alive.

And curled in your hand… it had felt like a plant. It must be the flower, you had thought frantically.

So you stumbled around the hole, crawling on palms and knees, creaking body refusing to cooperate. The damp soil under your fingernails as you dragged yourself toward the glow of sunlight, despair infused with hope. Frenzied prayers on your lips. The climb upward toward the light, bloodied fingers grasping onto rock, was an infinity you finally defeated when the world became bathed in light.

Collapsed into the grass, its green tips still fresh with morning due, you exhausted body felt as if it had just wakened from eternal sleep.

In some ways, you had—the villagers say you went missing for half a month.

And by then… it had been too late for your brother. You buried the flower with him. It had hurt too much to keep.

The flutter of the curtain by your window distracts you from your almost-dreams. It is what first alerts you to his presence. A solemn voice then slices through the silent air.

“Were you the one sent by Master Zhongli?”

ꕥ

Xiao slips through the open window, feet balanced on the windowsill before stepping inside. In the moonlight, the mortal startles awake, eyes flashing open. He glances at your face, noting the purple bruises underneath your eyes. The red veins across your sclera.

An exhausted mortal, he corrects in his mind. Weak. In curing the affliction, if my speculations are correct, you may unearth a beneficial surprise, Master Zhongli had said. How was a weak mortal was supposed to be helpful to an adeptus? A human’s life was already so fragile, but to deal with the added burden of a dead god… Well, he’s surprised you’re still breathing.

“Y-Yes, honoured adeptus,” you stutter, getting off the bed and greeting him with a stiff bow. “Mr. Zhongli told me—.”

“Master Zhongli,” he corrects, eyebrows furrowed. Rex Lapis is gone, but Xiao will not have anything less than the utmost respect for his current incarnation.

“Master Zhongli,” you immediately correct, biting your lip. “He said there was a gentleman at Wangshu Inn who could help me with my problem. Are you the Conqueror of Demons? The Vigilant Yaksha?”

Xiao does not see fit to answer the question. Instead, he asks, “Did you read the letter?”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, as if afraid of offending him. Mortals and their sensitivities. “How could I dare? I was just supposed to send it. Master Zhongli said you’ll explain it to me. ”

Xiao closes his eyes. This will make things more difficult. He is an adeptus of a few words for a reason. Still, if Master Zhongli said so, he will oblige.

“You said you were picking herbs in a cave?” he asks, reciting what he remembers from the letter. “And then you fell into some underground hollow.”

“Yes,” you say. “I was looking for the cave-dweller herb. My brother was sick, sir.”

Xiao raises an eyebrow. “You risked your life for a legend? Who even told you where it was?” Pilea cavernicola. Said in mortal tales to be a miracle cure for any disease. Of course, the adepti knew it to be true. A flower whose petals contained certain medicinal properties, but it only blooms once in a century. Its rarity meant its location was a well-guarded secret, even among immortals.

“A family secret, passed on from my great-grandmother to me. She had once unknowingly provided shelter to an adeptus. In turn, the adeptus told her where to find it. Everyone thought she was crazy when she told the story. After all, why would an adeptus come to a small farming village?” you say, voice cracking as you speak. “But I was desperate.”

“Hm.” It is believable. In recent times, few adepti wander from their abode; forays into the mortal realm became rarer and rarer, but mortals still received somewhat frequent visits a hundred years ago. Xiao wonders which one you were referring to in your story. It definitely was something more sociable adepti would do.

Contracts and equivalent exchange—it was the heart of Liyue. The essence of Rex Lapis’ rule. Honoured and sacred. You were not lying, he decides. Foolish, but not dishonest.

“You should have accepted your brother’s condition,” he finally says. “Death comes to all mortals. It is foolish to seek a mythical flower for aid.”

Your trembling stills. A fierce glare seeps into your eyes. “I will not have a stranger—even if they are adepti—dictate what I should or shouldn’t do when my brother was dying! You did not see him when he laid there, frail body shuddering with each bloody cough.” Your anger dies down into hollowness, mind lost in the past. “I would have… I would have done anything to save him.”

Your anger surprises him. You did not seem to have enough life for such an outburst. But still. “Your futile search—did it help?” he scoffs.

“I did find it,” you murmur in quiet protest. “…But it was too late.”

“And now, because of your foolish actions, you must come to me for help,” he summarizes. The lingering darkness hovering around you tells him more than enough. But something about your aura, even barring the miasma… A unique constitution, the letter had mentioned. The thought gets cut off when you speak.

“Yes.” You hang your head, rebuffed by his admonishment. “I’m sorry.”

“Your apology matters little to me,” Xiao says bluntly, crossing his arms. “I am only here because Master Zhongli requested it.”

“I understand,” you whisper. “Still, you have my thanks.”

Xiao shifts uncomfortably at the subtle tears gathering in your eyes. Perhaps he was being too harsh on you. “Tell me what happened after your search.”

“I went home to my brother, flower clutched in hand”—you choke on your words, and Xiao watches with golden eyes, a hawk patiently its prey—“but he was so still when I tried to wake him. So cold. So lifeless. He had already passed away. It appeared that I fell unconscious for two weeks.”

“The symptoms started after that?”

“Yes. The sleeplessness,” you say, wringing a helpless hand. “My heart won’t calm down. I went days without sleep, and when I finally collapsed into unconsciousness, it was always fitful. I had dreams, but no recollection of them. I only knew terror when I woke.” Your eyes shutter, body physically recoiling at the reminder. “Only the terror. I didn’t know what to do. It was a stroke of luck that Master Zhongli happened upon me in Liyue Harbour while I was there to search for a solution to this affliction—his eyes were keen enough to figure out something was wrong with my...aura? At least, that’s what he had told me.”

“You disturbed an ancient, fallen god when you picked that herb. It has invaded your dreams.” Xiao knows dreams. It was an unfortunate specialty, gained during his enslavement. That was probably why Master Zhongli sent you to him. The old gods will never die, and so too do their grudges survive.

Xiao sighs. While he has been snippy toward you, it is his personal failing that has led to your situation. Some remnants of the old gods must have festered deep underground, unknown until you stumbled into it. It is best to dissipate the aura as soon as possible, before it begins to taint the vicinity around you. The sigil Master Zhongli has given you is a temporary solution.

You shiver at his words. “Fallen god?” you croak. “What in the world…”

His eyes are piercing yellow in the darkness. “Yes. I will dispel it.”

“How will you—”

“Adepti arts,” he interrupts, ready to end the conversation. There were many ways to suppress the lingering hatred of the defeated gods. Rituals, adeptal arts, battle. Mostly through battle, but thankfully, this case did not need such… violent methods. Otherwise, the entire inn might be leveled in the process. “If you value your sanity, best not to know. Lie down.”

You close your mouth and obey, eyes wide as you stiffly rest your body on the bed.

He appears by your bedside in a flash of Anemo powers. Ignoring your breathless gasp, he says, “Close your eyes. Whatever you do, do not open them.”

When you do as he says without complaint or further questions—thankfully—he touches the diamond mark on his forehead with the index and middle finger. He recites a brief incantation and the adeptal energy gathers on his fingertips. It hums with excitement as Xiao brings it to your own forehead, just shy of touching.

The energy begins to penetrate through your flesh, burning away the fallen god’s presence, but then—

A burst of energy repels him. Runs through his veins, numbing nerves. Blooms on his tongue, like the bittersweet of almond tofu.

Xiao leaps back, gazing at his hand. Flexes it, once, twice, but there’s still a lingering sensation of the phantom energy. It is not the dark miasma manifested by fallen gods, for he is all too familiar with such matters—it is the exact opposite.

The burdensome karmic debt permeating his bones is unusually light. The insistent hatred that he must normally suppress is no longer so heavy. The screams no longer so loud. A unique constitution. His eyes widen, as the words of his lord return: In curing the affliction, you may unearth a surprise.

No wonder you had survived the invasion of divine hatred. Whereas normal mortals would have gone mad or perished, their very spirits overtaken by the rage of a fallen god, you were protected from such fallout.

The miasma had masked it from him, but with the influence half-gone, he felt it. The clarity battling against the darkness. Your soul was capable of purification. A mortal who dispels karmic debt. The curses of the dead, scattered before your aura.

Xiao stares at you in wonder. In all his millennia, only the flute of the Anemo Archon was capable of the same feat. Perhaps… if you were to remain at his side, it may ease his pain.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs. But the karmic debt should be his to bear, his rational mind argues. It is a result of his actions to protect Liyue. To seek relief is to dishonour those who perished in battle. It is deserved penance. And yet—

“Honoured adeptus?” you hesitantly ask, eyes still shut. You shift on the bed, hands clenched. “Are you finished?”

Xiao remembers where he is. He clears his throat, heart thumping in his ears. “Almost,” he lies. “Be still.”

But as his lips begin the incantation again, his thoughts race. As the anemo power under his fingertips burn away the miasma from your body, Xiao’s energy brushes up against the edges of your soul. It hums, pushing back playfully, soothing hurt and madness.

But once the ritual is finished, you would leave.

No. He cannot have that. He needs time. A few more seconds, minutes, hours of your time, so he can choose.

For how long, the back of his mind whispers insidiously. Forever? Master Zhongli must have sent the mortal here for more than just a fallen god’s hatred. It is a sign of his favour. All those years of madness and grief and pain, have you not suffered enough? Do not hold back. Just take.

He ignores it.

He wouldn’t keep you. Not permanently, he reasons. Just enough time to decide his next course of action. He would have to rid you of the miasma, that is true. Otherwise, it could taint those around you.

But there were always other methods. Ways to keep you here, under his watch. The adeptal arts did not only deal in protection.

As the last traces of divine hatred dissipate, leaving behind purity, you stir. “Honoured adeptus…” you yawn. “Are you done now? I’m… getting sleepy. S’rry.”

“Then sleep,” he says solemnly. “You will have no nightmares under my watch.”

“Thank…you…” you slur. A peaceful expression smoothens your face, and then you’re under the influence of dreams.

“We will have much to speak of, come tomorrow morning,” he says. Only silence greets him.

He glances at your unconscious body and wonders if touch is a better conduit for your powers. Resists the urge to trail his fingers along the vulnerable skin of your throat, to see if it is true.

A sudden breeze from your window flaps the curtains. The moonlight shines through, casting the shadows of a contemplating yaksha on the wooden floor. Xiao takes quick strides to shut the window, and then the curtains.

The wind dies down. The moonlight disappears. Now, it’s just you and him. A mortal and an adeptus.

His eyes return to your face. It’s just as well that adepti do not need sleep. It gives him more time to plan. 

Thoughts you follow that are not your own. Nightmares that only he could alleviate. Unconscious desires. Unblinking loyalty. The list is never-ending. The adepti arts were so much more than for a mortal’s protection, he’s learned during the Archon Wars. It seems he’s finally found a reason to use them again.

Just a little more time, he repeats in his mind. Just enough time to choose.

(Just enough time to bind you to him. Just enough for forever.)

[arinbelle]

Suits

Notes: HELLO! Yes I know it’s been forever. Yes I know I said I’d update soon and then didn’t. But we’re here now! And I hope you enjoy!!!!!

Also, I’m using the latest taglist I have saved, but that’s probably the wrong one, so if I tag you and you want out, please let me know. If I don’t tag you and tumblr’s weird algorithm somehow throws this your way and you want to come back, also let me know ;)

Warnings: Violence, references to SA, language

Suits Masterlist

                                                ~*~

Chapter 4

~*~

She’d been here before.

Had done all of this before.

The morning after, brushing her teeth with her brush that was still there in his bathroom, the quick shower, and turning on the coffee machine for her favorite brew. She’d done it all before, so many times that she’d lost count now.

Except this wouldn’t entail a walk of shame-not that she’d bothered to even have a walk of shame with Cassian after he’d become a regular thing. Nor would she have to think about telling herself that this really was the last time she’d seek him out. Or the random stirring of emotions she’d get when he kissed her good morning after his shower while she ate her croissant.

Nesta hadn’t slept with Cassian this time.

Well, she had, but they’d only slept. A wild concept if she’d ever come across one. To share a bed willingly, for just sleep, and no sex involved. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done so. Even with Cassian.

Yet here she was, eating her croissant, drinking her coffee, waiting for that good morning kiss again like the fool she was. As if all of last night hadn’t happened and essentially obliterated any sense of normalcy or agency she’d thought she’d created for herself in this new part of her life.

“Your phone’s been blowing up since last night by the way,” Cassian announced as he entered the kitchen, her phone in one hand, a shirt in the other. He silently handed it to her as he dressed and Nesta kept her eyes on the screen as she unlocked. She didn’t spare a single glance at his shirtless, toned...

“Oh fuck!,” she exclaimed, chanting the swear over and over as she read message after message to her, first from Gabby, then many more from Gwyn and Emerie. That didn’t take into account all the missed calls either. 

“Nesta?”

Nesta hit “Dial,” holding up a finger to Cassian to wait, biting her lip as she realized how worried her friends would be.

“Oh my Gods, are you alive? Are you fucking alive? Talk. Talk damn it-”

“I would if you let me speak, Gabby,” Nesta cut in smoothly.

Gabby had heard about what had happened at the bar after she’d finished her own shift. She’d come over long after Nesta had come home with Cassian and the cryptic answer her boss had given to Gabby had worried her. That and her boss’s elusiveness when Gabby had asked about Nesta.

After some yelling, half in English, many curses in Spanish, Gabby calmed down, having been reassured by Nesta that she was indeed, very much alive, safe, and well. 

Nesta had glanced up at Cassian who was watching her hesitantly, and promised she would speak with Gabby later. She knew she didn’t have it in her to go through everything all over again. Nesta didn’t bother to even call Gwyn or Emerie, just sending a quick “I’m ok,” text in their groupchat for the time being.

She was just too tired. Absolutely exhausted and with no desire left in her outside of the one to simply curl up on the couch and sleep for hours on end.

Nesta stared at the screen on her phone until it went dark. Until Cassian silently pried it out of her hands and placed it face down on the table.

She would not lose it right now. She would not.

Now wasn't the time, and definitely not the place, and God help her but she had more important things to think about. Like a job, for one thing. She'd seen the text from her boss amidst the myriad of worried ones from Gwyn, Emerie and Gabby. The prick's message was short and to the point.

My business is ruined because of your stunt last night. Don't bother coming in for your next shift- you're fired.

She had no job. She had no means to keep paying for her apartment, let alone the bills that came with it. And fuck, how was she going to pay for textbooks next semester? Hell, how was she going to pay her student loans? Her tuition? She was fucked. So totally fucked.

Nesta let the tears fall down her face, not bothering to wipe them away because then it would alert Cassian to the state she was in. He was puttering around the kitchen, cooking something else, something more than the feast that was already in front of her, but she paid him no mind. She didn't want him to know how she was feeling, how she was reeling. The previous nights events hit her fully out of nowhere, as thoughts of unpaid tuition were now replaced with thoughts of how the hard bar floor had left her aching and bruised and how much the fear had been paralyzing. Nesta hadn't felt like that in a long time. Had thought she'd never have to ever again in her life.

And yet, here she was, letting herself cry while simultaneously not giving into the urge to wail and screech and scream like a woman possessed, because that was exactly how Nesta felt. Like she was herself and yet not. Nesta but other. Like someone had scooped out her soul overnight and replaced it with only an empty phantom, with no name, no soul, just misery and dread coiled into each other.

Gods only knew how Cassian would react if he saw her truly unleash her rage and despair. And not just the one from last night. Bottled up versions of it from years and years of strife and silence. How easily would he recoil from her then if he truly saw how ugly and damaged her soul was within?

She wasn't about to find out.

Nesta got up from the table and began her way back to Cassian's bedroom. Thank Gods she'd left a few of her own clothes behind at his place when they'd still been casual with each other. She changed quickly out of the night clothes and donned a simple shirt and jeans instead. Cassian had once jokingly said she should leave behind the discarded nightgown so he could remember all the good memories associated with it when she wasn't here. Her lips tilted up at the memory. Of when things had been so much easier.

Cassian watched her from the doorway but said nothing. When she finished collecting her phone and keys and shoving them all into her purse, Cassian followed her all the way to the front door, his own keys already in hand.

"I'll take a cab," she told him resolutely, barely believing it herself.

Cassian did a once over of her before pulling the door open and gesturing at her to move. She could have sworn he muttered something under his breath, likely not believing whatever she was trying to delude herself with, but it wasn't audible enough for her to argue about.

Try as she might to lie to herself, Cassian's shiny car was loads more welcome during the trip back to her apartment than any shoddy cab. They sat together in comfortable silence, which Nesta grudgingly acknowledged in her head when remembering their compatibility. It was ridiculous that they worked together so well- that it was even possible.

Yet here she was, accepting this ride from him back to her apartment like he was something more than just a casual hook-up turned professor overnight. 

Like he was her boyfriend.

She’d be lying to herself if the sentiment wasn’t appreciated secretly on the inside. How nice she knew she’d find it if they were just...more.

“Something on your mind?”

Nesta lifted her head from the window and looked at Cassian. The car wasn’t moving anymore and they were parked in her complex’s lot. Nesta shook her head, undoing her seat belt and opening the door with a surprisingly steady grip. Perhaps she really would be fine and the horrible night from before wouldn’t completely traumatize her for life.

Yeah, right. Like she should be so lucky. She didn’t bother answering, instead making her way towards the door, readying her key to enter the main lobby. Cassian was a silent shadow behind her but somehow, his presence calmed her just a bit.

She didn’t stop him from entering her apartment. Gods knew she didn’t really want him to leave anyways. 

“So...,” she began awkwardly, taking in Cassian setting her purse down on the kitchen counter. Her purse which she hadn’t realized he’d carried for her or that she herself hadn’t carried. Gwyn would start therapizing her right away, throwing words like acute stress disorder and catatonic her way.

Cassian’s eyes widened with alarm and Nesta wondered what she’d said.

“I’m sorry,” he started, buttoning his coat jacket as he spoke. “You’re probably exhausted and I’m bothering you. I’ll let myself out.”

“No,” Nesta blurted out. “No you aren’t-well, no it’s fine. I’m just, er, I have some schoolwork to do actually.” She bit her lip nervously, waiting for him to respond.

Cassian took a few moments before answering. “You should probably rest today Nes. Take some time to let yourself get back to normal. You’ll probably be hearing from the police soon to verify last night’s events and then when you press charges-”

“No!,” Nesta stopped him. “I don’t want to press charges.” She ignored the churning in her stomach she got as more and more vivid memories of the night before began assaulting her senses. The smell of the bar floor. The weight pressed against her arms, pinning her in place.

Stop. Calm down. Breathe. Don’t lose your shit like this in front of Cassian.

Cassian didn’t seem to like her answer. “Those pieces of shit deserve jail time. They need to be arrested and we need to start-”

She stopped him with a hand. “No. I just…I can’t do this right now. Or ever frankly. I’m sure the cops will arrest them for damages to the property or something. Maybe someone saw them and has their own grievances to record. But I want no part in it.” 

She was trying to avoid her name being out and on public record. This wouldn’t be doing her any favors. She had more important things to worry about in the grand scheme of things.

“Nesta I really think-”

“They’ll get away with it,”she interrupted him again. “It’s their word against mine, and that place already has a horrible reputation. My boss has fake cameras set up everywhere to scare people into not robbing us, but they don't actually work. There’s no proof of what happened and honestly Cass, you can’t be a witness to this.. I don’t need cops investigating why wou were there with me, what business you had taking me home to your place right after…it’s just too many unknown factors to account for and I don’t have that kind of energy or time. So let it go. I am.”

Cassian was too still for her liking but eventually he gave a brief, barely there nod. It would have to do.

“I’ll do some readings and then I’ll rest, okay?”

Cassian didn’t seem convinced but he nodded again. Neither of them moved.

“You can stay with me,” she added quietly, staring at the floor.

“Do you want me to?”

Cassian’s eyes were wide as she thought about his question. She did want him to stay, but the repercussions of that if anyone were to find out were too many to name.

Cassian finished doing the top button of his coat, the silence nearly deafening in his wake. Before she could blurt out the truth, the plea that was just on the tip of her tongue, begging him to stay with her, Cassian was already walking away and towards the door.

She followed him silently, not sure if either of them would change their minds and give in to the clear question each of them seemed to be grappling with.

“Call me if you need anything, Nes.” 

Nesta didn’t have a chance to say goodbye before he was pulling her door shut, leaving a gaping hole yawning in her chest in his absence.

~*~

She ended up reading nothing at all. 

Turned out that Netflix was taking The Vampire Diaries off of its service, and Nesta thought it was as good a time as any to start a binge-rewatch for the sixth time. Nothing could cure a girl’s blue like Damon Salvatore and Klaus Mikaelson. Or as Gwyn liked to call them, vamp goth daddies.

Shit, Gwyn. Emerie.

Nesta hit the pause button and dialed the number through muscle memory. 

Emerie picked up on the second ring. She wasn’t even granted a hello.

“You better start talking, and talking fast. I just heard there was some sort of bar fight at your job yesterday. Is that why you never came over last night? Gwyn thought you might be hooking up with Cassian so we didn’t bother you, but then you went the whole morning too with nothing so…”

“Yeah,” Nesta breathed out. “Sorry, it’s just been...it’s been shit Em, honestly. I was-”

Nesta struggled for words. Emerie gave her all of ten seconds before prompting, “Hello? Nesta? Are you there?”

“Yeah, no I’m here, sorry. I’m just a little out of it still I guess.” Maybe it was something in her voice or maybe it was just that sixth sense that Emerie had, that all of them had when it came to each other, but Emerie caught it.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

No she wasn’t okay, not even in the slightest. After that question, Nesta broke down, sobbing hysterically, nonsensically on the phone, probably worrying enough that fifteen minutes later Emerie was banging down her door. Gwyn appeared a few minutes after. And within the hour, Emerie was ready to call the cops and all one hundred pounds of Gwyn was ready to start swinging. 

Nesta backed the two down on their defensive stances, insisting that she would eventually make the police report (she wouldn’t), as soon as she felt better (in never.) It was enough to calm them down but Nesta knew they would follow up on her promises. But that was a worry for another time. Currently, Nesta didn’t have a job nor did she have any of her homework done. So it became an impromptu girl’s night where Nesta again tried to focus on her schoolwork which eventually just ended in her getting wine drunk while Emerie cooked and Gwyn gossiped about her colleagues at her new job.

“Nesta, wake up.”

Nesta’s body struggled against the sudden request and she had half a mind to go back to sleep. But there was urgency in the tone of whoever was talking and that was enough to jolt her up.

“What?”

Emerie was staring at Nesta’s TV, transfixed in horror and Gwyn was staring at her as she took in the news. 

She recognized the bar she’d worked at in the background of the screen, with a reporter standing in front of it, stoically speaking into her microphone. Nesta didn’t listen to what she was saying, her sense of sound having been replaced by a faint drone that drowned out all other noise. Gwyn seemed to be speaking to her but Nesta didn’t hear a word.

Not as she saw the screen change and flash to the faces of the men who’d attacked her the night before.

Dead. 

Bar brawl gone wrong. 

Camera footage missing. 

No witnesses.

Nesta felt ill. A crawling, shuddering sensation sluiced through her as she thought about the coincidence of her refusing to turn the men in and the wrath on Cassian’s face that had barely dulled since he’d saved her the night before.

Too much of a coincidence, so much so, that there was no way it was one at all.

Nesta didn’t listen to Emerie as she spoke in panicked, almost screeching sounds. None of it was making any sense. Her friends didn’t stop her either as she grabbed her keys and purse and bolted out the door. 

The doorman to Cassian’s apartment building, Tom, was reluctant to let her through, even though he usually smiled brightly at her everytime she came with Cassian. But this time she wasn’t with Cassian, and Nesta zoned in and out of the explanation the burly guard gave her on rules about visitors.

When he was finished speaking, she fixed him with her deadpan stare, the one that sent most men scattering in all directions like the rats they usually were. She liked Tom though, but desperate times called for desperate measures and after a brief, silent war between their glares, he let her through.

Cassian didn’t answer the door on the first knock. Nor the second. Perhaps it was the previous night’s events were weighing down on her more than she’d expected, or maybe she was just tired, but Nesta’s temper snapped and instead of waiting for him a little longer, Nesta began pounding incessantly on the door.

She heard a faint snap of Cassian’s voice beyond the door telling her to hold on, but Nesta didn’t stop. She couldn’t summon an ounce of care as she continued banging on his door. Her fist almost hit his face as the door swung open, revealing an extremely displeased Cassian.

“What the fuck do you-. Nesta…”

Nesta glared. “What did you do?”

“What?”

Nesta shook her head, pushing past him into his apartment. Didn’t bother to step further in or remove her shoes. She only whirled on her heel and watched Cassian quickly shut the door, locking it. 

“What did you do to those men?”

Cassian stared at her stoically, barely allowing any hint of emotion to surface, likely to make sure whatever lie he was about to feed her was received well. 

“I don’t know what-”

Nesta put up a hand to stop him. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me. You never did before, don’t start now.”

Because even at the base of their relationship, “situationship” as Gwyn always called it, dishonesty had never been an issue. Nesta knew all about dishonest men, but Cassian had never been one to her. 

Cassian didn’t seem to be too happy with it but he finally nodded. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be safe from them. They won’t be an issue for you.”

Nesta waited for more. 

“Ever.”

Shit.

“No,” she whispered. “No you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”

Cassian took a step towards her and she took one back. His face fell at that but he quickly recovered. “You didn’t want to report them. It was either that or this. So I chose.”

“Oh you chose, is that right? Well thank you Cassian. The grand savior once again. Except I don’t ever remember asking for your help.”

Cassian fixed her with an irate stare. “I could have reported it myself if I wanted to. I was a witness to a crime. But you said you didn’t want-”

Nesta cut him off. “Exactly. It’s what I didn’t want but you went out and found a loophole anyways.”

There was a tense silence between them, so new from how they usually were and yet suddenly becoming more and more common. At this rate they’d likely never speak to each other again.

“I’m sorry,” he finally caved. “But they were a danger to you and other people. If it makes you feel any better I didn’t outright do anything to them.”

Cassian walked past her, and against her screaming senses telling her to walk out immediately, she followed him.

Nesta quirked an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Cassian pulled a bottle of some fancy looking liquor from a shelf where a bunch of bottles were kept, and silently poured two drinks. He handed hers to her still slightly trembling hand while sipping from his own.

“I’m an attorney. I can’t exactly go around beating people up, criminal or not. But-”

“You didn’t beat them up,” she hissed. “They’re dead.”

Cassian waved a hand, dismissing it, so cavalier and cold it left her reeling.  “I didn’t do anything. I may have called in a favor with some old clients. But as for me, I didn’t do anything.” 

Nesta’s voice was ice cold when she spoke next. “What sort of clients?”

Cassian narrowed his eyes at her, probably at the judgment in her tone, and took another sip from his glass. He swallowed and she watched his throat bob at the motion. Felt a flash of heat run through her body at how good he looked, how many emotions that one action could elicit in her.

“You know who I’m talking about Nesta. Don’t act stupid just to call me out. I know what I’m doing.”

“Consorting with criminals seems to imply otherwise.”

Cassian shot her a wolfish grin, causing another pang of longing to shoot through her chest. He set his empty glass down before sauntering over to her. Nesta forced herself to keep her head tilted up, eyes meeting his and adamantly avoided the chiseled outline of his chest straining against his shirt. That and the curl of black ink at his neck. 

No she definitely wasn’t looking at that. 

“Alleged criminals. None of them were found guilty.”

Nesta snorted before knocking her drink back all in one large gulp. She made sure not to grace that parting shot with her own.

No, Nesta was realizing that her earlier and very much so stupid hope of entangling with Cassian again was idiotic and all the trouble not worth her time. Because she didn’t want to think about what that meant. For her, for them. How far Cassian was willing to go for her- no, had gone for her. She couldn’t accept that, couldn’t let it lord over her. She’d kept up with Cassian for so long because of how easy it was with him. All the sex of a great relationship without actually committing to each other. Because Nesta had already done commitment and loyalty and idiotic, blind love. 

Never again would she go down that road.

She set the glass down angrily on his countertop and made her way back out of his apartment. 

“Nesta-”

“No,” she called back. “I’m done. I’m walking away instead of continuing this stupid argument where we talk in circles. I’ll see you in class, Professor.”

She could have sworn she heard Cassian mutter something along the lines of “we’re never done.” but she didn’t look back.

~*~

Suits Taglist: @purpleglitterypinecone

@endlessdaydream

@sleeping-and-books @sirendeepity @mehx1000 @caotica-e-quieta @champanheandluxxury @teagoddess99 @nestaisgod @gwynkyrie @rainbowcheetah512 @fireheart2003 @daisy-in-danger @gwynberdara @karmasworlds @d0riansgray

@pixieelea

@absolution-s   @positivewitch @royaltykxx @moodymelanist @stardelia  @charming-butt-insane @cassiansbigwingspan @a-court-of-milkandhoney  @bookstantrash @duskandstarlight   @vasudharaghavan @sayosdreams @arielle-reads @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @nahthanks @oversizedbats @swankii-art-teacher @inardour @starryblueskies7 @rowaelinismyotp  @vidalinav @nessiantrashh @iwastoowildinthe70s  @lady-winter-sunrise @moonlitchandeliers @vanzetanze @generalnesta

@faeriebambula

[tsarisfanfiction]

You Can Be Whatever You Want To Be

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Teen Genre: Family Characters: Will Solace, Apollo, Nico di Angelo, Kayla Knowles, Austin Lake

After Will overworks himself, he finds himself receiving a difficult task from Apollo.

Okay, I admit it, I adore powerful!Will so I gave him a boost in this fic, but also that’s not really the main point of the fic because really I’m here for Apollo being a good parent (or trying his best to be one), so here we are.  This thing was supposed to be short after it bothered me when I was trying to sleep last night.  It did not end up short and took me all day to write.

Consciousness returned to Will slowly.  It felt like his mind was swimming to the surface through a lake of jelly – sticky and clingy as his senses inched back into focus, one by one.  First was the smell, a fresh, familiar scent that reminded him of clean and safe, followed by taste as the inside of his mouth reported the cloying sensation of not having had anything to drink recently. Touch flickered into existence after that, something cool but thrumming minutely curled around fingers he vaguely remembered having as his body solidified away from a concept and into reality.

He was laying on his back, he realised with the drawn-out inevitability that of course he was, what else would he be doing?  Some of his hair had caught awkwardly beneath his head, tugging just enough to give a tiny pinprick of pressure on his scalp, and he automatically moved his head to free it.

Tried to move his head.  Somewhere in the fog of returning consciousness, the order from his mind got lost and never reached his muscles, and he felt the bridge of his nose wrinkle ever so slightly in vaguely irritated confusion.

Then there were voices. Quiet, hushed voices but voices all the same with words cascading over him like a gentle waterfall.  He didn’t recognise the language… or did he?  The sounds were familiar, but the fog hadn’t lifted enough to turn his internal comprehension on yet.  He thought it was probably English, though.

The voices themselves were recognisable, although it took several seconds more than he suspected it should to start placing them.  Short, staccato, worried, with a little lilt of an accent that was decidedly non-American and something Will would never tire of hearing.  His minds’ eye conjured an impression to accompany it – pale skin, black hair that wasn’t quite straight and kissed shoulders clad in matching black.  Eyes that looked black at a glance, and even upon closer inspection, but that Will knew were actually a gorgeous dark brown that lit up in a tell of excitement.

Names were elusive, but he knew who that was, felt comfortable, content with the owner’s presence, voice originating from the same side as the touch on his hand, and didn’t push further, instead letting his thoughts drift to the next one.

Also sharp, impatience concealing worry, and the higher pitch of a female voice – the only female voice, he realised absently.  Another accent, but not so distinctive, more like a soft burr that was just slightly different from American.  Spitfire ginger hair, his mind supplied, mostly hidden by an overwhelming splash of green but still stubbornly sticking out at the roots.  Eyes a colour that should be a soft blue but defied expectations and glinted sharp enough to cut.  The recurve bow she favoured, the riser the same green as her hair, appeared in the mental image as well, even though Will suspected she didn’t have it with her right then.

Another comfortable presence, and he turned his attention towards the third and final voice. Louder, expressive, words almost tripping over themselves as they fell from lips Will knew were darker than his own, matching the dark skin and intricate black cornrows that readily sprang to mind.  Sharply dressed, and with a saxophone sling looped around his neck – although devoid of an attached instrument – he knew this one as well.

Austin, his thoughts concluded, names no longer slinking around just out of reach but willingly drawing towards him to be identified.  Kayla.  Nico.

There was a degree of inevitability about his situation, even before he tackled the Herculean task of opening his eyes.  Air that tanged with cleanliness, his eldest siblings and boyfriend clustered around his bed, not to one side of his bunk, and the undercurrent of worry travelling beneath their words.

It felt like someone had superglued his lashes together, entangling them until they were a single mass rather than the two segments they should be, but Will was stubborn and wanted to see more than the darkness of his closed eyelids.  Something inside his throat vibrated – vocal cords, he realised a moment later when a wordless sound echoed in his ears and the voices stopped – but he didn’t stop trying.

The cool touch on his fingers tightened – another hand, Nico’s hand – and more nonsense words washed over him, still eluding his capacity to comprehend.  All except one: “Will?”

More touches, something small but firm on his forehead, brushing hair back out of the way before settling there, warm and comforting.  Light fingers on his arm, tapping out a little tune because Austin’s fingers didn’t remember how to be still.

“-king up,” Kayla reported after a moment, the brain fog finally dissipating enough for the words to register.  “You can do it, Will.”  There was faith in her voice, but also hope fidgeting away under the surface, a little sister needing her big brother, and with one last effort, Will’s eyelashes peeled away from each other just enough to let the light shine through.

“There you are.”  She sounded satisfied.  “Hold still.”  Deft fingers ran across his eyelids, swiping away the resistance that still clung to the lashes with a slight tug where it didn’t want to leave.  “Try again.”

He obeyed, pleasantly surprised when they managed to open to half-mast, enough for him to see his surroundings.

Unsurprisingly, the ceiling wasn’t the elegant arches of cabin seven, but the sterile white of the infirmary. He’d figured as much, but it was nice to get confirmation, even if he didn’t recall what could have happened to land him there.  His sister took up a large proportion of his periphery, fire-ginger and Greek fire-green as she leaned across.  Austin’s darker figure was mostly concealed behind her, but Nico demanded the attention on his other side, contrasting dark and pale with a worry line marring his brow.

Good morning, was what Will wanted to say, complete with a reassuring grin and a promise that he was fine, but all that survived the journey out of his mouth was a rasping grunt that could have been the start of Guh-

It felt like all the moisture had vanished from his mouth, leaving a parched desert.  No wonder words failed to survive.

“You’re an idiot, Solace,” his boyfriend told him, mostly fond and soft but with a real sharp edge hiding just beneath the surface.  Anger or worry?  With Nico, the two could sometimes be difficult to tell apart.

Will smiled at him and was rewarded with an eye roll.

“Here.”  Something cold and slippery was pressed against his dry lips and he instinctively let it through.  It exploded with a cascade of meltwater on his tongue and the belated realisation came to him that it was an ice chip.  He glanced away from Nico to see Austin holding a shallow bowl of them. “You sound like you need them,” his brother told him.

He wasn’t exactly wrong. Will gave him an acknowledging smile and accepted the next one when it came, allowing the trickle of water to wash away the barren disuse he could feel.

Kayla perched on the side of the bed, slight enough that it didn’t dip too far, although certainly noticeable regardless, her eyes scrutinising him like he was a particularly awkward target that she was still going to reach.

“Nico’s right,” she told him.  “You’re an idiot.”

Normally, his response would be what makes you say that?  He doubted, however, that his throat was up to a sentence of that calibre and had no desire to repeat his earlier attempt at speech.

“Why?” he rasped instead, the single syllable just about managing to slide intact on the sheen of moisture settling back into his mouth and emerge recognisable.  He assumed it was whatever had landed him in the infirmary, and a quick mental checklist gave him a pretty good idea.

No pain, no pressure from bandages or tugs from healing stitches.  No backwash of ambrosia or nectar in his throat.  No slightly airy feeling of anaesthetic or painkillers.

Just a deep-seated exhaustion permeating through his body.

He didn’t remember why, but he got the strong suspicion he’d overworked himself, although this much backlash was new.  Attempts at shifting his head to ease the pressure on that one bit of hair remained futile with not so much as a twitch to show for it.

“You pushed yourself too far,” Nico confirmed, his boyfriend sounding incredibly irritated about that fact.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days,” Kayla clarified.  “The first day, we weren’t sure you’d make it.”

Oh.  That was definitely new.  Will was no stranger to working to exhaustion – he was the head medic, had been the head medic through two wars and a not insignificant battle last year, it came part and parcel with the role – but he’d never been out of it for more than a day, and never put anyone in fear of his life over it.

He accepted some more ice chips from Austin as he mulled over the revelation.

“Why?” he asked again after a moment, hoping they’d understand what was so bad I needed to use that much energy?  Also, “who?” Are they okay, did I save them?

“Who knows why,” Nico snapped at him.  “I certainly can’t read your mind to see what idiotic thoughts are running through it!” He was worried, Will surmised, and hiding it behind an angry front because that was Nico’s default mask.

“You don’t remember the attack?” Kayla asked him, a little more helpfully.  An attack?

“No,” he croaked after a moment, when telling his head to shake in a non-verbal answer came back with static.  “What?”

“We were playing Capture the Flag,” Austin explained, feeding him another ice chip.  “But something went wrong – Chiron and Mr D. are looking into it, although it’s not happened again since – and it was like all hell broke loose.  I’ve not seen that many monsters since Gaia.”

Will’s stomach sank, his mind immediately flashing back to the last time that many monsters got into camp, using the Labyrinth, and Lee-

“We won,” Nico said bluntly, stating the obvious because if they hadn’t, they’d be dead.

“No-one died,” Kayla added, giving him the actually important information.  “There were some close calls, but…”

“But you happened,” Austin finished.  “Seriously, Will, when were you going to tell us you could do that?”

“That?”  Will was completely lost, and had no idea what his siblings were talking about.  He tried to look around the infirmary to check on the other residents – only three days later, there had to be some – but he still couldn’t turn his head and his view was hemmed by three demigods still surrounding him.

Nico’s grip on his hand tightened until it was almost painful.

“Gracie went down,” he told him, “and you snapped.”

“It was like… this kinda healing aura,” Austin clarified.  “Everything glowed and then everyone’s injuries were sealing up as fast as they came and… yeah.  It was pretty easy to rout all the monsters when injuries didn’t matter any more.”

“What?”  Will could do that?  Where was that during the battle of the Labyrinth, Manhattan, Gaia, Nero’s tower?  How many lives could he have saved if-

“The moment it was over you collapsed like all your strings had been cut and you didn’t stir again until now,” Kayla finished.  “No-one has any injuries still to heal, but you are going to be in that bed for a long time.”

Will huffed in disagreement. Once his body started responding to commands again, he’d be ready for discharge.  That would be a matter of hours, not days or weeks.  Kayla was exaggerating.

“Oh no you don’t,” Nico snapped, suddenly leaning in until Will could see the flecks of lighter brown hiding behind the swathes of dark in his irises.  “You might have finally woken up, but you can’t even move you’re still so drained.”  He was glaring, Will realised.  “Chiron took a look at you.  You drained yourself so dry there was nothing left.  Nothing.  It’s a wonder it didn’t kill you.  You think I was in a bad way after bringing that statue here?”  A finger jabbed at his chest.  “I had far more strength left in me then than you do right now.”

Will was pretty certain his boyfriend was, if not lying, at least heavily exaggerating just the same as Kayla.

“Chiron predicts it’ll take a week before your powers start replenishing, and a month before you’re fit to leave,” his sister informed him.  “And he wants you under observation the whole time.”

Those numbers did track with Nico’s own exhaustion and consequential fading, Will admitted. It had taken the son of Hades about that long to get back to some semblance of normal shape, even though his powers had continued to tax him even past that.

So he wasn’t worse than Nico had been, despite his boyfriend’s words.  But about as bad, apparently.

That was a little disconcerting, he had to admit.

Has Chiron seen this before? he tried to ask, but even though his mouth was once again damp and theoretically capable of words, for some reason his voice still fizzled out on the Chi- and barely managed to return in time to finish -ore.

From the blank looks he got, he hadn’t managed to get his question across.

“Will, you need to rest,” Kayla told him firmly, as though he hadn’t just woken up after a three day coma. “There’s nothing we can do for you-”

“And trust me, we’ve tried,” Austin interjected.

“-so you’ll just have to take it easy and wait for your strength to return over time.”

He didn’t mean to let out a moan of complaint, but it was easier than words and difficult for them to mis-translate.

“You don’t get to complain after being a hypocrite and overusing your powers when that’s exactly what you constantly tell me I can’t do,” Nico retorted, completely unsympathetically.  “You brought this upon yourself.”

His thumb started rubbing across Will’s knuckles, an action at odds with the rest of his attitude.  Of course, Nico understood better than the rest of them how much being stuck on bedrest sucked.  It was nice to get some sympathy through his boyfriend’s actions, even if his words were sharp.

Can I at least sit up? he wanted to ask, not relishing the idea of being flat on his back the whole time.  Besides, moving would hopefully un-trap that taut hair.  “Sit?” he translated that to verbally, unwilling to give his voice a chance to fail on him again.

“Maybe later,” Kayla refused, resting her hand on his forehead again.  He suspected she was using her own vitakinesis, limited though it was compared to his, to gauge his condition.  “When you’re strong enough to stay awake long enough to be worth it.”

Will knew better to think she was wrong; even though he didn’t feel like he was about to fall asleep again, he’d been on the other side long enough to know that children of Apollo had a pretty good knack for knowing things like that.

Of course, being stuck laying down with minimal stimulation didn’t help keep patients awake, either, especially when their biggest issue was exhaustion – something he’d seen countless times in Nico – so it was a bit of a sneaky manipulation, too.  Will couldn’t say he was the biggest fan of being on the receiving end.

Sure enough, it wasn’t that long before he felt the tugging of sleep niggling at him, the brief burst of wakefulness he’d enjoyed fading away as his mind determined it had all the facts it needed right then and that any further information could wait for later. None of his companions seemed at all surprised as his eyes started to drift close against his will.

Nico didn’t stop stroking his knuckles with his thumb, and as he lost the battle to stay awake again, that soft touch was the last thing he registered.

****

His eyes opened to an empty infirmary.  No Nico, no Kayla and Austin.  His hand felt cold where his boyfriend had been holding it.  Sunlight streamed in, assaulting his eyes, and he squinted. That hair was still trapped and tugging at his scalp, and he once again tried in vain to shift it.

The first clue he had that it wasn’t reality, barring the complete lack of his companions, was the view. While he was in the infirmary bed, with infirmary curtains bunched over to one side, the rest of the infirmary had vanished, leaving him with an unobstructed view of the sky above, and the sun doing its best to blind him.

The second clue was the young man that appeared next to him, although young man was a little off the mark.  He looked like one, a few years older than Will and just past the cusp of adulthood, but he wasn’t one.  Blond hair fell easily to the top of bronzed shoulders, perfectly styled to look like it hadn’t been touched at all and just fell that way – then again, it probably did – and golden eyes with far too much depth to ever belong to a mortal regarded him with a soft smile.

“Hey there, Will,” Apollo grinned.  He was wearing simple clothes, a plain white tank top that emphasised his perfect godly body untucked over jeans that looked like they were made specifically for the legs they covered.  Of course they did.

Over the year since Python’s defeat, Will had noticed Apollo’s appearance shift around.  To start with it had been Lester’s face, every time, but while Will understood why he liked that appearance – and he knew Meg preferred it – it had never quite felt the same.  Lester was almost a peer, another teenager in trouble who had an impossible quest.  Lester wasn’t his Dad, or at least didn’t feel like it in all the ways that secretly Will wanted.

His Dad was far too perceptive not to notice that.  Now, Lester made an appearance when Apollo wanted to be on their level, a friend not a father, while this appearance, all golden and laid-back and Apollo the way Will remembered him before everything went topsy-turvy, was the one he used when he wanted to be their father.

It was Will’s favourite.

“Hey, Dad.”  Another point towards the lack of reality – Will’s voice was stronger, unaffected by the weakness of his body, which, unfair, he apparently hadn’t left behind in the waking world.  He tried to sit up, but his muscles didn’t even twitch.

“How are you feeling?” Apollo crossed the distance between them until he was by the bed, snapping a chair – all gaudy and gold, because of course it was – into existence and lounging on it rather like an overgrown cat.

“Fine,” Will said reflexively.  It wasn’t really a lie; he didn’t hurt, didn’t ache, had no problems at all except for a body that wouldn’t listen to instructions.

“That’s good.”  Apollo didn’t seem bothered by the knee-jerk answer, a bright smile crossing his face that most people would have considered blinding.  If Will wasn’t his son, then he would have been one of them.  “It’s good to see you back in the realms of consciousness again. I’ve been trying to reach you for a while but you were too far under.”

Will blinked.  “You were trying to-?”

“Of course I was!” Apollo leaned forwards, somehow making the transition from lounging back to resting his weight on the side of Will’s bed via his elbows look seamlessly smooth.  “I felt it the moment you sent out that aura – very impressive, by the way, not many of my kids can do that.  You’re the first in quite a while, you know.  But you over-extended it.  Quite badly, actually.”  One warm hand, unnaturally so if it wasn’t Apollo’s, tousled Will’s hair and finally, finally dislodged that complaining hair.  “I gave you a bit of a boost so you didn’t kill yourself, but it was pretty touch and go for a while there.  Kayla mentioned that, right?”

He found his mouth opening and closing for a few seconds before his brain managed to compose the words to go with the action.  “She said they weren’t sure I’d make it for a while.”

Apollo winced slightly. “Yeah, well, she’s not wrong. Nico was practically beating Thanatos away.”  He tapped Will on the nose.  “Try not to scare us like that again, Will.”

“I’ll try,” he promised, although now he had this new ability, there was no way he could look people in the eye if he didn’t use it.  Apollo’s hummed response sounded unconvinced, and he quickly changed the subject.  “Can I sit up?  It feels pretty unfair that I don’t even get to move around in a dream.”

Apollo chuckled lightly. “It is a little, isn’t it?” he agreed. “But that should tell you just how much of yourself you drained away, if it’s even affecting you here.”

It painted a picture Will wasn’t too sure he liked, sure.  “Dad.”  He wanted to sit up, please.

“Okay, okay.”  His father chuckled again.  “No harm in a dream with me around,” he grinned, “but don’t expect the same when you’re awake.  Nico and your siblings are quite worried, and, I suspect, looking to get a little own back on the smothering you’ve dished out to them.”

“I don’t smother,” Will protested, but it sounded a little thin even to his own ears.  “I just-”

“Care,” Apollo finished for him, pulling himself to his feet and looking at him with a soft look Will couldn’t quite identify.  “I know, and they do, too.  Trust me, that doesn’t stop the payback.  In fact-” he broke off as he slipped his arms underneath Will, carefully guiding his ragdoll body into a vague upright position and holding him there with one arm while the other hand did something out of Will’s eyeline.  It sounded suspiciously like plumping pillows “-it just makes them want to help you more.”

Will found himself guided until his back sank into a fortress of pillows that hadn’t been there a moment earlier, propping him up in a recline.  It wasn’t quite sitting up, but it was comfortable and changed his line of sight.  Now he could see that the walls of the infirmary had also been excluded from the dreamscape, letting him look directly at the majority of the camp.  Figures scurried around in the distance, too far away to be identified but all clearly healthy and full of life.

The bed dipped and an arm wormed its way between his shoulders and the pillows, pulling him flush against a warm body.

“I really healed all of them?” he asked quietly, watching the distant figures.  “Just like that?”

“Well, I’d say there was no just in there,” Apollo corrected gently, “but yes, you did.”

“Why couldn’t I do it earlier?”  Faces flashed through his mind, too many dead, too many battles.  “I could have-”

“Will.”  Apollo’s voice cut through his thoughts firmly.  “You had to learn to walk before you could run. You know that.”  A hand squeezed his shoulder firmly.  “And no matter how powerful and skilled the healer, it’s impossible to save everyone.  This doesn’t change that.”  There was thinly-laced sorrow in his father’s voice, a gentle reminder that even Apollo had lost people.  Lots of people.  More people than Will and his mortal life span would ever be able to comprehend.

“I know.” Intellectually, at least. Emotionally it was far harder to believe, to accept.  “I know, Dad, but… I’m a healer.  I have to try.”

“Mmhmm.”  It wasn’t quite an agreeing noise.  “Will, I want you to do something for me, while you recover.”

“The way I’ve been told, I’m not going to be able to do anything,” Will pointed out, a little confused. Apollo chuckled again, but it didn’t sound like his heart was in it.

“True, true,” he agreed, “physically, at least.”  Will found himself being held a little tighter, the warmth extending to the top of his head as pressure suggested Apollo was resting his cheek there.  “I want you to think.”

“About..?”

“What you want.”

If Will could move, he’d have sat up straight to look at his Dad in utter confusion.  As it was, he had to settle for a confused noise.  “I don’t follow.”

Apollo sighed again, warm breath making the hair on the top of his head ripple and dance.  “What do you want, Will?  Do you want to be a healer?  Or are you just trying to convince yourself that you do because it’s the main thing you inherited from me and you think that if you don’t use that gift, you’re betraying everyone?”

Will’s mind went blank. What was his Dad saying?

“If I’m not supposed to be a healer… why is that my best skill?” he asked slowly, voice shaking.  “Don’t you want me to heal?”

Apollo started to pull away and he couldn’t stop the swell of panic rising in his chest, eyes stinging with sudden tears.

“Will.”  Warm hands shifted him around until suddenly he was face to face with Apollo, staring into golden eyes that held an expression far beyond his capability to translate.  “I want you to be happy.  I want you to do what you want, not get stuck in the rut of obligations and lying to yourself.  You might have inherited healing, you might be one of the strongest healers I’ve fathered in centuries, but that doesn’t mean you have to use it if you don’t want to.”

Gentle thumbs wiped below his eyes, sweeping away moisture that had trickled from his eyes.  “You are more than your abilities, Will. You’re a person, with your own thoughts and dreams and desires, and there is no rule in the universe that says you have to do what you’re born good at.”

He wondered if the look in Apollo’s eyes was sadness.

“But-”  This was a god-inherited skill.  The only one he had.  If he didn’t use it-

“Will.”  Apollo’s hands grasped his shoulders, supporting and grounding him.  “I love you, I am proud of you, and that will not change if you don’t use your abilities.  The other gods wish they had a son as awesome as you, and I’m not talking about anything you inherited from me when I say that.”

Will found himself pulled into a hug, warm arms around him and lips pressing against the top of his head.

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, Will,” Apollo said into his hair.  “So, please, think about what you want to do with it.  Be selfish.  And remember that whatever you decide, I will always be proud of you.”

“Even if I want to be a drunk who does nothing and wastes away in the corner?”

“Even then,” Apollo chuckled.  “Although I might have to fight Dionysus when he decides that makes you his domain.”

Despite himself, that got a small laugh out of Will, too.  He was confused, he couldn’t quite work out what Apollo was trying to tell him – well, he could, but it sounded so far off the mark from anything he expected that it just seemed ridiculous – and he was already tired of not being able to move under his own steam and it sounded like it was something he was going to have to deal with for ages, but his Dad was here, with him, and making humorous comments, if not flat-out jokes, and it wasn’t so bad.

That didn’t mean he didn’t still need a bit more reassurance.  “Chiron said it’ll take a week before my power starts coming back,” he mumbled into Apollo’s shoulder.  “Is he right?”  If anyone would have a more accurate timescale, it’d be his father, right?

Apollo hummed, and the air around them warmed slightly.  “He’s not wrong,” he admitted, and Will sighed.  “You’re so empty you don’t even have any fumes left to run on right now,” the god continued.  “Over-exertion looks different on you compared to Nico, because you’re not literally fading into shadows; in his case it was that he was struggling to fully separate himself from the shadows he’d immersed himself in.  You,” Will got a tap on the shoulder, “emptied yourself outwards.  But it’s the same basic principle: it takes time to recover, and trying to use those powers before you’re ready will set your recovery back dramatically.  So don’t do that, okay?”

It was weird being on the other foot and hearing more or less the same lecture he’d given Nico several times – although Apollo was wording it differently.

“But what if someone needs healing?”

Apollo’s sigh sounded disappointed, and Will cringed a little.  “Will, what have I asked you to think about?”

“It’s not that easy, Dad!”  He was stuck snapping at the strap of Apollo’s pure white tank top, unable to pull away even though he wanted to and it was infuriating.  A year ago, or more, he might have worried about his attitude, how Apollo would take it, and even now there was a small part of him that feared Apollo would get angry at the disrespect, but for the most part he was just confused and frustrated.  “I can’t-”

“I know,” Apollo soothed. “I know it’s not easy, Will. Trust me, I know.”  There was pain in his voice, barely there but enough to drive the point home even if Will didn’t remember how much hell his father went through as Lester.  “But you need to.  For you.  I don’t expect you to make your mind up tonight.  I don’t expect you to reach any decision for weeks, maybe months.  But please, think about it.”  A hand ran through his hair softly before Apollo pulled back and Will found himself being guided back into his pillow palace recline. This time, his father didn’t come to sit next to him, but instead stayed perched on the edge of his bed like a cat who knew exactly how far it could tip before it fell.  “I know it sounds bad, but this is the best opportunity you’ll have.”

“Because I literally can’t move?”

Apollo inclined his head in agreement.  “More or less,” he confirmed.  “Because you’re in the infirmary but you can’t help out.  That will be frustrating, I know, but look at that frustration and ask yourself why you’re frustrated.”  He gave a small, reassuring smile.  “You’ll see what I mean in time.”

Will couldn’t say he liked the sound of that at all.  “And there’s no way to speed up my recovery?” he asked, his voice sounding somewhere between pleading and wheedling even to his own ears.

He decided to interpret Apollo’s next smile as apologetic; it didn’t feel too far off the mark.  “Some things shouldn’t be rushed, Will,” his father chided gently.  “This is one of them.  Your body needs time to adapt to what it’s done, and the consequences.”  He reached out and ruffled Will’s hair again.  “It’s important to let it heal at its own rate.”

Apollo was right, because of course he was, but that didn’t make Will feel any better about it.

“Anyway,” his father said, pulling his hand back with a sigh.  “I’ve interrupted your sleep long enough.  You’ll need some proper sleep now.”  He stood up and Will felt disappointment flood him as the bed re-settled beneath him. He knew Apollo could never stay for long, even in dreams, but even though he knew it was selfish and that most demigods didn’t even get that much, he wished he could spend more time with his Dad. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” Apollo promised.  “Remember to think.”

He was gone between one moment and the next, leaving Will alone with his pillow palace and the long, expansive view down to the bulk of the camp, and the welling confusion and, if he was honest, apprehension about what Apollo wanted him to do.

Don’t forget I’ll be proud of you no matter what, his father’s voice drifted past, either a memory or the last traces of his presence, Will couldn’t tell.

Then everything fell away into darkness.

****

Recovery was tedious.

Will had woken up – properly, not just into a dream – to find himself back laying down on the bed, that hair once again snagged and tugging irritatingly, with Nico steadfastly at his bedside.  The freedom of being able to talk that he’d enjoyed in the dream had fled again, leaving him with single-word sentences – double word if he was lucky – and a lot of being fussed over.

Apollo was right; Nico and his siblings were definitely treating it as revenge for all the times he fussed over them.  He was waited on hand and foot, found himself on the other side of required privacy invasions like being bathed and other bathroom activities, and even spoon fed when it came to meals.

The fact that he literally couldn’t do any of that himself didn’t completely ease the sting of being on the receiving end of the caretaking, and the only good thing about mealtimes was that he couldn’t eat laying down so they had to help him sit up, giving him a different view for a while.  Unfortunately, they couldn’t conjure up multiple pillows in the process, so he didn’t get the pillow palace from his dream, but it was still something. Physical therapy and a helping dose of vitakinesis from his siblings kept his muscles from atrophying through lack of use, but it was always a stark reminder that Will was bedbound and helpless.

But the worst thing of all was, as Apollo had also predicted, the frustration.  The infirmary was always full of foot traffic, from sparring accidents to someone falling off the climbing wall, to not-so-accidental fights (the Ares and Hermes cabins seemed to have entered some sort of war, whereby Hermes pranked Ares, and Ares retaliated with violence), and Will had to lay there and hear – or watch, if he’d managed to persuade someone to help him into a recline for a few hours and could actually see beyond his patch of ceiling – as his siblings triaged and treated and healed, all without being able to help at all.

He couldn’t even cut bandages or fill out paperwork, for gods’ sake!  Some head of the infirmary he was, the camp’s best healer stuck in a bed watching patients spill in and out and knowing that he could heal Cecil’s broken nose twice as fast as Austin, or Sherman’s sprained wrist without even needing the ambrosia Kayla had been forced to deploy.

It wasn’t that his siblings weren’t good at what they did – they knew what they were doing, and at some point in a few years, Will would leave camp for the adult world and they’d have to step up anyway – it was that he couldn’t help.

Frustration, really, was too mild a descriptor for what he was feeling, and more often than not he let himself wallow in it, ignoring Apollo’s request for him to actually analyse it.  Some days, he could quietly admit to himself that he was scared of what he might find, if he did.  The idea that he didn’t actually love what he was doing, that he was doing it purely out of obligation, scared him.

Because if that was true, he didn’t know himself at all.  He didn’t know what he wanted, what he liked, he was just a useful tool that would keep being used until he broke.

He probably should have shared his worries with someone.  Nico, perhaps, his ever-present shadow.  The son of Hades barely left his bedside, and Will knew Nico could tell something was bothering him, but he couldn’t bring himself to try and tell him what Apollo had said, even after he gained the strength to string complete sentences together again.  He hadn’t mentioned Apollo’s dream visit at all, actually, but that didn’t stop it from running circles around and around in his head.

Think, the echo of Apollo’s voice requested.  What do you want?

Will didn’t know what he wanted, and he didn’t know how to find out what he wanted.

He didn’t know how to face what he wanted, and the looming fear that he didn’t want to be what everyone else wanted him to be.

I want you to be happy.

Would Apollo really not be disappointed if he didn’t want to heal?  He’d called Will one of his best in centuries, surely he wouldn’t really be pleased if Will turned his back on that?

He tried harder than he should have done to not think about it, despite the guilt that bubbled up because it was something his Dad had asked him to do – not ordered, no godly imperative, just a request from a father who Will knew was worried if he was honest with himself, the same way he knew Nico and Kayla and Austin and the rest of the siblings who constantly checked up on him were.

Not that Will could really blame any of them, not when he’d apparently come close to being killed by his own power.  A power that he’d spent far more time thinking about than what he wanted, because it was easier.  Safer. People would gladly tell him what had happened, how it had looked, how it had felt.  His own memories never quite trickled back, but with most of the camp willing to tell him about it – even if it was just to say it was awesome, and dude, I didn’t know you could do that! – he managed to get a reasonably well-rounded picture.  He discussed it with Chiron, although even the centaur said it was rare and didn’t have much to tell him that he couldn’t already work out or had heard from the other campers.

He even sent prayers to Apollo, asking for help understanding it, for clarity and how to control it, but those prayers were always met with silence.  Not the silence of being ignored, but more of a conscious silence, a gentle nudge that said that’s not what you’re supposed to be thinking about, Will.

Will knew that, he just didn’t want to.  It was easier to ignore that little voice echoing Apollo’s words at him and turn his attention to how he could get better, how he could save more people.  How he could be the best healer the campers deserved.

Nico tried to get him to relax.  His boyfriend liked interrupting conversations about Will’s new ability, sending away the other party with a honed glare before reminding him that he was supposed to be resting and bringing him games and books – not medical ones, but fiction – to keep him occupied.  It reached the point where Will started to wonder if Apollo had said something to Nico, or if it was just his boyfriend’s own feelings about Will’s overuse of his ability coming to the fore.

So he chatted with the campers and Chiron about his ability, prayed to his father, went along with Nico’s interventions, and tried to put the insistent question to the back of his mind where he didn’t have to face it.  Gritted his teeth when injured campers came in and he couldn’t help – even once he could move his arms, they still wouldn’t let him near the bandages, or anything else he could feasibly do from the bed – and tried not to analyse why he did it.

But the question wouldn’t go away.  Not entirely, and Will reluctantly found himself considering it every so often, like an intrusive thought that simply appeared out of nowhere and he started following along with before realising what was going on.

And he didn’t like where the thoughts kept going.

He wanted to help.  He wanted to be useful.  It was something he could do, something all the other campers looked to him for with hope and expectations.  It gave him a purpose at camp, a role to fill that no-one else had a better claim to, and every time those thoughts crossed his mind he shoved them away violently because no.  He didn’t want that.  He didn’t want that to be true.

He didn’t want it to be true that he was doing it out of obligation, and not because he loved it. He didn’t want to face that maybe, just maybe, if he had the choice he wouldn’t do it – or the fact that he did have a choice, that he could walk away from the infirmary and never heal anyone again, and that he was allowed to do that.

Because if he did, he’d be disappointing people.  He’d be upsetting them.  He might, even, be the reason someone died, and that was something he didn’t think he could bear the weight of on his conscience.  But if he kept going, and he didn’t really love it, wouldn’t he start resenting it? Resenting his role, resenting the people he was supposed to be healing, resenting life and Apollo for cramming him into this niche in the first place, and he’d seen first hand what resentment of the gods turned into.

Ignorance is bliss, or so they say, and Will wanted to scream and curse and rage at Apollo for stripping away that ignorance and making him see that he had a choice. Not even any old choice, but an impossible one.

He stopped praying to Apollo.  Stopped asking him for help with the new ability, stopped discussing it with Chiron and the other campers, even stopped trying to get involved when new injuries appeared in the infirmary.

And it hurt. It tore him in two when Chiara came in with a gash in her shoulder that almost cost her the use of her arm and it took all of his siblings and almost a deadly amount of ambrosia to save it when he could’ve done it so much faster.  When Miranda came in with a hobbled knee and had to stay overnight in the bed next to him, whispering that it hurt when she thought he was asleep. When Lacy snapped a heel and the resulting fall broke her arm.  When camper after camper came in, the same way they always did, in pain, and he couldn’t – didn’t – do anything.

And he still didn’t know why it hurt, if it was simply guilt he needed to let go of because healing was just a box he’d crammed into when it wasn’t actually the right fit at all or something deeper.

Not until the new camper arrived.

It had been a while since the last disastrous arrival.  Really, that just made it time for one, so Will shouldn’t have been surprised when the girl was rushed in on Chiron’s back, drenched in blood he could sense was as much her own as her satyr protector’s – a satyr who came in right behind, barely any better.  Her injuries were serious, Nico notably tensing and staying as far back as possible without leaving Will’s side, which told him his boyfriend could sense an aura of death.

Every part of Will screamed to go and help, because she was in pain and scared and dying and it hurt so, so much to see.  He couldn’t, of course; Nico wouldn’t let him try to get up, and even if he wasn’t there, Will still hadn’t recovered enough to be able to leave his bed unaided. That didn’t change the fact that he needed to, so badly that he found tears running down his face – tears Nico wiped away gently, folding him into a comforting embrace before forcibly turning Will so that he couldn’t see what was happening.

But he could still hear. He could hear his siblings running around, frantically exchanging commands to each other, could hear Chiron’s clip-clip-clop as he joined the efforts to save the girl.  Could hear the crying, a scared little girl who hurt so so badly and Will needed to be there for her but he couldn’t.

He sobbed into Nico’s shoulder, his boyfriend holding him close, and listened to his siblings work.

They saved her.  It was a close run thing, according to Nico, and an exhausted-looking Kayla when she came over to check on him and Will demanded the information with tear-stained cheeks, but she was out of danger and settled in for the long recovery process.

Maybe it was because of his reactions, but she ended up in the bed next to him, mostly obscured by a dividing curtain for both of their privacy but not so hidden that he didn’t get a glimpse of her face.

He didn’t know her. It wasn’t a heartfelt reunion with someone from his past he’d never expected to see again or anything like that, but she was familiar in the way that some of her features kinda resembled someone he’d known as a kid.

He’d almost forgotten that girl, back in the recesses of his memory, back when he still lived with his Mom in Austin, before he even knew he was a demigod.  She’d been in his school, but not his class and he’d barely known her. He didn’t remember her name, now, but the memory surged back up of the day she’d been bitten by a dog.

Compared to what he’d seen since, with monsters and hellhounds and everything else that hunted demigods, the injury hadn’t been that bad at all, but for a bunch of kids not yet in the double digits, the sight of blood had been horrifying.  There had been tears, screaming, and panic – from the adults as well as the kids – but Will hadn’t done any of that.

Okay, he had cried, probably, but he didn’t remember that.  He remembered seeing the girl in pain, and decided that he wanted to do something about it.  It wasn’t the first time he’d played doctor – his Mom had always joked that he never went anywhere without band-aids – but it was the first time he’d done it for real.

Not because he was a son of Apollo.  Not because anyone expected him to.  The adults had tried to stop him, he vaguely remembered, telling him he was in the way and to let the adults handle it.

Will blinked at the new camper, name and parentage not yet known, and for the first time since Apollo had asked him the question, something inside him settled.

Dad, he thought, not resisting as Nico fussed over him and coaxed him back to bed, I think I have an answer.

****

He wasn’t surprised when his eyes opened to see the half-infirmary setup again, his bed alone on the hill with an unobstructed view to the centre of the camp, all the distant figures scurrying around once more.  He was even less surprised to see the familiar golden figure lounging on a blinding chair next to his bed, regarding him with eyes like molten gold.

Apollo was smiling at him.

“Hey, Will.”

“Hey, Dad,” he replied, pushing himself to sit upright again and wondering if it was worth trying to get his legs to obey him in the dream.  Probably not.  At least he could at least sit up now.

“You’ve identified what you want?”  His Dad didn’t bother beating around the bush, and part of Will wondered if he didn’t have much time before he had to go.  That usually seemed to be the case, no matter how much neither of them liked it.  Apollo’s eyes bored into him, waiting for his answer.

“Yeah,” he admitted, leaning forwards and resting his wrists on his knees before meeting his Dad’s eyes. “I want to heal, Dad. Seeing people in pain… I hate it. I want to help them.  Being in the infirmary, seeing everyone hurting and not being able to help… that hurt me.”

Apollo beamed at him. “You’re kind, Will.”

Will shrugged, a little self-conscious.  “I just don’t like seeing people hurt.”  He frowned. “Did you know what I was going to realise?”

His father shrugged.  “I didn’t do you the disservice of looking.”

That was surprisingly reassuring, but it didn’t quite distract Will from the idea that Apollo wasn’t surprised at all.  “But you knew.”

Apollo made a see-saw motion with one hand.  “I like to think I know you well enough – I have watched over you since you were born, you know – but it’s true I haven’t been around as much as I’d like.  I didn’t know for sure.”  He put his hand down and sat upright, suddenly looking less carefree and more intense.  “But it didn’t matter what I might have suspected.  What mattered is what you thought.  It’s your life, Will, not mine.”

His hand reached out and rested on Will’s shoulder.  It was as warm as ever, and he leaned into the touch.

“I know you found it hard to think about,” he continued, “but you did it, and I’m proud of you.”

“Why did I have to do it?” Will asked.  “It doesn’t make a difference, does it?”

“Is that what you think?” Apollo replied.  The way he said it reminded Will of how Chiron always coaxed them into finding their own answers by thinking for themselves, rather than having the information spelt out for them.

Then he remembered who raised and taught Chiron.

Will wasn’t quite sure what his father was trying to get him to see, though.  “If I’m already a healer, and healing is something I love, then did I need to do that soul-searching?”

Apollo regarded him seriously.  “Ignorance isn’t always bliss, Will.”

Will frowned.  “I’m not getting it, Dad,” he admitted.

“You needed to know, for you.”  Apollo tapped him on the chest.  “Why did it take you so long to find the answer if you were already in the role you loved?”

“Because you made me doubt it!”

He got a raised eyebrow in response.  “And why did you doubt it?”

This was not the sort of conversation Will had been hoping for.  “Because…” he trailed off, remembering the new camper and the girl in his memories, and the fact he’d forgotten that, so many years ago, before demigods and gods and wars and-  “Because I never got a choice,” he realised, eyes widening as he looked away from his Dad, and focused his attention to where so many figures were scurrying around. “When I came here, and you claimed me, and it was obvious that healing was my strongest power, my training started. Then there were the wars, and we lost…” His voice hitched, and Apollo rubbed his shoulder gently.  Will risked a glance at his Dad and saw that the god’s eyes were sad, too.

“Lee,” Apollo said, his voice a little unsteady in a way that was depressingly comforting.  “Then Michael, and you were left in charge.”

Will nodded.  “Everyone expected me to do it, and we were recovering from war and all hands had to be on deck and there wasn’t even an option, anyone who could even cut bandages got dragged into infirmary shifts and… I forgot.”  He swallowed. “Those wars made me lose sight of why I loved it.”

He didn’t resist when his Dad pulled him into a hug.

“I’m proud of you,” Apollo told him, murmuring the words into his hair.  “Prouder than you can imagine.  And you’ll be a great healer, Will.  Not that you’re not already, but so much of your training has been necessity other people threw you into.  Now that you’ve made your choice…”  He pulled back a little, just enough for Will to see the fond smile lighting up his Dad’s face.  “You’re going to be amazing.”

From the god of healing, that was high praise indeed, and Will swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Thanks, Dad,” he rasped, even as Apollo yanked him back into another tight hug.  “I know you can’t teach me directly, but… this new thing I did. Will you tell me about it now?  I think Nico might bring me back to kill me again if I kill myself using it.”

Apollo chuckled.  “And I’d help him,” he said.  “First rule of being a healer, Will; you can’t heal anyone if you’re dead.  Learn your limits, and stick to them.”

“But war-”

“War is a different beast entirely,” Apollo admitted, “but the rule still stands.  I’d say you’ve had enough wars in your lifetime, but sadly even I can’t guarantee it.  So: triage, do what you can, take rests when you need them.  You’ll save more lives that way.  Exhausted healers are more likely to miss things.”

Will grimaced.  “I know.  But it’s hard.”

“Being a healer is hard,” Apollo agreed.  “But you’ve done fantastically so far, and you’ll keep being fantastic for as long as you do it.”  The conviction in his voice made Will want to cry.  “But I’m getting off track.  You asked about your new ability.”

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Will wished he could have more conversations with his Dad.  It was selfish, he knew – other demigods would kill for as much attention as Apollo was giving him already – but as he listened to his father explaining things, throwing in odd comments and jokes to make sure he was listening even though the subject matter was serious, he ached for more time like that. Proper time, not stolen snatches of conversations in dreams.

But still, even this was something, something good, and when he woke the next morning it was with the conviction that he was going to be a healer because that was what he wanted, not what the camp needed.  Maybe it would be a while before he could actively heal again – his father had been very firm that, choice made or not, he wasn’t to use his powers until he was fully recovered, and trust me, Will, I’ll know if you do – but there were odd jobs he could do even from his infirmary bed, and neither Nico nor his siblings were going to stop him.

They tried, the first time he demanded bandages to cut, but he fixed them with his Head Healer look and after pointing out all the reasons why they should let him – and he could come up with a lot – Kayla caved and brought the bandages over to his bed.

“You’re looking better,” Nico told him in clear relief once she’d gone.  Will hummed curiously as his fingers automatically fell into the familiar routine.  “When you stopped trying to help out… That wasn’t you.”

Will paused in his measuring.  “I had some things to work out,” he admitted.  “But I’m sure, now.  This is where I want to be.  I’ll try and be better about not overworking myself,” he added, giving his boyfriend a small smile, “but you know what I’m like.”

Nico rolled his eyes. “I do,” he agreed.  “Which is why I’m taking those away in an hour, so keep cutting while I let you.”

Will pouted at him.  “Two hours.”

“One and a quarter.”

“One and three quarters.”

“One and a half.”

“One and a half.”

They looked at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

Will still wasn’t fully recovered.  He still couldn’t get out of bed unaided or walk around.  But he knew who he was, and who he wanted to be.  What he wanted to do.  Healing was hard, no doubt about it – the mental strain was even worse than the physical, although in his current situation he thought Nico and his siblings might disagree – but helping people, stopping their pain?  That was what Will wanted to do, and he refused to lose sight of that again.

And as soon as he was cleared to use his powers, he had a new ability to train – complete with explanations and tips from his Dad to make sure it didn’t almost kill him this time. He much preferred being a healer to being a patient.

[luvvewan]

promptsssssss!!!

13: “Just listen to the sound of my voice.” 🥺🙏❤️

Thank you for the prompt, @sanerontheinside ! I went full Obi-whump, so I hope you like it.

—

The healer crouched at the edge of the bunk and took Obi-Wan’s bare feet in his hands.

Obi-Wan cried out, trying to pull away from the touch, twisting in the blankets.

“Caht, nah.” The elderly man, Hagit, said softly. He glanced up at Qui-Gon. “Numo.”

Qui-Gon had garnered only a handful of words in the native tongue, but he didn’t need to know what the healer said; he could see it in his eyes. Pity. For Obi-Wan, yes. But also for him? Fear lodged in his throat.

“Evvi, eh. Uh…here. Boy…numo.” Hagit motioned to Obi-Wan’s foot.

“Keep him still, Master Jedi, please.” Evvi, their young interpreter and Hagit’s grand-niece, translated. “He sees the spine in the left heel.”

Qui-Gon suppressed a shudder and turned away, leaning over his insensate student. Obi-Wan’s face was covered in sweat, eyes half-lidded, lips cracked and quivering. His Learner’s braid had plastered itself to Obi-Wan’s pale neck and chest. Qui-Gon smoothed it carefully between his fingers. “You are doing very well, Padawan. Just stay still. I know it’s difficult but you must not move,” he used a gentle voice better suited for younglings, despite the fact Obi-Wan was twenty three years old and a newly senior apprentice.

He watched Obi-Wan try to look at him, but another wave of pain erupted through their connection in the Force, and his eyes rolled back. Qui-Gon absorbed what he could, wanting to take it all, though even the echoes of Obi-Wan’s agony were enough to make him briefly light-headed.

He noticed Hagit was speaking again, a distant noise. Evvi said something back to him, then Qui-Gon heard several small, hesitant steps. A hand touched his arm.

“I’m sorry, Master Jedi. Removal is very painful and delicate. He does not want the spine to break apart while still in the foot. It will release more poison.” Evvi explained. “Can you hold him down?”

Obi-Wan was more powerful than his small frame would suggest. The pain and delirium made him combative, and when Qui-Gon gripped his arms he thrashed and snarled. He had never seen Obi-Wan, obedient and self-possessed Obi-Wan, untethered this way. Fingernails raked down his forearm, tore at his robe sleeves.

Sedation was not possible. The medical supplies were limited anyway. They were lucky to have Hagit, who was old enough to remember when the stone-fish were plentiful, before a plague wiped them out. Now it was exceedingly rare to catch a stone-fish on the shore, due to both its near-extinction and impressive camouflage. Obi-Wan had accompanied some of the village’s children to the water, or really they had accompanied him, starry-eyed at the presence of an offworlder, a Jedi. He had been stepping along a path of craggy rocks leading to the ocean when his foot landed on a stone-fish, its spiny, algae-crusted body hidden amongst the rocks and sand.

The pain had been immediate. The children had run, screaming, for help. By the time Qui-Gon found him, Obi-Wan was screaming too.

Other villagers had come. Among them was Hagit, helped along by Evvi at his elbow, his grey eyes milky and grave. Obi-Wan was administered a general anti-venom there on the beach, already overwhelmed by the agony that radiated from his foot through his entire body.

Evvi had told Qui-Gon the poison was brutal and quick. It was not always fatal, but it triggered something nearly as cruel: most victims were gripped by an unbearable sense of dread, demanding to be killed before the poison could fully take them.

From his admittedly foggy calculations, it had been close to an hour since Obi-Wan was attacked. Qui-Gon’s stomach lurched. He did not look behind him, where he knew Hagit was hovering at the wound site, arthritic hands shaking, preparing to perform a task of great precision.

“Still, Master Jedi. He must be still.”

He brought the Force to bear down on his Padawan while using his own brute strength to pin Obi-Wan’s wrists back onto the bunk. Obi-Wan whimpered and moaned, whipping his head to the side. Tears streamed freely down his face, snot and sweat dripping from his nose.

“Help!” He kicked his legs, trying to free himself from the healer’s grasp.

Hagit made a sharp noise under his breath, likely a swear.

“Obi-Wan, listen to me! We’re trying to help you!” He barked hoarsely, wiping sweat from his own brow before straddling his Padawan and laying over top of him, using his weight to hold him down. Their heads were pressed together and Obi-Wan wept and keened in his ear.

Qui-Gon’s heart found new ways to break. The Force was overrun with panic and hopelessness. Obi-Wan twitched and fought under him, desperate to get freed. Qui-Gon tried to use a sleep suggestion but his Padawan’s aura was clouded, elusive.

And time was draining away. He imagined the spine lodged in Obi-Wan’s tender heel, the poison seeping into his blood and causing more damage. “Just…breathe with me, Padawan, alright? There is no pain, there is the Force.”

“I can’t.” Obi-Wan whimpered.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. “Leave it to me, then. Trust in me, young one. Whatever else is happening…it doesn’t matter. Just listen to the sound of my voice.”

He knew it was a risk, to appeal to the dutiful instinct in Obi-Wan that very well might be overridden by poison-fueled anxiety. But what else could he do? Hold his delirious student down with every last bit of strength he possessed, and possibly break his bones in the process?

Obi-Wan bucked against him, sniffling and gasping. “It won’t stop it won’t stop oh gods…”

“Shhh,” Qui-Gon smoothed his damp hair. “You are so far away from that, aren’t you? Safe with me. Safe and very tired. Only you and only me, far away.”

Nerveless fingers clutched at him. “M-Make it stop make it stop I can’t—“

“Of course I will. Hold onto me and keep your legs very still. You can do that, I know you can. Put your arms around me and hold on, as tight as you can.” Qui-Gon blinked back the sweat pouring into his eyes, body vibrating with hope and dread as Obi-Wan slowly obeyed. “That’s it. Now I want you to keep the rest of your body very, very still, Padawan. Do you understand?”

Obi-Wan heaved an exhausted sob, but nodded. His arms gripped around Qui-Gon’s back while his legs gradually relaxed on the bunk.

Hagit murmured to himself. Evvi touched Qui-Gon’s leg.

In the stuffy little room, everyone tacitly understood what would happen next.

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan begin to tense. “Far away,” he continued, as if there had been no interruption. “We can go anywhere, can’t we? We’ve been to so many places together.”

“Nuh, Evvi.”

“Uncle says now, Master Jedi.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and released his fear to the Force. “Where do you want to go, Obi-Wan? I remember you enjoying Alderaan, with all the beautiful trees. The people there were so kind, weren’t they?” He did his best not to think of the fragile procedure happening inches away. His muscles shook, ready to react if necessary. He knew once Hagit began removing the spine it could not be halted. “I can’t remember…did we visit in the summer or winter?”

Obi-Wan was holding onto him for dear life, strangled moans catching in his throat.

My brave boy, Qui-Gon thought to himself. The pain was unreal. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what it felt like for Obi-Wan.

“Kill me Master Master oh Force I can’t…”

Qui-Gon squeezed him close. He thought of what Evvi had said--the poor victims who begged for death. He had not thought Obi-Wan would reach that point. But even the Force could not insulate the young man from such all-encompassing agony.

Obi-Wan wept openly against Qui-Gon’s neck. “Master, Qui-Gon...it’s moving..what….what is it doing..?”

“Don’t move,” Qui-Gon warned. “Do you want to go to Alderaan? Or someplace else? Someplace warm?”

They had just finished an extended mission on a frigid planet, yet Obi-Wan shook his head. “N-No deserts.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. Obi-Wan sunburned easily, returning from desert assignments with pink cheeks and ears. “Of course not. No, someplace cool enough to sleep out under the stars. Kodasta, perhaps? Remember how the stars seemed so close, as if we could nearly touch them?”

Obi-Wan clutched at the robe on Qui-Gon’s back. “Y-Yes…ahhh…”

“What was the constellation you saw? I can’t remember. It was quite rare, wasn’t it? I’m never any good at that but you spotted it right away. What was it called?”

“…Th-The El…usive Mage.”

“Oh yes. That was it.”

Obi-Wan moaned into Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

Qui-Gon held him steady. The pain was beyond excruciating and Qui-Gon could only feel the edge of it; Obi-Wan had long since given up any attempts at shielding from him. It was a testament to Obi-Wan’s endurance that he had not passed out.

“Nearly done,” Evvi said.

Thank the Force. “You’re doing so well, Padawan,” Qui-Gon praised him quietly. “Keep right here with me, can you see the Mage? Close your eyes and see if it’s there.”

“M-Master…”

“I know. But we are so far away from that, aren’t we? Among the stars on Kodasta. I see them when I close my eyes. Close your eyes and you’ll see them too. No, no, you can’t twitch like that. Squeeze me instead. That’s better. Now look for the Mage with me. Help me see it.”

“Ugh…” Obi-Wan groaned and panted. “Mmmmph…”

Qui-Gon could not let their progress unravel, not now. “Is it there, towards the left?”

For several strained seconds, Obi-Wan made harsh, pained sounds and struggled for breath. Then, finally: “Y-Yes. You have to…un…ah…unfocus your eyes to see. Look for the hat f-first.”

Qui-Gon smiled, blinking back the tears gathering in his eyes. “Ah, of course.”

“It’s out, Master Jedi.”

“I see it now, Obi-Wan. It’s beautiful.”

His Padawan sagged under him, unconscious.

—

Qui-Gon went to the shore and walked along the rock paths, fingers hooked in his belt. The stone-fish had been immediately killed, its remaining spines safely collected and the rest of it burned by a few of the villagers. Evvi told him some of the men searched the beach until dawn, out of caution.

They had not come across a single other stone-fish. Obi-Wan’s foot had apparently found the only specimen on the entire beach.

But then, Obi-Wan had always been blessed with a particular sort of luck.

He came to the place where Obi-Wan was stung. Specks of blood stained the rocks there. His instinct was to throw them into the ocean.

Instead, Qui-Gon left everything as it was, sea spray misting his cheeks as he turned back towards the village.

—

When he returned to the little cottage, Hagit was sitting at a sun-bleached wooden table in the kitchen. The red-tinged spine, still full of venom, was sealed in a plastibag and held loosely in his liver-spotted hands.

Hagit looked up at Qui-Gon. He was quite old, skin sagging and eyes permanently wet.

“Boy…yes.” Hagit nodded firmly at him.

Qui-Gon found it difficult to swallow. He bowed before the healer. “Graz-ta,” he said. Thank you.

—

Obi-Wan was curled up on the bunk. A heavy blanket was wrapped around him, his bandaged foot sticking out from the bottom. Though he had improved since the day before, his face still looked drained of its color.

Qui-Gon glanced around the quiet, dark room. He noticed Obi-Wan’s clothes and boots tucked under a chair. Evvi had done it, probably, but it was still a familiar sight, reminding him of how Obi-Wan tended to neatly fold his tunics, no matter where they found themselves. His heart tightened; he let it pass. He knew he would feel this way after such a close call. Small, tender things about Obi-Wan were going to strike him at odd times—he knew that, unfortunately, from experience.

Like the way he would hold his braid between his fingers when he slept. Qui-Gon could not recall Feemor or Xanatos ever doing that.

He sat on the bunk beside Obi-Wan and listened to the quaint sounds of life beyond the door. He appreciated the borrowed sense of domesticity that came with staying in family houses: home cooking, careworn sheets, a calmness and mildness in the Force. He wished they could stay here until Obi-Wan fully recovered from his ordeal, but the Council had already sent them their next assignment.

Qui-Gon brushed his fingers against Obi-Wan’s forehead. Glassy grey eyes fluttered open.

“Only a slight fever now,” Qui-Gon told him.

Obi-Wan kept his braid laced between his fingers. He looked swallowed up by the thick weave of the blanket and the night shirt that was several sizes too big. Or was it simply the absence of Jedi trappings that made it more obvious that he was young, human and fragile? “Well,” he croaked, voice ruined from prolonged screaming followed by prolonged silence, “I didn’t die.”

Qui-Gon tried to laugh, but it came out as an awkward huff. He touched Obi-Wan’s cheek. “No. You seem very much alive to me.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes already drifting closed. “I didn’t sense it. The…ah…thing.”

“Neither did I,” Qui-Gon admitted, gazing out the window above Obi-Wan’s head. The villagers had searched the beach, but who could search all of the sea? He began to think of other dangers on other worlds, the unnamed masses of threats that awaited Obi-Wan in his life, on their next mission, even tomorrow. “If we could sense everything, our lives would be much easier.”

“Mmmhmmm. Less interesting?”

“I’m slipping. You’re guessing my lessons before I can give them.”

“Mm, but I can…always sense you, Master.” Obi-Wan mumbled. He would be asleep soon.

Qui-Gon leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “May the Force be with you, my Padawan.”

—

They rarely dreamed together, but that night they did, climbing through constellations in the dark sky, safely above the sea.

[kodzujin0613]

Lovers & Daydreamers

Another hard day.

Another hard day spent worrying about the possibilities that most likely won’t become realities but with the luck you’ve had so far, it seems you’ve manifested all your worries into expectations. You wonder if there’s a group of people out there interested in a tutorial of manifesting anxieties. Maybe you should leave your 9 to 5 to build a social media presence.

When will it actually end though?

When will your self hatred transform into self love? Self love thats been perpetuated more in the media recently, from every song to every book. Its everywhere except within you and all your faceless brothers and sisters who struggle with the forsaken yet always yearned concept.

The love that you deserve

What is the love that you deserve? Can you actually not love someone without loving yourself first? What if its too hard to love yourself that you need someone to love you, in the hopes that maybe your soul will finally mirror the love you receive and somehow transform it to the elusive form of love that you deserve from yourself.

And so you sleep

Because if there’s any consolation in this longing life of yours its that you can shut everything for a moment and live in a reality so far away from what you have. If the deities are in your favor tonight, he might come home to you.

The deities are kind after all.

And so he comes, quietly and unassuming. Stealth training finally had a use outside of crime fighting. And he sees you laying there; skin and bones evidently tired from the day you just had or from the life you’ve lived, he can’t tell. Its been hard for you after all.

He knows.

He knows everything. From the tears you cried in your sleep to the hushed prayers of a better tomorrow. He sees it on your tired eyes when the rambling thoughts and the ringing of your ears becomes louder as the city sleeps. He’s heard every sigh, he’s witnessed every breakdown, he’s known all the pain of your yesterdays and todays. He knows it all. After all, he’s your person. He’s had you so many times and he’s experienced you in all the scenarios imaginable, so why wouldn’t he know?

A waiting game

And so he waits for you to open your eyes and see him in his usual place from his side of your bed. That minute moment when you first lay your eyes on him and a dust of pink shows on your face and a small smile tug the corners of your face - that’s the moment that makes all of this worth it, seeing you at peace and happy even for just a moment.

“Hello, my love”, he whispers as if afraid that if he speaks louder the scene before him will vanish.

A smile graces your face as you tug him closer to you. Grateful to be permitted to see him tonight.

“I missed you”

“I know darling, i missed you too. Its been rough hasn’t it?”

“Yes but that doesn’t matter now. You’re here and i’m fine. How long do we have?”

“As long as you want.”

“Forever”

He smiles at your answer. Oh what a sweet one you are and what great tragedy the two of you hold. Why is it that he must suffer like this? Was his childhood not enough?

“Forever is a short time”

“And yet we still can’t have it”

A pause.

No one says a word as his lover continued to further in his embrace. He feels their heartbeat and the warmth of their arms around him. They feel so alive yet so unreal. You’re so close to him yet he still has to figure out how to close the distance between the two of you.

The waterworks.

They stay still like that as they usually do when they meet like this. No words spoken yet love flows freely between them. They don’t love themselves, not for the longest time, but cage in his arms they can at least believe that someone like them is also deserving of it. In the gentleness of his eyes they saw a kindness sharpened by the pain of his yesteryears. In the beating of his heart, they heard the melody of a life they wish they could have.

“Darling, look at me” he pulls them away slightly and with nimble fingers he stroke away the tears threatening to fall. “I’m here with you. For as long as we can. I’m always gonna be here. I know how difficult it is for us and trust me i’d give anything to be with you”

“But nothing is ever easy! Not in my world and not in yours! I love you but why isn’t it enough to let me be with you? Why does everything have to be so hard Shouto? I’m willing to risk it all for you so why can’t i? Why can’t we stay together?”

Every time he spends with you have always felt like a dream yet all the feelings he had with you couldn’t be more real. And this time is no exception. The harder the both of you fell for each other, the harder it was for you to meet and separate. Neither one of you ever let goes but somehow another day comes and you two go on your separate ways - both praying for another night neither of you are sure will come. The thought of that always makes you cry and he hates it when you cry, moreso when he’s part of the reason why.

And so he replies, a gentle smile on his face “Neither of us expected to fall this hard yet here we are. We’ve been far apart than most lovers are and our relationship is truly unconventional but that never changed the fact that I love you and I will always do. And no matter how many nights i have to wait, i’ll always seek for you. In this reality and in the other realities that I will have until i find you again. So please don’t cry because we will see each other again. Our time is never enough but one day we’ll have more than enough.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. So close your eyes and dream of me. And when you wake up go out there and shine like the beautiful sun you are. And when you come back here, tell me all the stories and the adventures that you’ve had. I’ll be waiting for you.”

With his warm hands stroking your hair, you were lulled back to sleep. His scent filling your being and the last thing you remember.

The morning comes

The morning comes and you wake up. The other side of the bed is as you left it when drifted to sleep. You wish he’s leave you with something when you wake up, anything as proof that its not a dream.

But there lies the tragedy of your story - there will never be a proof when you wake up. Not when you both live under different skies. Scratch that, your realities don’t even coexist.

With a desperate heart, you force yourself to sleep. Maybe if you sleep long enough, he’ll come again to you. He promised after all.

And so you sleep and you sleep and you sleep.

[reidsnose]

Neighborly

overview: spencer has a new upstairs neighbor who arrives at the same time as the BAUs newest agent

genre: fluff

a/n: this one isnt very romantic but i think its cuteee and could definitely maybe have a part two or something if yall want so lmk what you think :)

masterlist

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Spencer could not stand his new upstairs neighbor.

she had moved in a few months ago. he had never met her (he assumed she was a girl based on the fall of her footsteps and the music she would sometimes blast) but she always seemed to be up when he was getting home from a case. infact, she was always home when he was and she paid absolutely no heed to her downstairs neighbor when she was walking around at 2 in the morning. not that Spencer could sleep anyway, but if he could, it would be exponentially more annoying.

he assumed she was some sort of first responder, maybe a nurse or doctor, because she had incredibly weird hours. or maybe she had no job, or worked from home. after all, he had never seen her and he had no proof of whether she was home when he was not.

he would come to work and occasionally complain to the team about her, how she was walking around and keeping him up.

"why don't you knock on her door and ask her to stop? thats what i would do but all my neighbors are quiet as a mouse." you offered, spinning nonchalantly on your chair one morning.

"yeah newbie is right. just ask her." morgan agreed.

"i cant do that! that would be rude." Spencer shook his head as he spoke.

you laughed, "think of it as being neighborly."

"i dont think telling someone theyre bothering you is very neighborly." he chuckled.

"bake her a cake that says 'kindly shut the hell up' in icing."

"i cant bake!" he whined

you laughed, ruffling his hair, "i dont know what to tell you. just suffer i guess."

he groaned, stifling a smile at the obscurity of your sentence. or maybe at the entire essence of your being. you could always make him smile, and that was a difficult thing to do. you had only been welcomed to the team a few months ago but in a matter of days he decided he probably liked you best on the whole team.

you definitely felt the same about him.

after some regular banter, everyone got to work, filling out and organizing old case files. paperwork days were a breeze for Spencer, almost therapeutic. writing up a report on a case and then being done with it, never having to think about it again after that.

you were breezing through work today as well, wanting to get home as soon as you possibly could. there was a new episode of your favorite show airing tonight and you did not want to miss it. and you had another reason.

theres is a rumor in your building about an elusive man that lives in the apartment below yours. all the old women on your floor always talk about him to you. they said he's rarely home, and when he is, you wouldn't know the difference. but he's very kind, often rushing to help them up the stairs or with groceries. and apparently, you always just miss each other by a matter of minutes.

so you've been trying to arrive home at different times, switching it up by a matter of minutes. but so far that hasn't worked.

when the clock struck 5pm you were ready to practically run out of the doors of the bullpen, excited to finally be on time to watch your show and maybe hopefully run into mystery man.

the team sent you confused glances as you rushed to stuff your belongings into your bag.

"my show!" is all you said explanation, as you slung your bag across your shoulder and speed walked out of the building, "bye guys!"

"she is something," prentiss chuckled after you left, sitting on the corner of your now empty desk.

"how does she have all that energy?" morgan laughed, shaking his head slightly.

"she takes her coffee/tea [ur coffee/tea order]. and she naps all the time." spencer's responded eyes glued to his computer screen. all eyes were now on him and his vast knowledge about you. he looked up and felt his face flush, "i- i think." he looked back at his computer in attempt to hide his embarrassment, "or maybe she just doesn't have an annoying upstairs neighbor keeping her up."

a couple of snickers followed as they dispersed back to their seats and began getting ready to go home as well. Spencer thought about his neighbor, wondering if he hurried home, maybe she wouldn't be there yet.

so he packed up and began heading out, hopping on the train and wondering if his hypothesis would be correct.

it wasn't.

when he got home he heard the rhythmic stomping of his upstairs neighbor dancing. he rolled his eyes; she was dancing to some short song that was likely the intro to a tv show. he sighed. there was no point in complaining now, it wasn't late at night and she turned down her tv volume once the song was done.

he collapsed exhausted on the couch, turning on some quiet piano as his eyes drooped closed.

your show finished after an hour and you started getting a little sleepy so you decided to take a nap on your couch.

you weren't sure how much time had passed but you woke up on the floor, your hip aching. you had fallen off of your couch in your sleep. you groaned as you sat up.

Spencer jolted awake at the sudden thud from upstairs, his eyes shooting open and his heart racing. he wasn't sure if he was more annoyed at the fact that she woke him up, or how she woke him up. but he felt bad, it sounded like a person falling. was she ok? what if she was hurt and he was sat here rolling his eyes about it? it was very late, his clock read 1:34am.

he was curious to meet her finally...and maybe going upstairs would make her more conscious and considerate of her poor, tired downstairs neighbor.

should he check on her?

you were startled by the knock at your door, glancing over at the clock and seeing how late it was. you cursed yourself for putting an obnoxious wreath on your door because it was covering your peep hole. you grabbed a baseball bat that you kept hidden under your table.

just as Spencer was about to walk away, the door opened and his eyes gazed up from the floor to finally see the face of his insufferable upstairs neighbor.

"Spencer? are you alright? come in. what are you doing at my house in the middle of the night?" you chuckled, tossing the baseball bat aside.

"no way.." he breathed in utter disbelief, looking around for a roommate that could be the one making all the noise.

"um...what?" you furrowed your eyebrows.

his mind moving a mile a minute and suddenly it all made sense. the music was the same as what you played in the car because it was your playlist. the steps were obviously female because they were yours that he'd often heard echo around the office. and you had never crossed paths because he took the train, and you took your car, so you would never leave at the same time. and you were always home when he was because you'd come back from cases at weird hours.

"i should have baked you a cake," he said finally breaking the silence.

you let out a confused laugh, "why?"

"so i could write 'kindly shut the hell up' on it with icing." he laughed as your eyes widened as your brain connected the dots.

"IM THE ANNOYING UPSTAIRS NEIGHBOR?!" your hand flew to cover your mouth, embarrassed at your volume level this late at night.

"i cant believe i didn't connect the dots!" he laughed, dumbfounded.

"wait.." your eyes grew impossibly wider, "if i'm you're annoying upstairs neighbor...that makes you mystery man!"

"mystery man?"

"can i explain tomorrow its like ass o'clock in the morning right now."

he laughed, "yes but only because someone woke me up from my nap."

"i was just being neighborly."

"mhm," he hummed.

you were sleepily staring at each other, dopey smiles complimenting the comfortable silence settling in the air. the sudden butterflies erupting in your stomach startled you into breaking the silence.

"goodnight Spencer," you whispered.

"goodnight y/n." he smiled, giving a small wave before heading down the stairs back to his own apartment.

-

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ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @coffeereid-deactivated20210303 @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9

[winter-soldier-vibes]

“I Don’t Hate You Like I Hate Myself” (Bucky x reader)

“I don’t hate you like I hate myself”

Bucky x reader

Word count: 4224

Warnings: eating disorder/bulimia, self hate

Summary: Reader suffers from an eating disorder and Bucky finds her purging one night. 

A/N: Sorry it’s been so long, I really am. It’s been a hell of a few months. Still working through it and writing has been helping me. I hope you are all doing well, reach out to me if you need me, and of course, if this in ANY WAY may harm your journey, feel free to skip <3

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

“Goodnight guys” you said, a slight laugh in your voice. You stood up with your empty plate and placed it in the sink. There were a few groans around the table.

“But it’s so early,” Tony said, the others nodding in agreement

You looked at the watch on your wrist. “It’s 8 pm, Tony.”

“Exactly!” Thor said, shaking his head as if it were obvious. 

You shook your head at them. “Goodnight everyone,” you said, turning around and walking up the stairs.

As soon as you were out of sight, you let out a breath of relief and dropped the smile. You rubbed your face in exhaustion and closed your eyes a little, feeling heavier with each step. Truth be told, you were exhausted. But you still had something else you had to do. 

You pick up the pace walking to your room, thoughts spiraling faster as you closed the door and locked it. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., turn on soundproofing.” you said.

“As you wish, y/n.” the A.I. responded. 

You sighed, and went into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you. You knew no one would come in, but it was a force of habit by now. You tied your hair back and filled a hidden water bottle with tap water before chugging it, and then lifted the toilet seat. ‘Damn family dinners,’ you thought to yourself. You took a deep breath as you leaned over the toilet, pushing one hand into your stomach and used the other to stick 3 fingers down your throat. After a few small gags, you started choking up your dinner as well. 

You had tears streaming down your face, not necessarily from sadness but from exertion. You coughed after one particular gag, until eventually nothing more came up. You placed your hands on either side of the toilet to steady yourself, back heaving up and down as you tried to catch your breath. Your heart raced and your head pounded, so you tightly shut your eyes and shook your head slightly. 

You stood in front of the mirror, sideways. You lifted your shirt and sucked in your stomach as much as you could. It was flat.

‘That’s much better,’ you thought to yourself. You flushed the toilet and turned on the shower. You became emotionless, running through the routine you always did. Wash your hands, cold water to the face, spray the air freshener, and take a shower to wash away the shame. 

You didn’t want to do this to yourself. You just didn't know what else to do. 

You thought it was just about the food. It was just about the way you looked, the size of your clothes, the number on the scale. That was all it was supposed to be. How did it grow to be so much more?

Every time was supposed to be the last time. You never meant to do it. But any time you ate anything, you just felt sick to your stomach. At first it was with shame and anxiety - now it was a physical nausea that overtook you. You thought this would make it easy to eat less, and it did. 

Until you felt sad

Or mad

Or stressed

Or a mission went slightly wrong

Or you began overthinking the smallest things

And whenever you felt anything negative you just needed to replace that with something else. A distraction, something to numb you out. To make you feel less than this overwhelming, crushing emotion. You needed to get it out. 

So you ate.

And then you threw it all up with all of your emotions, until you were left in a quiet bliss

You knew, logically, as a human, that you needed to eat. But it always felt wrong. Like it wasn’t for you, like you were weak for eating. You weren’t naive, you knew the side effects of bulimia. You had begun to experience a few of them - dizziness mainly. But it hadn’t become an issue yet. It didn’t interfere with your work, therefore, it wasn’t a problem. No one had caught on aside from a few minorly concerned looks. Not that you would ever let anyone in. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the team, God no. You loved them and would trust them with anything other than your mind. No, it was more of an embarrassed sickening feeling you got. You didn’t know what to say, there was no reasonable explanation for this. Hell, you didn’t even quite know why you did what you were doing. It was easier this way, simpler. 

It was your problem to fight. Not theirs. You knew your limits. 

With a sigh, you turn off the shower water, stepping out and wrapping a towel lazily around yourself. You kept your eyes from the mirror as you stepped into your room and over to your dresser to put on some pajamas. Sweatpants and a tank top. You sat on your bed and flopped back, rubbing your hands over your face. 

Another day done. Countless more to go.

You looked at your phone to check any notifications. Aside from a few news updates, there were 2 texts from Bucky:

‘You okay?’ received 42 minutes ago

‘If you’re not you know where I am. Sleep well’ received 38 minutes ago.

You smiled a little. You were all a family, you and the team. Bucky and you seemed to bond in the way that introverts tend to. The way that brings out the extrovert in the other. The way that hanging out didn’t have to mean you spoke because you both found comfort in the silence. You grew the closest with him, often checking in with each other. If he had a nightmare, he came to you. Or you went to him, depending on how bad it was. You would talk to him about small matters, but you would never think of telling him about any of this.

You shuddered at the thought. No one could ever know about this. 

You closed your phone after deciding it was best not to respond. It had been too much time since he had sent the messages, and if you sent something now he might wonder what you had been doing for almost 45 minutes. Best to not reply until morning, blaming it on the exhaustion that never left your body. 

You placed your phone on your nightstand and rolled over, shutting your eyes and willing sleep to come easily. Over time you began sleeping less and less, and now it was a miracle if you were able to at all. Maybe it was the hunger pains, or the reflux, or this overwhelming fear that something bad was going to happen. The stress of being an Avenger, of keeping up your act, of being perfect all the time. 

It was exhausting. But not in the way that sleep would ever be able to fix. 

No, this was a type of tiredness that kept you awake. You had to stay alert all the time. Sleep wasn’t restful or enjoyable anymore. It was elusive. You needed a break from your life. Sleep wouldn’t ever be able to provide that. Not when you would be waking up to deal with it all over again. 

You sighed. You hated this. You hated what you were doing, you hated that you couldn’t stop. You hated that you couldn’t tell anyone about it. Not because you didn’t trust them, but because you didn’t know if you wanted to stop. And if you let them in, you didn’t want to be letting them down by slipping up. And you wanted to stop but...you didn’t know how. You didn’t feel good enough, you didn’t feel like you deserved it. And nothing else could make you feel better like this could

You hated yourself. You hated yourself in a way that no one else ever could. In a way that made you wonder if you would ever be able to love yourself with the innocence you once did. 

You turned over again, willing your racing thoughts to slow to a steady jog at least. You took deep breaths, still trying to calm your pounding heart from earlier. As you started to relax a little, feeling closer to sleep, you remembered one last thing you had to do.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., turn soundproofing off,” you said softly.

“Of course, Y/N,” the A.I. responded.

And with that, you drifted off.

-----

You were rudely awakened by a few sharp knocks at your door. You startled awake and sat up quickly, only to be greeted by a huge headrush. “One minute,” you called out groggily, rubbing your eyes and standing up. Once again, your vision began to black out but you ignored it. You were used to it at this point. It always went away eventually. You pulled over a cardigan and padded over to the door, opening it.

You opened the door to a very much awake Bucky, who seemed to have just gotten back from a run. You weakly smiled, hoping you didn’t look as tired as you felt. Unfortunately, you don’t think that was the case, seeing as Bucky’s smile almost immediately faltered as he took in your tired face. Dark circles under your eyes and a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. 

“Yes, Buck?” you asked, pulling him out of his concerned stare.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly. He knew what being tired felt like, but he had never seen it to this extent on anyone aside from him. He knew you had been tired lately, going to bed early, waking up late, yet seeming to grow more tired by the day. 

You sighed and rubbed your eyes a little. “Yeah, I’m good. Just trying to wake up a little.” you said with a little laugh, dismissive. 

Bucky worried about you. He felt close to you but he worried that you didn’t feel close to him. He could always count on you to be someone he could turn to. But no matter how hard he tried, you didn’t seem comfortable opening up to him. He knew it would take time and he didn’t take it personally. He just wanted to be able to be there for you the way that you were there for him. He knew something had been bothering you, he just didn’t know how to approach it. 

He looked into your eyes. “You sure about that?” he asked.

You mustered the best smile you could. “Yes, I am fine. Just -”

“Tired. I know what that’s like,” he said with a slight laugh. “You know that you don’t have to be fine right?” he said reassuringly. It had become his line with you, to make sure that you knew he was there if you wanted to open up. And while you found it very sweet, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You wanted to trust him, and you hated making him feel like you didn’t trust him. You just didn’t know how. 

Instead you opted for a nod with a small laugh, desperate to get as far away from this conversation as possible. “I swear, I’m fine,” you said a little more strongly this time. 

Bucky nodded, unconvinced but willing to drop it. If you weren’t ready to talk about it, that was okay. For now. “Do you want to come down and get some breakfast? I think Sam and Clint were making a ton of food for everyone. 

You ran through your options. If you didn’t go down, people would be suspicious. If you did, you would have to eat and find time to get rid of it after, plus deal with the banter of the team for leaving so early. You weren’t supposed to eat yet, it was far too early. But Bucky was already suspicious, so it would be best if you just went down and got rid of it later. All of this ran through your mind in a second before you said:

“Yeah, sure, I’ll be down in a few minutes,” to which Buck turned around and you closed the door. 

After a few seconds you closed your eyes and sighed heavily, resting your head against the door. You cursed yourself internally for agreeing but knew it was the option that raised the least suspicion. You went into the bathroom to wash your face quickly and before you knew it you were studying your body. Turning around, looking at yourself from every possible angle. It happened every time. Coming back to reality, you dressed quickly in some baggy clothes before taking a deep breath and heading down to the kitchen area. 

You were greeted with the smell of all things breakfast, and when you walked in you saw loads of everything there could possibly be. They really went all out. Which made you even more nervous: you didn’t want to seem ungrateful or hurt their feelings. 

You had stopped at the door, and Tony was the first to see you.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty,” he said, bringing the small conversation to a stop for a moment while everyone recognized your appearance. You gave a small wave and a smile before coming in and sitting down. You tried your best to not show your anxiety or exhaustion. There was so much food, and you didn’t want to offend people by not eating but you didn’t know if you would be able to stop once you started. 

Everyone was sitting around the table making small conversation and starting to eat. You were taking deep breaths as nonchalantly as you could. You grabbed a few things to put on your plate, trying to keep a steady hand. You didn’t want to draw any attention to yourself. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem - you’d have a few days of no one noticing you skipping meals, then have dinner all together before you all parted ways. You could prepare for that. But breakfast the morning after was sprung on you, and you didn’t think you should be eating in this small of a time window. 

You tried to join in on the conversation, pushing things around on your plate as you did so. You thought you were hiding it well, but from across the table you caught Bucky glancing your way with concern. So you started eating more. 

It was delicious, you couldn’t deny that. You soon cleaned your plate and began filling it back up with more this time. You could feel your stomach expanding and your heart rate was picking up. As you finished your second plate of food, you felt the anxiety set in. You tried to remind yourself that it was a normal amount, and that you hadn’t been eating enough for a normal person. Eating was normal. Eating was normal. 

But you weren’t normal. 

“Well, this has been great, and thank you Sam and Clint, but I think I’m going to go lie down,” you interjected into the conversation, pushing your chair out.

“Leaving again so early?” Tony asked, not unkindly. You looked around the table before landing eyes on Bucky, concern filling his face.

You swallowed nervously before saying. “Yeah, sorry guys. See you in a bit!” you added and hoped you didn’t sound as desperate as you felt to leave the room. You turned around and walked towards the door, conversation picking back up while Bucky watched you leave. Something didn’t sit right with him.

After you had gotten around the corner you picked up the pace, resisting breaking into a jog. You made it to your room, heart pounding in your chest and nearly threw yourself in, closing the door and turning to the bathroom. You closed that door too, locking it as a force of habit. You were usually methodical about this process, you had a system. But you were desperate at this point. You tied your hair up messily and filled up a hidden water bottle at the sink before chugging it and turning to the toilet. 

Back in the kitchen, Bucky decided that he was going to go check on you. He excused himself and thanked Sam and Clint for the food before heading in the direction of your room. 

You were bent over the toilet retching. You hated this so much. It hurt, it didn’t feel good, but you felt so relieved doing it. You couldn’t explain it. You didn’t like doing it, but it somehow was the one thing that helped you feel better.

What you didn’t realize was that you hadn’t locked your room door. Nor did you turn on the soundproofing feature of your room. 

Bucky knocked on your room door, to which he was met with silence. You simply didn’t hear him. Not liking the feeling in his stomach, he let himself in. To his surprise, you weren’t there. But then he heard you retching. 

He furrowed his brows. Why hadn’t you said you were sick? Closing the door behind him, he walked over to the bathroom door before knocking. And you froze.

“Are you okay in there?” you heard him ask.

Shit. 

You swallowed before responding with “Yeah, I’m fine.” You cursed yourself for the weakness and wavering in your voice. You quickly flushed the toilet and turned to the mirror. You were a mess, red face and tear-streaked face. You washed your hands and then your face, trying to get rid of as much inflammation as you could. 

You took a deep breath and leaned against the sink. How could you have forgotten the most important parts of your process? How could you have been so stupid? How were you going to talk yourself out of this?

“Y/n?”

You opened the door with your head down as you tried to walk around Bucky. But he gently stood in front of you before guiding your face to his, his eyes widening at your red eyes and face. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you were sick?” he asked.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“You’re not fine if you’re throwing up. I swear, if Sam made something that made you sick -”

“It’s not like that” you interrupted.

Bucky paused for a moment. “What do you mean it’s not like that?”

You clenched your jaw and looked away, backing up a little. “Nevermind.”

Bucky stood in front of you again, a little more insistent now. “No, what do you mean? Are you sick?”

“Buck-”

“Y/n.” he insisted. 

You took a deep breath. “I throw up sometimes,” you said quietly, but loud enough for Bucky to hear it. He shifted on his feet. “What do you mean?”

You looked at him sadly, shaking your head. “It won’t make sense,” you said.

“Then help me understand,” he said. 

You took a few breaths before trying to piece it together. “I don’t know what happened. I was just supposed to lose a few pounds. And sometimes I would eat too much, and throwing up made me feel better. And now I can’t stop. It was just supposed to be about losing weight but now I can’t stop,” you finished before finally looking him in the eye again.

Bucky’s face contorted to one of more concern. Your eyes filled with tears at finally revealing your secret. Bucky came closer to you and pulled you into a hug as you sobs started wracking your body. Bucky held you tightly, whispering that it was okay. He breathed deeply and steadily, hoping you would be able to fall in rhythm with him. 

You were able to start breathing with him and calming down. After a few moments of silence, Bucky asked “How long has this been going on?”

You shook your head. “I don’t even know.” you said, defeated. 

Bucky took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

You shrugged weakly. “It wasn’t your problem.” you said.

“I want to help, y/n,” he said, pulling away to look at you. “You always help me or anyone else on the team whenever we need it. If we were going through this wouldn’t you want to help us?”

“Of course I would,” you said firmly, tears building up.

“Then why can’t you let me help you the way you help me?” he asked.

You shook your head lightly. “It’s not that simple, Buck.”

He looked at you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not like that,” you said a little louder, turning around. You could feel yourself beginning to break.

“What’s the difference between me and you? Why can’t-”

“Because I don’t HATE you!” you exclaimed, turning around with pain in your eyes. “It’s not the same thing because I don’t hate you. I want to help you, because you are a good person, and I like you. I don’t like myself. I deserve this so I’ve accepted that this is what I need to do. I don’t care if it hurts me, because I don’t care about myself!” you yelled, tears streaming down your face again and breathing heavily. “That’s the fucking difference.”

Bucky looked at you sadly. “Is that really how you feel about yourself?” he asked, saddened even more when you began nodding. “What did you do that was so wrong?”

You shook your head, anger calming down into sadness. “I don’t know. I never liked myself. I don’t feel like I belong anywhere, and I never have. And I’ve accepted that I may never feel like I will. This isn’t the kind of sick I know how to heal. People catch a cold or break a bone and there are active steps to fix it and a set timeline before it gets better. And it won’t bother them again. But this,” you tap both sides of your head repeatedly, “this I can’t fix. I don’t know how, I don’t know where to start. I’ve tried but it never really goes away. There’s no medicine or action or rest period or any kind of shit like that. It’s me against me. I’m always gonna lose this battle. I’m not the kind of sick that can get better, Buck,” you shrugged slightly and shook your head. “Not for me.” 

Bucky’s face saddened even more, knowing all too well the feeling of not belonging. He knew the pain of self doubt and self hate, and feeling like you were a bad person. But he had done so many things as the winter soldier, how he killed so many innocent lives. You were one of the kindest people Bucky knew. He didn’t understand how you could feel this way. 

Bucky started walking closer to you slowly. “Y/n...I know what that feeling is like. You know that. But I don’t understand why you would feel that way about yourself.” he was now standing in front of you. “You’re one of the most generous people I know, you’ve helped me so much. I know you’ve helped everyone here. No one here hates you, y/n.” 

“I know,” you said. Before Bucky could respond you continued, “I know there’s no reason for me to feel this way. I know logically I didn’t do anything wrong. But it’s just this...this thing in my head. And it never goes away. And I know all it tells me is lies but the only way I can make it stop is by throwing up. I know it’s messed up, I just can’t make it stop,” you said, looking down again.

Bucky guided your face back to meet his. “Can I try to help? You can always talk to me about anything, you know that right?”

You breathed out. “I don’t know,” you said truthfully. 

Bucky noticeably stiffened, and you quickly added, “It’s not that I don’t trust you. Not at all, I do, it’s just that I don’t want to disappoint you.” you said. “I don’t want to fuck up and hurt you because I couldn’t be strong. I don’t want to bother you every goddamn day with this petty bullshit I have going on.” you took a deep breath and looked away again. “I don’t want you to leave out of frustration that I couldn’t be strong for you.”

“Is that really what you think I would do?” he asked. When you nodded, he went on. “I would never be disappointed at you trying your best. It’s okay to mess up, to have bad days, it’s not going to be perfect. Life can be a little fucked up sometimes, but what I’ve learned is that the hardest way through it is alone.” he said with emphasis, knowing all too well the pain of keeping your emotions in. 

You leaned into him again, his arms wrapping you into a hug. “Promise you won’t leave?” you asked softly.”

His arms tightened around you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[tommyspeakycap]

Hi love, I adore your writing so much! And as you just asked for some ideas/concepts here’s mine for Jack Grealish from prompts list 2: fluff #11 where he’s asking her (she’s his best friend) to go for a walk cause there’s so much going on in his life and he just needs to talk. fluff #36, angst #31 and a happy ending please? Basically a Best friends to lovers thing as I’m a sap for that…thank you!! xx

Fluff #11; “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…”

Fluff #36; “because I fell for you, isn’t it obvious?”

hope I did this justice for you!

Fell for you

“Jesus god,” you grumbled with hands aimlessly palming across the mattress for the blaring sound of your phone from its place charging somewhere on the bed. Your next move is an elongated “Ahhhhh,” sound, fatigue still holding tightly onto your body in a way that seals your eyes shut even as you try to shut off the sound your phone was deafening your with. In a wakened state, you might’ve noticed that it was your ringtone that had interrupted your sleep. However as tired as you were you ruled it as your alarm right away and moved yourself into seated position with the duvet still wrapped tight around you and your eyes still shut.

You were suspended in that space between being asleep and being awake, still sitting up when the offensive sound came screaming through your phone once again.

This time, your eyes snapped open in fright and the fatigue-blurred letters of Jack Grealish’s name popped up across the top of your screen.

“How is it morning already?” You protest down the line, a heavy sigh passing your lips to follow. Jack’s chuckle can be heard through the line, “It’s not.” He replies simply, prompting you to pull your phone away from your ear to hold out in front if your face.

02:17am

“Then why on earth am I up?” You mumble, a question more posed to yourself than the man on the other end. “Wait, why are you up? And why are you calling so early?”

“I’m outside your door.”

“You’re what?!” You throw back your duvet and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You’ve hung up the phone already by the time you reach the front door at a tired shuffle. His hair is tousled when you see him, like he’s been running his hands through it over and over, you imagine that he has. He does that when he’s stressed. You have to squint against the street lights and his car headlights outside, still on as it sits running on the street. “Can we go somewhere?” He asks, his voice as desperate as his eyes look when he speaks, begging you to agree. Not that he would need to beg. You’d do anything for that man. Even if it did mean dragging yourself from your bed at 2 in the morning.

“Course.”

No question, no pressure. He loves that from you. He knows you’ll ask him later and when the time is right you’ll force him to tell you of course. Now is not that time yet and you’re nowhere near awake enough to do so much anyway. “Let me just grab my-“

“I have a hoodie in the car and your shoes in my boot.” He cuts in, tugging your arm gently out the door of your house. He knows you better than any other person in this world, so he knows full and well that there’s not much you are going to do in the way of protesting when you’re so soon out of sleep. He’d often teased with layers of worry deeper beneath that he genuinely worried for you living on your own. You open the door to people far too easily, and he will not fail to bring that up sometime tomorrow. For now, he steps into your doorway where you had stood moments before, grabs your keys from the cabinet and pulls the door closed behind him with a click of the latch locking behind him.

The cold paving stones beneath your feet make you shine in protest, shifting your weight between each one to ease the chill. In was in that cold that you look down and make the realisation, or rather come to remember the fact that you don’t have any pyjama bottoms on. “Jack!” You yelp, “I’m not wearing trousers!” You suddenly feel very exposed and rightly so, standing outside your home suddenly very awake in only a long claret and blue shirt that only extended down to the middle of your thighs. “Eh?” He whips around, “You what?”

It’s only now he really takes you in with rosy cheeks from embarrassment, your hair messed up from your sleep. His frantic eyes soften and his heart stops thundering in his chest finally. The sight of you there calms him. You’re there. Right there. His (y/n) is right there in front of him.

“What’s the rush, Jack? Is everything okay?”

Your gentle words and tired eyes bring him back to the ground, the flurry of his racing thoughts only now finally calmed. He often acts on impulse, but you are always able to slow his brain down a few paces. His sits heavily, "I know it's two am but...do you think we could go somewhere. My heads fuckin'... I don't even know." He dips back down to run that hand through his hair once again. His words stoke a bit of a worry in you, head tilted to the side in question. Jack doesn't tend to be the kind who gets himself panicked and all wound up like he has right now. That's more your half of the friendship. You did the worrying, he did the easygoing.

"It's okay, Jack. Of course. Come on then, let's go." You nod your head and he goes around the back of the car to get the shoes and socks he promised you. You very nearly choked up a lung when he presented you with a brand new Balenciaga box. "What the fuck, Jack?" You all but wheeze out, head whipping towards him climbing into the passenger seat.

"Got you a present 'cause I'm leaving soon." He shrugs with a jaw-dropping ease. You list open the lid and inside sit a pair of sliders that cost nearly £400. You physically gawp. "Oh my god."

"What?" Jack asks, drawing out of his parking spot on the street, "Heard you telling your mum you needed new sliders for the summer, do you not like 'em?"

His nerves would be clear in his voice if you hadn't been in such a ferocious level of shock. You're glad you weren't eating anything because it surely would have choked you to death. Of course you had seen Jack wearing brands like Balenciaga, Gucci, Versace and the likes, but you had never owned such an expensive piece of clothing. "I mean of course I love them, J but I meant from Primark or bloody amazon, you shouldn't have spent al that money on me." You protested, but Jack really pays it no mind. In fact, the suggestion that you don't deserve everything luxurious that this world has to offer offends him more than it does anything else. You should know that you deserve everything good that this world can give and he has the means to actually give that to you. He'd count himself an absolute fool not to.

"Gonna pretend you didn't say that." He mutters, eyes kept carefully on the empty road ahead of his car. Your eyebrows are furrowed, a part of you brain still very much trying to a) wake up and b) process the expensive of the gift he handed to you so casually. "Not arguing about it either." His voice cuts you off the second you open your mouth to speak, shutting down your protest before it even leaves you.

As the fatigue of your sleep wears off, your mind continues to be just as boggled as it had been the moment his name popped up on your screen at 2am, if not more boggled now.

"You're acting so weird, Jack. What the hell is going on with you today?" Your insistence is careful with your pressure. It's enough to try to open him up but not enough to make it sound like a confrontation. Neither you nor Jack like confrontation especially with each other. The words make him chew on his lip as he careens the large white range rover through a turn that leads up a gravel road that crunches beneath his tires. The stops when he's met with a with a large gate that prevents cars but a little slot for people to walk through. Jack leaves his door open when he leaves the car with a curtly mumbled "Stay here" as he does. He pushes open the gate with ease before he gets back in the car and follows the path up the hill further.

He stop abruptly in a very small gravel car park without any parking lines to abide and steps out, slamming his door behind him like he absolutely always does; you swear that man couldn't be quiet if his life depended on it. Which was another reason why you were so surprised by his silence. You clamber out after him with that same fear of falling flat on your face that always fills your mind each and every time you leave his car. But Jack is where he has been every time you step out the Range Rover since the first day he got it; standing by your door to hold your hand so you can jump out without a trip onto the gravel beneath. He shuts the door behind you and hands you a spare pair of his loose fitting track pants.

On an average day you might've teased the reason he hasn't worn them was because they wouldn't have squeezed the life out his legs. Today wasn't one of those days, so you slip them on without a word. Followed up by his way too big for you socks and the brand new black slides. Even wide awake, this confuses you to no end. Jack was never quiet and never elusive. He was boisterous, loud, open and confident.

The second you turn around, you realise why he brought you here.

The view of the stars, the sky completely clear. There wasn't a street lamp in sight. The moon provided the kind of spotlight hue that you kind of thought only existed in the enhancement of Hollywood movies. "Woah," you breathe, words stolen by its beauty.

"Yeah," Jack laughs, "Now you know how I feel every time I look at you."

You head turns to him so fast it sends your head spinning a little, or maybe that's just the shock of his words. You couldn't tell.

"What?"

He shrugs his shoulders, scuffing his feet along the gravel to meet up with where you stand. But he freezes before he gets the chance.

"Why are you wearing that?" He asks, a very sudden cold change in his tone that actually makes your body feel colder. "Wearing what? This?" You gesture to the claret and blue shirt you had thrown on in a haste to get to him standing at your front door a short while ago. You turn to see his unhappy scowl and the firm discontented cross of his strong arms. "Yeah that," he grumbles, "And where'd you even get it." He adds with a flare of his nostrils. He looks adorable angry like this, like he's trying so hard to look angry when his emotions lie truly elsewhere.

You look down at the shirt with furrowed brows, before you shift your shoulder forward, crane your neck and pull the material around to view the back as best you could. "What's wrong with it?" You ask finally, attempts to defy the natural state of your body failing to allow you to see your back.

"It's Ginny's." Jack states as if its the most obvious thing in the world. You just look at him bewildered. "And?"

He huffs as he takes a few more heavy steps up to you, looking like he had a lot of things to say without any way of being able to get them to coordinate from his brain to his lips. "Why do you have Ginny's shirt though?"

You breathe a little bit of laughter at him, shaking your head softly. "it was just a joke. I saw him after a match waiting for you so I jumped out at him and pretended to be a fan for a video and he signed it and gave to me as a joke. I just threw it on when you showed up at my door in the middle of the night. Wasn't exactly a fashion statement."

Jack still grunts in dissatisfaction at your answer, refusing to meet your eyes. "You have plenty of mine to wear though, don't need his." His argues in a disgruntled grumble. You raise and drop your arms down by your side with a sigh. He was really testing your patience now. "Hm, last time I checked you couldn't give me yours anymore because your ex didn't like it." You protest with a wag of your finger, making him turn his head downwards with something like a shudder running through him at the mention of her name. "Yeah well there's a reason she's my ex innit." He mutters under his breath.

"What the hell is the problem with you today Jack?" You exclaim, his eyes jolting to you in surprise. You don't often snap.

"First you show up at my door in the middle of the night and drag me out of my house and then you won't actually speak to me and now you're picking a fight about John M fucking Ginn?" You snap, the anger and confusion he had stirred up showing in your emphatic hand gestures that only come out when you're telling him a passionate story or going off your head at him. "He's your best mate, why would that even bother you?!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm not done, Jack!" You yell, holding out a hand. "You haven't even spoken to me all week. I found out you made the England call up on fucking twitter Jack, twitter! And your mum told me about you dumping your girl and I can't even get through to you and now you're buying me gifts and bringing me here? I don't know if I'm coming or going here Jack, you have to give me something. We're meant to be friends." You voice breaks on the last syllable and a lump forms in Jack's throat that he can't just swallow away. Any pain, any hurt and any slight sadness of emotion that appears in you shatters his heart. He thought that was a normal reaction until two weeks ago when he realised it only happens to him when its your upset he witnesses.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice thick and wavering with the same level of emotion. "I really, really am." He stands right in front of you now, so close you're basically chest to chest, faces merely inches apart.

"And I'm scared." He admits, sending a pang through your already aching heart. "Scared because I'm leaving and I can't take you with me." His words tickle your lips as they leave his, clouds of air puffing above the two of you as his hot breath meets the cold night air. "You've done it before, J. It'll be fine." You soothe, hands gently raising to reach up and brush the hair out of his face. His let's forth a content sigh of relief at the feeling of your touch. "That was before though." He confesses with a slight shrug. He watches that furrow sow itself back into your brows.

"Before what?"

"Dance with me?" He suggests, his arms finding their way around you with ease, much less fumbley than you remember from your high school prom. Your head tilts in that adorable confused way that makes a grin form on his cold lips.

"Why?" You query, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. He laughs softly. "Because the music is slow and the sky is gorgeous and because I love you."

Before you get the chance to recognise, process or even understand what he said, he's swaying you around the gravel under the stars.

"Because you what?" You squeak, your eyes desperately searching his as you look for any reason this might be some kind of a joke or one of pranks that makes you want to throttle him. He just smiles at you with those crinkled eyes and the love shining right there in his eyes for you to see. Your stomach flutters like the teenager you were when you fell in love with him. His lips dip down to capture yours in the best kiss that your being has ever felt, his hands ringing your hair, stroking down over your cheeks with those warm hands of his.

"Because I've fell for you, isn't it obvious?"

[jaskierswolf]

The Love We Have

Part 1/5 - AO3 - Next

Summary: Kaer Morhen has an old tradition in order to keep the witchers safe after the siege. Only witchers and their partners are allowed in the keep but Geralt is tired of parting with Jaskier over the winter so decides to invite him to Kaer Morhen... only he forgets to mention one tiny little detail.

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None?? Maybe... I'll add them later if I remember any.

(Written as a prompt that got way out of hand for @dani-dandelino and beta'd by @professorjaskier)

____

The path up the mountain was steep, treacherous and fucking cold. Jaskier felt himself slipping on the loose rocks underfoot. He yelped, ready to meet his maker but Geralt’s strong arms wrapped around his waist before he could hit the floor. It was all very reminiscent of a lover’s embrace.

One could only dream.

Geralt had been particularly stoic on the trek up The Killer, barely responding to even direct questions and grunting orders when they set up camp for the night, but there was none of their usual banter. Unfortunately, Jaskier’s fingers had been too frozen to pluck at his lute, leaving a deafening silence between them. To top it off Geralt was now glaring at him from across the campfire.

Jaskier sighed, stuffing his hands under his armpits, pulling his hood closer around his ears. “Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes widened as he seemed to finally register their surroundings, and he let out a low hum.

“Have- have I done something wrong?”

The crease between Geralt’s brows deepened, his jaws clenching. “No.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, scoffing haughtily. “Oh sure. Sure. So that’s why you’re acting all…” Jaskier trailed off, gesturing at Geralt’s direction with a flick of his wrist.

“Hmm.”

“Oh no. No, no, no. We are not doing this!” Jaskier tried to put his hands on his hips but the motion let a biting cold breeze into the thick woollen travelling coat that Geralt had insisted he buy for the journey to Kaer Morhen. “You’ve been grumpier than usual and honestly, I wasn’t sure that was possible. What’s going on, Geralt?”

Geralt let out a long heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wore a weary expression that Jaskier thought was utterly adorable; not that he would ever tell Geralt that. He’d learnt the hard way how much a witcher’s punch to the gut could hurt. Instead, he rested his chin on his knees and pouted at his friend. “Come on, Geralt, you invited me here. No pretending that we aren’t friends anymore.”

Geralt smiled faintly at that and then sighed once more. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

“About us being friends?” Jaskier laughed “I stopped caring about that years ago. Your actions speak louder than words, my dear.”

“Jaskier!”

Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut. He was barely able to conceal his gleeful smirk. This felt like coming home after the stone-cold silences of the last few days. It almost warmed the chill in his bones; almost. It would take a veritable miracle at this stage to fend off the frost bite.

“Done?” Geralt growled and Jaskier nodded. Pressing his lips together. “We have an old tradition at Kaer Morhen, ever since…” Geralt trailed off with a growl. “It’s to protect us, our home.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrow, tongue flicking out to lick his lip, a habit he’d picked up to prevent himself from interrupting Geralt. His witcher often took longer to find the right words, and Jaskier had learnt it was better to be patient.

“Only significant others are allowed.”

Jaskier blinked and Geralt’s words hung heavy in the air.

“I’m. I’m sorry, what?” he gaped.

Significant other?

“You heard me, bard.”

Jaskier let out a nervous laugh, wringing his hands in his lap. “But. but we’re. we’re not?”

Oh, if only they were.

“I know that.”

“Then why?!” Jaskier wasn’t proud of the way his voice squeaked, jumping two octaves.

“I. I trust you.”

Jaskier scoffed. After nearly a decade of friendship he sincerely hoped that the witcher trusted him. He had been absolutely delighted when Geralt had extended the invitation to his elusive home in the mountains. He hated leaving Geralt over winter, the cold making his dorms at Oxenfurt seem even lonelier… but to pretend they were dating?

It was a little too close to the truth for comfort.

He was surprised Geralt had asked him at all. The witcher rarely admitted they were friends. Jaskier couldn’t imagine he’d be particularly thrilled about pretending to be lovers, and he had a brilliant imagination!

Unless, of course, Jaskier had gotten the wrong end of the stick. He could be jumping to conclusions. Geralt probably hadn’t meant for them to pretend to be lovers at all. It was just a pre-warning that Jaskier might not be entirely welcome until he earned the other witcher’s trust. They were breaking the rules. That was it.

“So…” he trailed off, not knowing how to voice his question. Geralt, helpfully grunted in response. Jaskier rolled his eyes and tried again. “Are you nervous about breaking the rules?”

Geralt frowned, that adorable little crease on his forehead deepening and Jaskier yearned to smooth it out with a press of his thumb, but alas the witcher remained grumpy and unobtainable. “They won’t know,” he huffed.

If Jaskier had been eating or drinking at that moment, then he certainly would have choked on it or spat it out all over the floor in his shock. As it was, he almost fell off the log he was perching on. “I’m sorry?”

“They’ll make assumptions. We won’t correct them.”

Jaskier was sure that his jaw would never leave the floor. “We. we won’t?”

“No.”

“Alrighty…”

An awkward silence fell over the camp. The crackling of the fire suddenly sounded louder than any tavern in Oxenfurt. Jaskier could hear every breath like a hurricane blowing through the camp, the howling of distant wolves clawing down his spine. What felt like hours was probably only seconds when the silence became too much to bear.

“Oh ho ho, no. No, no, no. No. I’m sorry. What the fuck, Geralt?”

Geralt sighed and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “I should have asked sooner.”

“Do you even know what you’re asking of me?” Jaskier peered suspiciously at the witcher, wringing his hands in his lap and flexing his fingers. He desperately wanted his lute, his notebook… something, anything.

“Just don’t correct them?”

Jaskier snorted. “Just don’t correct them?” he asked incredulously “Oh sure, it’s that simple. Geralt, my dear, you’re asking me to pretend I’m in love with you.”

Jaskier barely managed to conceal his flinch.

Pretend.

Hah!

If only it were that simple. He was a pretty decent actor, most graduates of Oxenfurt were, but to act like he was only pretending to be in love with Geralt? That would be perhaps his toughest role to date.

And it would fucking hurt. Especially since Geralt hadn’t seemed to have realised he would have to do the same.

“Fuck.”

Jaskier tilted his head at the witcher, brushing his fringe from his eyes, his hand shivering from the cold. The penny had apparently dropped; finally.

He smirked, “Well, I was thinking we’d only have to kiss but if you insist?”

Geralt growled and pushed him onto the floor.

____

That night had been a particularly awkward one. The biting cold meant that Jaskier had to curl up into Geralt’s side to prevent himself from freezing to death. Geralt would normally wrap his arms around Jaskier in his sleep, making it more comfortable for both of them. But when he woke Geralt was lying rigid next to him; only staying as close as absolutely necessary and nothing more.

They ate their breakfast in silence, with even Jaskier’s normal chatter and noise absent. Jaskier was starting to get really sick of silences but he knew that Geralt needed a chance to process. The witcher would only blow up in his face if he said something now. It was a struggle for both of them. Jaskier was always desperate to fill the silence. He never enjoyed being left alone with his own thoughts and chattering about everything and nothing helped to calm the anxiety inducing void, and yet he knew that Geralt sometimes needed time. He would normally be scribbling away in his notebook, or carving patterns into the dirt with his boots, anything to keep busy, keep moving. Instead, he tapped out silent lute fingerings on his leg beneath the cloak and chewed on his lip, only stopping when he tasted the sharp tang of blood.

It was only after they had packed up camp and been walking for a few minutes that Geralt finally spoke, seemingly calmed by Roach’s reins in his hand.

“We should plan.”

Jaskier, still shivering under his cloak, snorted; a cloud swirling in front of his face like he was some kind of draconid. “Plan?”

“Hmm.”

“Pray tell me, dear witcher, what are we planning?”

Geralt grunted, gesturing between them, a trace of a blush on his cheeks which utterly delighted Jaskier. The blush meant that Geralt could only mean one thing, and Jaskier was having a ball!

His grumpy, allergic to feelings, witcher wanted to plan how they were going to convince a keep full of witchers that they were not only dating but seriously involved. Geralt wanted to talk about it. That was a first. Perhaps the witcher was treating this like just another contract to prepare for. That thought made Jaskier’s heart clench in his chest.

Just another contract.

Fuck.

He plastered a bright smile on his face before Geralt could notice his inner turmoil and clapped his friend on the back. “What’s there to plan?” he asked cheerfully, voice full of fake camaraderie. “We’re pretending to be in love, should be easy! I’m a bard, a troubadour, a graduate of the famed Oxenfurt academy!”

“Jaskier, shut up.”

Jaskier gaped and shoved Geralt in the chest. “You wanted to talk, Geralt!”

“We need boundaries.”

Jaskier’s heart sank and his smile faltered. “Right, yes, of course. I was. I was joking, last night, when I said…”

“I know.”

“We probably will have to kiss though.” he mumbled, his cheeks were a blazing fire and he probably resembled a tomato. Hopefully Geralt would just think he was cold, which he really really was. Honestly, he was starting to think that he might never be warm again. What was heat anyway? He swallowed, digging his nails into his palm. “Maybe just on the cheek. Think your family will buy that?” Geralt shook his head. “Well… bollocks.”

Geralt chuckled and Jaskier looked up at him with a sheepish smile. Geralt actually had the decency to look apologetic for the mess he’d gotten them into. “It’ll be just enough to convince them, nothing more.”

Nothing more. Of course it was nothing more. These were the boundaries that Geralt was talking about. He didn’t want Jaskier to think it was anything more than an act. Well, message received loud and clear! He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He should be ecstatic, finally a chance to kiss Geralt… but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what he wanted.

It wasn’t real.

Geralt grunted, his own hands were buried in Roach’s mane as they walked side by side up the perilous mountain. He paused suddenly and began fussing with Roach’s saddlebags. Jaskier wrapped his arms around himself, shuffling from one foot to another to keep moving. He had to keep moving or he might freeze to death. He could already feel his toes going numb and the perpetual stinging in his fingers. Oh he was definitely getting frostbite. He watched Geralt for a few moments. The witcher’s shoulders were tense and his jaw was clenched. Jaskier sighed and placed a hand on Geralt’s arm, enjoying the soft warmth that radiated from the witcher, letting it seep into his frozen bones.

“Do. Do you want to practice?”

“What?”

“Kissing,” Jaskier said with a flick of his wrist. “You want boundaries, so let’s practice. That way we’ll know what we’re comfortable with”

“You want to kiss me?” Geralt asked, brow furrowed and arms crossed in front of his chest.

Jaskier scoffed at Geralt’s emotionally constipated antics. He was nearly at his limit with stupid witchers and he hadn’t even reached Kaer Morhen yet. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.

Jaskier poked Geralt in the chest. “You suggested it!” he pointed out “and I’m never going to refuse the opportunity to kiss such a gorgeous person. You, dear witcher, are no exception!” He hoped that Geralt would be fooled by his nonchalant flirting. He did this all the time in taverns and courts all around the Continent and Geralt had witnessed it on many occasions. This was just what Jaskier did, nothing out of the ordinary… nothing to worry about.

He swallowed, a bubble of fear rising up in his chest and he couldn’t calm his racing heart. Oh gods, this was really far too close to the truth.

Geralt just gave a hum but let go of Roach’s reins. He gripped Jaskier’s shoulder and cocked his head, giving Jaskier the fondest of smiles. “Last chance to back out, bard.”

Jaskier grinned, raising his chin. He had a stubborn streak that would serve him well here. He never could say no to a challenge. “Just kiss me, you coward.”

A lie. Geralt was no coward. If anyone were it would be Jaskier. He couldn’t even tell Geralt the true depth of his feelings. They were concealed in songs for the whole Continent to hear but he couldn’t tell the one person that really ought to know. It was pathetic, pining over his best friend for years and years instead of moving on or just… admitting the truth?

Luckily Jaskier’s joke seemed to break the tension between them. Geralt hummed and cupped his cheek with more tenderness than he’d expected. Chapped lips pressed against his, warm and gentle as Geralt’s thumb stroked his cheek, calloused fingers brushing against the stubble that was beginning to prickle up through his skin. Jaskier wasn’t sure where to put his hands. He yearned to cup the nape of Geralt’s neck, to pull his lover closer and never let go. In a more passionate affair, his hands would land on his partner’s arse, squeezing cheekily as the kiss deepened.

Jaskier wanted to cry. It was all so sweet, so perfect, and none of it was real. This was his fate. Like a character in one of his ballads, a flower doomed to wither away without the heart of his beloved.

But this was Geralt.

This was his friend.

He settled for holding onto Geralt’s waist, his fingers digging into the wool of Geralt’s cloak. The kiss was over all too soon, leaving his head spinning. He felt breathless, like all his soul had been poured into the kiss. He pulled back from Geralt’s embrace in a hopeless attempt to calm his beating heart, but it was too late. The damage was done. With a single kiss Geralt had ruined Jaskier for all other love. Before it had been pitiful yearning but now…

Gods…

He was utterly done for.

His fingers itched for his quill. Oh, the poems and ballads he could pull from just a single kiss. A buttercup crushed under the paws of a great wolf as he roamed through the forests. Okay, that one might be a tad obvious. He preferred to at least try and hide in plain sight.

A dandelion perhaps?

Geralt would never need to know that Jaskier had almost chosen a different flower as his namesake.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier blinked and looked up at Geralt. Normally Jaskier was able to pick up the most minute changes in Geralt’s expression and his eyes were usually an open book. The witcher’s face gave away nothing and it was bloody infuriating.

“That…. that went well?” he stammered, pulling at a loose thread in his cloak.

“Hmm. We’ll be fine,” Geralt turned from him, looking more and more like the Butcher of Blaviken of old, and less like Jaskier’s darling White Wolf. “It’s not long now. We should get going.”

And get going they did.

[soramei]

Intentional - Part 2

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut,

Word Count: 5.2k

Masterlist

A/N: o my god i did not expect so many people to have read the first part… even if only one person reads im still happy :D anyways heres the second part (i swear bang chan wont just be a side character later on hhahaha)

The insistent beeping of the alarm on your phone was what first woke you up from your dazed sleep. Your head still pounded from the night before, and frankly, you were ready to get fired for an extra five minutes of sleep. Tapping the ‘cancel’ button on your phone, you flipped over head down on your pillow to find the beautiful dreamland you were in. However, after just five more minutes, the triggering beeping of your backup alarm took you out of your slumber again, this time really waking you up. 

You trudge towards your bathroom, still dreading the day, on your way to take a shower. Thankfully, the steam from the warm shower combined with the fragrant smell of your conditioner slightly woke you up and dampened the aching in your head. 

Being drastically more awake than before, you made your way over to your kitchen to prepare breakfast. You opened the fridge, mind blank, just staring at the empty shelves. I seriously need to do some grocery shopping, you thought before grabbing an egg. 

You struggled to turn on the stove, not knowing which knob correlated to which burner. Turning a random one, you flinched when an excessive amount of fire appeared. However, after an embarrassingly long amount of time, you finally figured out the stove. Why are there still gas range stoves when electrical stoves exist? You wondered. 

You looked at the sad cooked egg in front of you. 

Was this really how you were going to live from now on? You cursed your whole family for spoiling you so much back home. Sure you were grateful for being able to live with your family for twenty three years, but the consequences of your mother making a fuss when you tried to cook for yourself was really showing now. 

You were about to dig into your lonely meal when your phone buzzed all of a sudden. Taking a quick peek at it, you saw Na-eun’s name flash up. You beamed with joy. Although you already worked up the nerve to be the first one to contact her, you were thankful she did first to break the tension. However, there was a small — microscopic even — part of you that wondered: what if that were Bang Chan?

You unlocked your phone. 

Na-eun: Hey! I know it’s kinda last minute, but do you wanna meet for breakfast?

Na-eun: There’s a café five minutes away from the building. 

Na-eun: ^-^

Smiling to yourself, you quickly typed a reply.

Y/n: Sure! My breakfast looks too sad to eat… 

Y/n: ^-^

In a flash, you stuffed your egg into a plastic tupperware container and put it in the empty fridge before booking it out your door, making sure to carefully enter the passcode to lock it before running to the staircase. You almost tripped over the stairs going down as you tried to sprint and text Na-eun at the same time. Checking the maps app on your phone, you told her how long it would take for you to arrive at the café. 

Na-eun: Do you mind if I bring my roommate? She keeps complaining about how boring it is at home haha.... 

Na-eun: She’s really nice though! ^^;

You happily agreed since you weren’t in the position to turn down another potential friend. Already two potential friends? You were so excited. 

There was a bounce in your steps as you made your way down to the subway. Scanning your card, you made your way to the big group of people on the platform and waited for your train. Taking the subway was so new, yet refreshing. There was something exciting about seeing a brand new set of people board the cart every stop, it was almost like refreshing your Instagram feed over and over again. 

After just a couple minutes more of waiting, your subway came. You naturally found your way in by shuffling along with the flock of people and found a good place to stand. 

You surveyed your cart. Some high school students, a few elderly, and many many businesspeople dressed in attire very similar to you. They all seemed to be busy on their cellular devices, so you quickly pulled yours out as well, eager to blend in. Your little Tamagotchi friend was happy to see you. 

The sound of the automated woman’s voice was what drew you out of your concentration, as she announced that the subway would be stopping at your destination next. When the subway stopped, the sea of people rushed out in a big tidal wave and you just went along with the flow. 

The map posted on a big pillar in the station was difficult to read at first, but after embarrassingly asking a station officer, you were confident you knew where you were going. The station was big with many interwoven hallways, each connecting to a different location. It had a couple shops and convenience stores located along the sides where students running late could buy some bread or tired businesspeople could inject their early morning dose of caffeine. 

You weaved your way through the long halls, confident that you could remember how you got out the right exit yesterday. Finally, after passing by many familiar stores and signs, you eventually made it above ground at the right exit. It was a cloudy September morning, the wind flew past you at just the right speed to elicit a slight shiver. You curse yourself for not bringing a jacket in your rush to the café. The streets were busy with cars zooming by, but it was nowhere near as congested as the subway traffic.

You started following your phone’s GPS to the marked location, and after a couple minutes, you spot the café. You immediately recognized it as a chain café as you’ve seen a few more of these scattered around the city as you got around. This one, however, appeared to be larger than the others (presumably because it was near so many big name companies) as it had three floors in total. 

You texted Na-eun, telling her you’ve arrived. She let you know that they were both in one of the booths on the second floor, so you decided to order before heading up. Walking over to the cashier, you scanned their massive menu, trying to find what you were looking for.

“One mango juice, please.” You politely ordered. “And also a slice of the red velvet cake.”  

After you had paid, you waited patiently, hands folded in front of you for your food. Because it wasn’t busy in the morning, it wasn’t that long until one of the baristas handed your food to you on a tiny plastic tray and you started making your way up. You reached the top floor and scanned your eyes around the room to find a familiar face. 

“Y/n!” Na-eun waved.

You waved back and made your way over. She was in the booth, and there was another girl sitting beside her. 

“Y/n, this is my roommate Yoojin.” She smiled at you and made a gesture towards the smaller girl sitting beside her. She was a fluffy haired girl. Her appearance was puppy-like, with her wide eyes and a large smile that was almost too big for her face. 

“Hi Yoojin.” You said as you sat down. 

“Hi Y/n! Na-eun told me about you yesterday. It seems like you have similar jobs.” She looked back at you with wide eyes. “But I think you got luckier because you actually get to interact with the idols.” 

“I think both of us are lucky to even be working there,” you chuckled, “plus, I don’t actually get to be working directly with the artists. I could only wish.” You joked. 

“Still extremely lucky, Na-eun told me she saw Bang Chan and Felix from Stray Kids at your building’s cafeteria yesterday.” Her hair bounced. “Finally, now I can say I’ve indirectly met famous people.” 

You and Na-eun both laughed. Although Yoojin looked the same age as you, there was something about the way she acted that just seemed so precious and innocent — like a little sister. How old was she anyway?

“Yoojin’s younger than me by a few years,” Na-eun said as if she read your thoughts, “She graduated university a year early. Top of her programming class. She knows everything about technology; one time, I stupidly forgot the passcode to my P.O. box and she cracked it for me in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Stop it.” Yoojin whined, looking down and playfully hitting Na-eun on the shoulder. “I told you before that I don’t like it when you talk about me. Let’s talk about Y/n instead. Na-eun told me you’re not from here, what do you do at JYPE then?” 

“I’m an assistant to help market some of the artists in China.” You leaned in a bit. “Actually, to be honest, I’m working on a secret project and Bang Chan from Stray Kids is technically part of the team.” 

Both Yoojin and Na-eun’s eyes widened. “No way, you’re so lucky.” Yoojin said. “Why can’t you have a job like that?” She poked at Na-eun.

“Get your own job first,” Na-eun smirked, “then we can talk about mine.”  

“Hey! I do have a job.” Yoojin clenched her jaw, looking at her plate and avoiding eye contact.

“I’m not sure if talking to people online all day counts as a job.” 

“Whatever.” Yoojin swirled her fork on her plate, stabbing at a piece of her cake. The scraping of metal on ceramic made all of you wince. 

“Anyways,” you started, trying to change the atmosphere, “did anybody watch the first episode of that new drama?” 

The two girls seemed to have a mood switch, looking relieved to start a new conversation. They gladly added their input and opinions on the new drama, talking about both the plot and the actors. Time passed by twice as fast as the three of you sat at the booth talking about the most random things. However, it was soon time to go to work for both you and Na-eun. 

“Hey, before you leave, could I get your number?” Yoojin asked. “We should hang out again sometime.”  

You gladly typed your contact into her phone, excited to hang out with Yoojin again. She was so full of energy, it reminded you of your university days. Not to mention that fluffy curly hair. It was so cute. 

You and Na-eun both made it out of the café and walked side-by-side over to your building before parting ways at the elevator corridor. It was a miracle that you managed to arrive at your cubicle in time, without getting lost. There was a pile of papers on your desk; they were the files you worked on yesterday. You remember that yesterday Manager Chen marked some improvements that could be made to the papers, but you checked your email just to be sure. 

Hello Y/n,

I put the documents from yesterday on your desk for some final edits. I’ve also added a few more. Could you finish them all by the end of the day?

Best, 

Manager Chen

You flipped through the stack of documents, and sure enough, there were about five more letters that needed to be worked on. Feeling determined, you gritted your teeth, got out your pen, and started to do your job. 

There were more corrections to make than what you expected, plus, you wanted to make sure your work was perfect this time. You skipped a trip to the cafeteria for lunch and ate something from the vending machine at your desk instead. You tried your best to work diligently, but because of your inexperience, it was taking longer than expected. You lost track of time as the hours passed by. 

“Your team is working hard today, Manager Chen.” A voice came from across the room. You looked up from your stack of documents to see Manager Kim walking over towards Manager Chen, who was standing casually outside her office doors. 

“What can I say, I keep them busy.” She replied. “Are you heading home now?” 

“Yes, and so should you.” Manaker Kim stopped at your cubicle, putting a hand on the wall. It was cat-like the way he looked at you. “Y/n, you’re working hard. Are you going home now? I’ll give you a ride.” 

You couldn’t head home now, not with the amount of work you still had with the new letters Manager Chen added to the pile. “Thank you for the offer, Manager Kim, but I’ll stay later today. I need to finish this work by today.” 

“Let her be, Manager Kim, you know how new employees are.” Manager Chen nagged and crossed her arms. “Come, I’ll walk you to the parking lot.” 

You bowed at both your managers and stretched your back before getting back to your work. The black lines of both languages started to blur into one as you strained your eyes to hold a tighter focus on the documents. It wasn’t until two more gruesome hours later when you finished your work. You did a long deserved stretch of the arms and checked the clock for the time, praying that it wasn’t too late. Thankfully, with the time being only eight, it wasn’t that dark out. You took a quick peek at your phone to check your notifications before leaving the office. 

There were only two texts sent fifteen minutes ago. Both from Bang Chan. 

Your chest tightened when you unlocked your phone. 

Bang Chan: Hey, I know it’s a bit late, but I have some ideas for the project and I was thinking we could meet up to discuss them

Bang Chan: Only if you want that is…

Your brain was in jumbles as you thought of what to text back. There were a couple staff that wrote you emails about their ideas for the project, but none of them asked to meet in person. And now, the first person who asked you to have a meeting in person was Bang Chan. Whom you rode back to your apartment drunk with. On your first day at work. And now you missed his work-related text by fifteen minutes. However, even though it was late, you still felt like you needed to take his ideas in. After all, like Manager Chen said, you know how new employees are. 

Y/n: Hi, sorry my reply is late… Are you still free? 

You anxiously stared at the blue-lit screen of your phone, jumping in and out of the text app waiting for a reply. After less than a minute, you saw the little dots at the bottom which indicated that he was typing. It disappeared for a moment, only to come back less than a second later. Your thumbs started unconsciously fiddling with one another in front of your phone screen as you waited for what felt like eternity. 

Bang Chan: It’s alright haha 

Bang Chan: There’s a cafe about 5 minutes from our building, wanna meet there? 

You immediately knew which café he was talking about as you conveniently hung out with Na-eun there this morning. You texted Bang Chan back, letting him know that you would be there as soon as possible. You grabbed your bag, along with your trusty pen and notebook,  before leaving your desk for the elevators. The elevator ride was unusually fast as it was already well past working hours for most people.  

Once you were out of the building, you made your way down the familiar sidewalk, passing by the familiar street shops as you felt the bite of the wind against your face. The sky was becoming dim as the sun made its descent, but the illumination coming from the streetlamps helped guide you there. After five minutes of a brisk walk, you saw the familiar sign of the café. You also saw a familiar person standing outside the door, dressed in all black, with his head down looking at his phone. 

You tried to make your footsteps slightly louder the closer you got to him in order to make your presence known. It seemed to have worked, as Bang Chan heard you and turned his head up. He immediately gave you a boyish grin, putting his phone in the pocket of his hoodie and pulling his face mask down to his chin. 

“Hey,” You waved awkwardly, “did I make you wait long?”

“Not at all.” Bang Chan said as he held open the door, “Let’s go in, it’s pretty chilly today.” 

You thanked him and walked inside. You both made your way to the cashier and looked up at the menu, deciding on what to buy. 

“I think I’ll get an iced americano.” Bang Chan said. “Are you getting anything?”

“Hmm. I might get the mango juice.” You decided and lined up behind Bang Chan, waiting for him to order first. 

Bang Chan walked up to the waiting barista. “Hello, I’ll get an iced americano please.” A second passed. “Also a mango juice.” 

Your eyes widened as you silently tried to stop him from buying your drink, feeling embarrassed that Bang Chan — who was essentially your coworker — was buying your drink. He didn’t seem to notice your quiet protests, as he pulled his card out of his wallet and quickly tapped it on the pin pad. After he was done paying, he turned around and tucked his card back in his wallet, giving you a smug grin. 

“I’ll pay you back later.” You insisted, embarrassed once again that he was doing something for you. 

“Of course, of course.” He casually replied and stood beside you with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “I’ll wait for our drinks. You can go find a table.” 

You nodded and left to find a table on the first floor. Surprisingly, there were more people there at night than when you were there in the morning. Some people had their textbooks out to study, some were quietly enjoying a book. Some were on dates. 

Finally, after weaving through many fully filled tables, you found an empty one near the table. You sat down, taking out your pen and notebook to prepare for Bang Chan’s ideas. Not long after, you saw Bang Chan walking around, turning his head left and right to look for you. You caught his eye as you waved at him to come over. He strolled over and put the tray of drinks down on the table, placing yours beside your notebook. 

“So,” You took a sip of your delicious mango juice, “do you wanna get started now?” 

“Sure.” His usually friendly face turned serious. It seemed like he took his work seriously. “So I was thinking, we need to film some content to start promoting our debut right? How about we film content for the Mid-Autumn Festival? It falls on the same day as Chuseok, so we can use this as a small promotion for our debut.” 

You nodded in agreement. Although this idea would be a little last minute to carry out, it was a great opportunity to promote their group in order to gain more popularity before their debut in China. “This is a great idea Bang Chan,” You hurriedly jotted down everything he said, “did you have more to add on?”  

“We could make several episodes of this content. I was thinking we could camp in the mountains and maybe cook some food, make mooncakes.” 

“All of this is really good, we have three weeks until the actual Mid-Autumn Festival. If I rush this idea to Manager Chen, we could have one week to plan it, and two weeks to film and produce it.” You beamed, glad that you could be involved in a potential big production. 

You and Bang Chan kept discussing his idea for content, and as time passed, your conversation turned more casual as it eventually evolved into topics unrelated to work.

“So, why are you having coffee this late anyway?” You tipped your chin towards his glass. 

“There’s this part of a song I’m working on that I just can’t get perfect,” Bang Chan noticeably clenched his jaw, “I wanna figure it out before I leave.” 

“Do you usually stay up late to work?” You asked. 

“I can’t sleep anyways, so I might as well work.” 

“Insomnia?” You questioned. He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his coffee. A few seconds of silence passed. “You know, my mom made me pack some of her special tea before leaving. She said it was for jet lag, which is weird because there’s only a time difference of an hour here.” You rambled. 

“Oh?” Bang Chan tipped his head. 

“I could give you some tomorrow.” You said. Your eyes wandered everywhere except to him. “If you want.” 

“Really, you’d do that?” His eyes widened as he stirred his coffee with his straw. 

It may have been your subconscious need to make friends, or just the fact that you mom gave you so much tea for your non-existent jet lag, but you gladly offered your mom’s solve-all remedy. “Of course, anything for a friend.” 

He blinked a couple times. He stopped stirring his coffee. “Thanks.” He looked at you with a slight grin. 

“Plus, this way I can pay you back.” You teased. 

“Okay, fair enough.” He chuckled. A dimple appeared on his cheek as his smile widened. “But seriously, you don’t need to worry about paying me back for anything next time.” 

Next time? You wondered. Of course he would have more ideas for his own group. You wanted to roll your eyes at yourself. It seemed like, despite his easy-going personality, that he cared a lot about not only his job, but the boys he worked with. His work ethic inspired you and made you want to work just as hard as he did. Except you definitely couldn’t stay up as late as he did. 

The two of you kept up the back and forth that was established, talking about whatever came to mind, with a few sprinklings of work-related conversations throughout. You talked about your first day impressions and how well you were adjusting to life in a new country, and he retaliated by sharing his own experiences of moving across the world. You were so enraptured by your riveting conversations that you easily lost track of time. It wasn’t until you had already spent minutes playing around with your straw in the empty glass that you finally remembered how late it was.

“It’s kinda late, I think I should get going now.” You said as you checked your phone for the time. 

“Are you taking the subway?” He asked as he started gathering the empty glasses. “It’s pretty dark now — I could walk you there.”

“It’s alright. I don’t wanna take time from your work” You said, gathering your notebook and pen. 

“It’s no problem, really, it’s just a five minute walk.” He stood up with the tray of empty glasses in one hand and pulled up his face mask with the other.

The two of you left the café and walked the short distance to the subway stairs.  There, you parted ways and you started your trek home. Taking the subway at night was vastly different from morning; the morning rush was filled with rows and rows of busy people, whereas the night train had a completely different feeling to it. There were actually available seats, to begin with. You found an empty seat and took out your phone to kill time. You checked your missed notifications.

Yoojin: Hi Y/n!! ^-~ Today was so fun, we should go again sometime! 

You smiled at the little text from Yoojin, visioning her wide smile stretch across her face. Texting a quick reply back, you were about to put your phone back down when another notification popped up. 

Unknown: Stay away from him. This is a warning.  

A flash of panic rushed through your body making your chest tighten. Your heart was coming out of your chest, the beating was so hard you could hear it even in the running subway. Completely fixated on the bright white of your phone, your eyes strained from the light. Adrenaline filled your blood, and in the spur of the moment, you quickly blocked the number and deleted the text chain. It had to just be a prank text, after all, you have gotten pranked through text multiple times before in your past. 

You put your phone down slowly, turning your head to survey your subway cart for any suspicious acting people. There was only a grandma with her cane and a few middle school girls comparing their new lip tints. Your thumbs naturally started fiddling with each other. Your eyebrows knit together as you clutched your bag tight to your body for the rest of the subway ride. 

The walk back to your apartment was done carefully. You chose the side of the sidewalk with more light as you kept your senses open, trying to remember the face of every person that walked past you. Although it was more likely than not that the text was just a prank, you were still somebody living alone with very few connections in a new country. Your legs quickened at the thought and you hurried your way back.

Arriving at your apartment door, you carefully entered your lock combination and slammed your door shut, double checking that it was locked. Your home was dark, with only the moon casting long shadows on your furniture. You quickly switched your light on. You tried to put this text to the back of your mind as you got ready to sleep, but it loomed, feeling like a shadow cast by the moon. The shadow in your mind stayed as you closed your eyes, waiting for your sleep to chase it away. 

The next morning, you woke up to the obnoxious beeping of your alarm. You sleepily sat up, getting ready to perform your familiar morning routine. Everything felt like routine, so monotonous that the text from last night was completely forgotten. You opened the fridge and ate your suspicious egg from yesterday morning. 

Before leaving, you suddenly remembered to bring your mom’s magical tea. You rummaged through the cupboards until you found the ridiculous packaging your mom insisted on using. 

The route to work was already starting to feel familiar as you mindlessly made your way from your quaint apartment all the way to the opulent blue building. You entered the office and sat at your desk, checking for new emails. After nothing of immediate importance came up, you got out your notebook and started to type up your notes from yesterday. 

You were in a trance. The repetitive task of reading and typing completely hypnotised you as hours passed by without you even noticing. What broke you out of your trance, however, was the voice of your boss. 

“Bang Chan.” Manager Chen called out. You looked up from your monitor and peeked up from your cubicle to see the familiar hair of a certain man you knew. Assuming he was here for a meeting with Manager Chen, you went back to your hypnotising work. The walls of your cubicle were too high for him to see you anyways — something about eliminating distractions to maximise work efficiency. 

You hit ‘enter’ on your keyboard to start a new paragraph when all of a sudden, you spotted an object appear on your desk from the corner of your eye. 

A bottle of mango juice. 

Quickly turning your head around, you were met with Bang Chan’s back. He was already making strides towards Manager Chen, but something about the sway of his broad shoulders and the way his right hand stretched open told you that it was him who gave you this little bottle of happiness. You unscrewed the lid and took a sip before getting back to work.  

Thankfully, the gift you received was enough sugar content to keep you working efficiently for the rest of the day. You had finished all your work and could hopefully pitch Manager Chen the idea by tomorrow. You found your mom’s tea in your bag while gathering your stuff, remembering your promise to Bang Chan. 

Y/n: Hey, I have my mom’s tea — I could give it to you right now?

There was a reply almost immediately. 

Bang Chan: Sure ^^ I’m in a practice room on floor X right now, I’ll wait by the elevators. 

You made your way over to the elevators and tapped your nails on the package of tea whilst silently waiting for an elevator to arrive. The silence, however, was promptly cut off as your phone started to ring. It was from Yoojin. She probably wants to hang out soon, you thought as you happily answered right away. 

“Y/n!” Yoojin yelled into the phone, she sounded worried. 

“Yoojin, is there something wrong?” You frowned, concerned for the girl. 

“I-I was in the parking lot near your building, a-and I fell down the stairs.” She sniffed. “I think I sprained my ankle or something — I can’t stand up. It hurts so much.” 

“Oh god, Yoojin, do you want me to come help?” You were in the elevator by now, already pressing the button for the main floor. 

“If you’re not far, I don’t want to trouble you.” You heard sounds of her wincing. 

“It’s no trouble Yoojin,” You exclaimed, “your ankle is much more important now. I’ll be right there.” 

“Thank you Y/n.” You heard her sniff again through the phone. 

You bolted out of the elevator as soon as it reached the main floor, stuffing your forgotten package in your bag. Ignoring the looks of confusion of the people you sprinted past, you located the parking lot building as soon as you left the main doors of the JYPE building. Your chest burned and your breaths were heavy. 

You were worried for Yoojin. She seemed like such a sweet girl that it pained you to even imagine her hurt in any sort of way. With her fluffy hair and wide eyes, it made you feel like you were helping an injured puppy. 

Your legs felt like concrete after a while of running, but you finally made it to the parking lot building. Entering the parking lot, you looked for any sign of a staircase where Yoojin said she fell on. There were none. 

“Excuse me, where are the stairs to this parking lot?” You asked the parking lot attendant, assuming it was just hidden somewhere. 

“There are no stairs here,” He said, “if you want to get to the second floor, there is an elevator over there.” He pointed to the other side of the lot. 

You thanked the man and ran to the elevator, hoping Yoojin wasn’t too hurt by now. You’ve experienced injuries like these before whilst playing sports back home, they hurt like hell. Your breathing was staggered by the time you reached the elevator, however, you didn’t give up and kept looking around trying to find the girl. There was nobody. You were about to call Yoojin again just to make sure you were in the correct place, but a voice interrupted you. 

“Y/n.” 

It was Manager Kim.

[piecksz]

forget me too. | (m)

pairing: modern punk!bakugo x fem!reader 

warnings: nsfw, angst, cheating, oral sex, penetrative sex, angry sex, choking, fingering, exes with benefits, mentions of breeding, hair pulling, explicit language, toxic relationship, manipulation, reader just being a lovesick puppy but wouldn’t we all be if it came to bakugo

summary: it’s been a year since you broke up with bakugo after you found him cheating on you, and you swore you’d moved on from him, but when you run into him again at a record shop, you fall back into a dangerous cycle of love and hate

words: 9,800+

a/n: so i gave in and watched downfalls high, and i’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t the best piece of media i’ve ever consumed, but mgk’s feature track with halsey kind of ate (AND IT LITERALLY INSPIRED SO MANY ANGSTY IDEAS I WAS ITCHINGGG). therefore, this is said angsty idea. you can listen to the song forget me too by machine gun kelly (feat. halsey) while reading, that’s if you’re really daring. good luck lol 

If there was one thing in the world you couldn’t fully understand, it was the type of girls who hated their ex-boyfriends, twirling their hair flirtatiously and giggling at all their pitiful punchlines one week, and the next, hatching bogus rumors to discourage other girls from seeking them out romantically, letting them know that their charm came at a price.

Until it was Bakugo.

You genuinely didn’t see it coming. You weren’t even able to recognize the severity of the situation until you were convulsing with the gravity of your sobs, shrieking at him in front of his apartment. Bakugo had called you earlier that evening to reschedule your previously-arranged dinner date since his friend Kirishima was in town, and he wanted to dedicate the rest of the night to catching up with his old schoolmate. You happily forfeited your own plans and instead opted to rendezvous with your boyfriend and his familiar later in the week, but as the night hauled on your favorite TV show no longer satiated your boredom.

Shuffling into the kitchen and scouring your cabinet for ingredients, you drew up the idea to bake some sweets for Bakugo and Kirishima because you figured it would be a nice surprise, however once you arrived at Bakugo’s place you deduced quickly that his friend wasn’t over. It should have been notably clear that something was unusual by the way he was hesitant to let you in.

He poked his head out from behind the privacy of his front door, definitely surprised to see you, but not in the way you had hoped.

“Y/N,” he greeted you with a tight-lipped expression, eyes dropping to the tub of sugar cookies in your hands. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call me to let me know you were coming over?”

You hummed after detecting a subtle edge in his voice. “I wanted to surprise you.” You rose to your toes to look past his head. “I thought you said your friend was coming over.”

Bakugo nodded, and once he extended his hand to accept your treats you could see that his torso was bare. “Idiot had to cancel at the last minute. School shit. He said he’ll be here tomorrow.”

Your grip tightened on the container. 

If his friend couldn’t make it then why didn’t he let you know? The two of you still could have made it to your dinner reservations.

And in that moment, you swore your internal monologue was loud enough to hear, because you immediately received your answer when you heard a soft, feminine voice come from inside his apartment.

“Who the fuck is that?” you barked, trying to outbalance Bakugo’s weight on the door. “Bakugo you little fucking shit--let me in.” It was a moment-long game between the two of you until Bakugo gave in, accepting the reality that he’d already been caught. You stumbled into the door as it swung open, revealing his company.

She was petite with short blonde hair, wearing a panicked expression that matched Bakugo’s oversized flannel on her naked body almost impeccably. You stared at each other until you broke the tense silence with a quiet holy shit.

“Holy shit,” you repeated louder, blinking as fast as you could to hold back the salty tears that were beginning to cloud your vision. “You fucking dick!” You didn’t notice how forceful your voice had gotten until you were shouting at him, the immense pressure building in your chest making your voice crack. You hurled every vulgar name in the book at Bakugo who couldn’t even look you in the eye while you cried in front of him.

This couldn’t have been the same man you once saw your future playing out with. The hell unfolding in front of you was exactly what your friends, Momo and Ochako, had predicted once you disclosed your interest in Bakugo. They warned you that he had a record on campus, with multiple girls, and yet somehow when he wooed you with sweet words and thoughtful gifts, just like they said he would, you still thought you were different. The worst part of it all was that he wasn’t a terrible guy by any means. He was a little rough around the edges with a temper, but he was hilarious and passionate, all while being profound and smart.

In your fantasies the two of you were married, and then came babies with tufts of your tresses and the mischief of his ruby eyes. He would have been a winner, if he wasn’t so emotionally incompetent. Perhaps you were naive to assume what you and Bakugo had was love just because he said so.

Your quivering fingers worked unsteadily against the lid of the tupperware. You tossed it aside before dumping the container’s contents on the floor of his apartment and hurled the empty food saver at him.

“Come fucking on Y/N,” he said wearily. The fucking nerve he had to act tired.

“Enjoy your cookies,” you responded venomously, leaving quickly before another set of tears came surging.

The next several months were excruciating, and the pain you experienced was nothing compared to its onset. If you weren’t spending days cocooned in bed to sleep off the fatigue of your endless crying, then you were on your couch, staring unamused while Blair Waldorf waltzed across your TV screen. 

At least she got her happy fucking ending. Good for her. 

You couldn’t even find the energy to eat, and ice cream was not the cure-all for heartbreaks like everyone lied and said it was.

Every so often Momo and Ochako would pay you a visit. For the first few weeks they let you mourn, consoling you and cleaning up the litter of crumpled tissues around your apartment. After the first month, they suggested that maybe meeting someone new would be the best way to help you forget about your break up, but you didn’t want to meet someone new. You just wanted to know if Bakugo missed you too.

Once your grades started slipping, you used that as an excuse to turn to isolation and lose yourself in your schoolwork. The distraction left you with no leisure time to scroll through old photos of you and Bakugo in your phone, and within a couple months, you swore that you’d finally moved on from him.

But it seemed all of that was forgotten the moment you recognized his head of spiky blonde hair from the next aisle over in the record shop, and you silently cursed the universe’s cruel way of working, that all-knowing bitch.

You kept your head down, pretending to be overtly interested in the Kendrick Lamar vinyl you held in your hands, but you couldn’t stop peeking over the shelf to see if Bakugo had moved from his spot.

You could hear him shuffling, and every time you looked up, he was a step closer to the end of the aisle, meaning that your game plan was to move in the opposite direction, so you could slip past him without being detected.

You continued to move one step to the left every time Bakugo moved another step to the right, surely securing your elusive escape, but when you glanced up again, he had disappeared from your line of surveillance. Shit.

“Y/N?”

Shit!

Slowly, you pivoted in the direction of your name only to gawk, horrified, as your ex-boyfriend strolled up to you casually, like he had never ripped your heart out and trampled all over it.

Once he got closer, you realized how generous the year between your break up and now had been to him. His yellow flannel was useless tied around his waist when it should have been on his shoulders instead, covering the way his black Led Zeppelin shirt clung to the impressive build of his upper body.  

“Holy fuck, it is you,” Bakugo said, incredulously. You swore he had grown taller now that he was standing in front of you because you couldn’t remember if he had always towered over you.

“Small world,” you said, distastefully.

“Not really,” Bakugo shrugged. “This is just where I come to slave away for minimum wage.”

You simply blinked at him with a placid expression, unable to decide which of your emotions was best considering the circumstances.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he chuckled. “Did you cut your hair?”

You raised an eyebrow plainly. “No.” If anything your hair had grown a few inches longer.

“Highlights?”

“No.”

“Shit seriously?” Bakugo cast his eyes downwards and then back up, sizing up your figure. “Well you look good.”

You could only offer up a dry laugh in response while shaking your head at the peculiarity of the situation.  

“What is wrong with you?” you jeered.  

You couldn’t believe the ease with which he approached you after not seeing you for twelve whole months, especially when six and a half of those months were spent bawling your eyes out over him and trying to repair the heart he broke carelessly.

Bakugo’s blithe expression withered. The look left behind was one of bashful remorse, as if he was embarrassed by the person he was a year ago.

You weren’t even sure if he had really changed since you’d gone out of your way to avoid hearing or seeing anything about him after you claimed to have gotten over him. The real reason was that you felt you couldn’t trust yourself. You feared that if you came across anything having to do with him, you’d descend into another self-destructive, heartache-driven spiral.

“I tried calling to apologize, but you blocked my number. And then blocked me on everything else,” Bakugo explained.

You shifted uncomfortably.

“I never saw you around campus, and when I showed up to your apartment you weren’t home. I felt like horse shit, seriously, but after a while I just gave up, I guess.”

You pursed your lips together at the mention of his attempts to remedy your breakup, specifically because this whole time you could have sworn he didn’t care to fix things with you.

Bakugo leaned in, and you surprised yourself by making no effort to create more distance between the both of you.

“I’m really fucking sorry, Y/N,” he said softly, for once without the gruffness of his usual tone.

If he made the effort to apologize even after a year, that must have meant that he still had some feelings left over for you, right? Did that mean he still loved you? The suspicion made your heart squeeze with expectation.

“Are you sorry that you hurt me, or are you sorry that you got caught?” You questioned.

“Both,” Bakugo snickered tactlessly.

You swore you could have punched his lights out then and there, but he must have noticed the way you tensed up because he looped his arm around you, pulling you in until you nestled into his larger frame.

“I fucking missed you, dumbass.”

Your stomach dropped at the very mention of the words you were longing to hear after your split, and you knew that you weren’t over him. Not even close. Even when you had caught another girl with her hands on him.

Your first mistake was unblocking Bakugo’s number that night, and your second was sending him a text. You stood in the bathroom, dumbfounded by your own actions while you clutched your phone nervously. Thank god he didn’t have his read receipts on. The last thing you needed to know was if he decided to leave you on read after you had just stroked his monumental ego.

You sat your phone aside and proceeded brushing your teeth until you were interrupted by a shrill ding from beside you. You grabbed your phone much too quickly and slid the screen up to be met with a reply from Bakugo.

9:32 PM

bakugo: so i’m still in your phone huh?

9:32 PM:

bakugo: lmao

9:33 PM:

bakugo: thinking about me even after bitching about how much you hate me?

9:34 PM:

bakugo: especially at night that’s hot

You scowled at the messages before putting your phone back down. Using the time it took you to finish brushing your teeth and washing your face, you recited your responses over and over again because as much as you wanted to, you knew it wouldn’t be smart to jump back into your relationship that fast. You still held negative sentiments about what he had done to you, but the pleasure of having him back was slowly beginning to outweigh your earlier feelings.

While shuffling into your bedroom, you kept your eyes glued to your phone screen, typing, deleting, and retyping messages, worried that they would sound too needy.

9:50 PM:

you: so i see you still have a head so big that it could block out the sun

9:53 PM:

bakugo: fuck off you little shit

9:53 PM:

bakugo: no classes tmrw and i’m off work at 12

9:54 PM:

you: ok? do i look like your fucking secretary?

10:00 PM:

bakugo: no im just letting you know in case you’re planning on stalking me again :^(

10:01 PM

bakugo: obviously i wanna see you tomorrow dipshit

Warmth spread across your cheeks until it deepened into a dangerous heat, and the happy memories of you and Bakugo a year ago resurfaced as deja vu. Everything was scarily reminiscent of the way he asked you out the first time, back when your opinions about him were much more straightforward.

You rolled over to the other side of your bed and squealed, flustered by how to-the-point he was about his desire to reconcile things with you.

“Get it together, honestly,” you reprimanded yourself, jabbing a finger against your temple in an effort to drill the mantra into your head.

You responded back to accept Bakugo’s invitation, being mindful not to sound too excited, but you couldn’t deny that you slept better than usual that night.

The next day when you met up with Bakugo after his shift at the record shop ended, the two of you settled on getting coffee from one of the restaurants on campus. Well, you got a coffee, but Bakugo went for an iced tea instead because he insisted that coffee tasted like “dog shit”.

Regardless of your staggering difference of opinion in beverages, you guys hit it off again, laughing and joking around like there had never been a rift between you two in the first place. You were taken aback by how comfortable you still felt around him and how much he still seemed to adore you.

Two weeks after your reunion, you and Bakugo were already falling back into the routine of going on dates like you’d done before, snickering in the back of crowded movie theaters and demolishing each other in multiple rounds of mini golf. You even kept the photo booth picture that was printed for you at the aquarium in your wallet, just so you could peek at it every now and then.

Three weeks after your reunion, you concluded that you were pretty much together. Bakugo had never made it official, and neither had you, but you trusted the way you felt, and it seemed clear that he felt the same way.

Your friends however, weren’t as happy to hear the news of you and Bakugo seeing each other again.

Momo’s eyes widened as she leaned over the table and thrusted her mechanical pencil in your direction.

“Y/N, please tell me you’re joking.” She turned to Ochako who looked at you with a troubled expression. “Uraraka, please tell me she’s joking.”

Ochako pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head in utter disbelief. She said nothing. Rather she looked to you for an answer, wanting you to explain the situation before she scolded you for being so forgiving toward someone who didn’t deserve it.  

“He apologized okay? And it really seemed like he meant it, I’m not just saying that. You guys know I can’t hold grudges. I’m soft.”

Momo huffed.

“We started talking, and he told me that he tried to apologize but he never got the chance.”

Your friends were still quiet, waiting for the punchline, but once they realized that there was no hidden gag to the story, they leaned back in exhaustion, disappointed that you’d gotten yourself into another wearisome situation because of your thoughtlessness.

“And he said he missed me. After an entire year, he still misses me.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if we had found you someone else, you know. Someone nice. Better than Bakugo, so you don’t feel like you have to settle,” Momo countered.

“I didn’t need to date someone else,” you chided her. “I’m not one of those people that need to be in a relationship to feel fulfilled, plus I’ve been swamped with assignments.” You knew you were just trying to save face. You knew the real reason why you turned down all your prospective blind dates, and your friends knew it too. You couldn’t see yourself with anyone other than Bakugo, and you meant it when you said you didn’t need love to feel like you had purpose, but when it came to the blonde, it appeared that none of those principles applied.

“You’re lying,” Ochako sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear before clicking her pen and returning to her research paper.

“I’m not settling!” you declared, earning a few scattered glances from the other students in the library. You smiled at them ruefully, mouthing an apology, and ducked your head back into your college textbook.

You decided to drop the conversation, concluding that your friends just wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know your relationship with Bakugo like you did so how could they have understood?

Later that night however, you couldn’t help but chew over your friends’ reactions. There was clearly a reason why they felt the way they did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to see their concern. You didn’t need to be chastised every time you did something they didn’t agree with, because you reminded yourself you were a grown ass woman. You treasured Momo and Ochako, but you were absolutely capable of looking out of yourself.

“Why do girls watch this shit?” Bakugo muttered from beside you, uninterested in the movie playing on the Macbook propped up in your lap. “It’s just dresses and sideburns, where the fuck are the fist fights?”

“It’s Pride and Prejudice, stupid. Not Deadpool,” you retorted, giggling slightly once Bakugo decided the skin of your neck was more interesting than Kiera Knightley. He released a throaty chuckle while attaching his lips to the base of your jaw and continued kissing until he stopped where your neck met your shoulders.

“Stop, I’m trying to watch the movie,” you complained tenderly with absolutely no intent to make Bakugo stop.

Bakugo sat up, grabbing your laptop off the sheets and closing it briskly. “Fuck the movie, I have a better idea,” he suggested. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching as he tossed the device onto the chair beside your closet.

“Hey, what are you doing, you dick?” you protested.

Within seconds Bakugo was on top of you with arms on either side of your head, effectively caging you in beneath him.

“Yeah?” he whispered provocatively, like he was making sure he had your permission first. He spoke under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You didn’t know what sensation you registered first: the warmth now spreading quickly across your cheeks, down to your chest, or the pronounced throbbing between your thighs.

You nodded, softly responding with a “yeah” in return, and Bakugo didn’t waste a second before pressing his mouth to yours enthusiastically. You were surprised how quickly you re-familiarized yourself with the curve of his lips and the way they moved steadily against yours. Acting with fervor, he used his hand to grip your chin, forcing your mouth to open wider so he could slip his tongue past your teeth.

Bakugo used his free hand to grab your breast under your sweatshirt, and you relished in the feeling of his warm palm against your skin while he ran his fingertips against the silky fabric of your lace bra.

“Lace? You dirty bitch,” he teased, breaking contact. “There’s no way you could have known we were gonna fuck.”

You laughed, appreciating how seductive Bakugo looked. His sandy hair was tousled from your impatient hands in his locks, skin feverishly tinged with a dusty pink hue, and lips swollen from the force of his kiss.

“I didn’t know, but I was hoping we would,” you answered honestly. “I guess I got lucky.”

Bakugo snickered, clearly pleased with the response he received. His scarlet eyes flickered lustfully, and he hastily returned to working on your body. He pulled your sweatshirt up and off, tossing it over his shoulder before working swiftly against the clasp of your bra, which he skillfully managed to break with just one hand.

Must have had a lot of practice with that.

But your cynical thoughts were soon forgotten the moment Bakugo’s tongue curled around your nipple, enjoying the way his saliva made your skin glisten under the dim lamp light. He hummed loudly every time you jolted and whimpered, your back arching in tandem. He closed his lips around the delicate nub, sucking harshly while making no attempts to hide his sly smile. He was enjoying himself far too much.

He made sure he put his other hand to work, rolling your other nipple between his fingers, pinching roughly while tugging on it absentmindedly. Once he grew bored of your innocent mewls, he thirsted for something filthier.

Bakugo tantalizingly slid his hand down your stomach until his fingers curled around the waistband of your volleyball shorts. He stretched the Spandex material until when he released it, it snapped painfully against your skin, his cock throbbing at the exposure of your earthy groan.

He slipped off your shorts, and the sight before him was enough to elicit a long, drawn-out “Jesus fucking Christ”.

You didn’t realize you were so aroused that your underwear was soaking wet, your pussy now visible through the thin sheer fabric. Bakugo swallowed hard, palming himself to relieve some of the unbearable pressure he was feeling. He could feel his cock straining against his underwear, and he wanted to stick his dick inside you and fuck you until your eyes rolled back into your head, but the only thing he wanted more than that was to taste you.

“These are mine,” Bakugo insisted. He pulled your panties off, chuckling dryly at the wet stain on the fabric before tucking them into his pocket.

You tilted your head at him.

“What? I’m keeping them as a souvenir,” he replied.

But that’s not what you were concerned with. You were more humiliated than anything that this was your first time having sex with him in a year, and you’d been horny for him since you opened the door. You might as well have just written Bakugo’s Whore on your head in thick permanent marker, but you kept your suggestion to yourself knowing that Bakugo would have liked the idea way too much.

Bakugo reached down to pull his shirt over his head and threw it aside, unveiling his impressive physique. After you guys had broken up, he began finding himself in the gym more frequently, placating his regret and anger through physical exertion, and although he used weightlifting to cope, it left him with an incredible build.

Sweet lord, you thought, please fucking break me.

Bakugo wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you forcibly toward him. You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a good look as his face disappeared between your legs. You couldn’t see much past his hair, but you felt a long wet lick up your folds, and your arms immediately gave out, causing you to fall back onto the bed while your hips bucked upward.

You let out an obscene cry, but that only encouraged Bakugo more. He parted your lips with his tongue, licking another stripe up to your clit before sucking it into his mouth, all while peering up at you to see the way you writhed under his touch. You gripped the sheets, and your breathing grew increasingly labored as Bakugo swirled the tip of his tongue against the tender bud, slowly in one direction, and then the opposite. You continued to grind yourself against his mouth while your desire became insatiable. You felt like your hunger was completely justified, because you hadn’t been spoiled in a long fucking time.

You completely unraveled once you glanced down just in time to see Bakugo spit on your parted folds before using his fingers to coat your pussy in his saliva. His slick fingers rubbed your clit, taunting you for just a while longer, and then he dipped his fingers inside of you. He started with two fingers, slipping them in and out with ease until his spit mixed with your arousal created a vile lubricant.

With the way Bakugo’s lips were slightly parted and his eyebrows were knitted in the center, you could tell he was concentrating dangerously, observing how desperately you swallowed his fingers every time he pushed them in.

Your vision erupted into white heat when he bent down to take your clit back into his mouth while pumping in and out of you with an added finger. The symphony that filled the space of your room was absolutely foul. Your intense cries bounced off the walls, while Bakugo panted heavily at the messy sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of you. And neither of you cared if your neighbors could hear.

“Bakugo--,” you started, but your broken plea wasn’t nearly enough to get his attention.

“Bakugo,” you cried louder, your body beginning to shake with the onset of your orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asked, his voice slightly higher than you were used to, almost like he was whining.

You could only give a weak nod in response.

“Be a good little bitch and cum for me,” Bakugo coaxed, as you yielded to the intensity of your orgasm. He quickened his pace just to see you convulse as you reached your high, but then slowed down until he was ready to pull his fingers out of you.

The sight was enough to make Bakugo cum untouched. You were finger-fucked out, eyes shut as your chest heaved up and down while you tried to catch your breath. Your arousal was smeared on the inside of your thighs and your bedsheet was damp where you released.

Bakugo wanted to ask you if you were alright, but the aching pain in his pants took priority. He reached into his underwear, freeing his swollen cock from the confines of his boxers. He bit down on his bottom lip so hard he almost drew blood as he pumped himself gingerly, hissing at the feeling. His tip was raw and flushed, leaking precum in shameless amounts.

He hoisted your legs on either shoulder and positioned himself at your entrance, looking at you for confirmation, and you nodded feebly. He sunk his entire length into you, and you covered your mouth with your hand to stifle a shrill scream. Your walls were already sore, and the sting of Bakugo’s large cock inside of you was a painful bliss. Tears came quickly, and they rolled down your cheeks while Bakugo rocked his hips into you slowly. He was waiting for his aching to subside before speeding up his rhythm, and once it did he was taken over by an unappeasable greed.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, thrusting himself in and out of you. “If you keep squeezing me like that I’m gonna cum inside you and get you fucking pregnant.” Bakugo had one hand on your headboard, his grip so firm that his knuckles had turned white.

You sobbed underneath him, withstanding your own pain until it subdued into pleasure. You shifted your legs until they wrapped around Bakugo’s strong torso, unable to get enough of him.

Bakugo rammed into you, and your headboard hitting your wall furiously set the tempo until he fell into a staggered cadence.

“I’m gonna cum,” he choked out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck--.” Your name was the last thing Bakugo could get out before he broke free of your hold, pulling himself out of you so he could release. He cummed on your stomach, generously shooting out hot spurts of white until he was soft and you were covered in his seed.

Bakugo leaned over and collapsed beside you, short of breath. He was drenched in sweat and his blonde hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration. He chuckled after a few silent minutes.

“What the fuck was that? Were you trying to get me to nut in you?” Bakugo asked, turning to face you.

You didn’t know what he was talking about until you remembered the way you wrapped him up in your legs while he was inside you.

You snorted, erupting into a fit of sheepish laughter. “Yeah.”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, bewildered. “Crazy bitch.”

He pulled his sweatpants up and rolled out of your bed. “I’m not ready to be a dad yet,” he voiced, before shuffling lazily out of the room to find something he could clean you up with and smoke a cigarette on the fire escape.

The next morning you found yourself alone, Bakugo nowhere to be found despite you falling asleep with his arms around your waist. You raised a sleepy eyebrow at the empty space next to you that was still sunken from his weight. Okay good, so you didn’t hallucinate last night. You figured Bakugo had early duties to attend to, so you simply grumbled before turning over to get more sleep.

Following that day, every time Bakugo came over to your place, or you found yourself at his, the routine was simple: have breathtaking sex and then pass out.

You grew used to expecting it from him whenever the two of you spent any time alone, and the night before always consumed your thoughts the morning after. You’d squeeze your thighs together during your lecture hall while your professor yammered on about early psychology. The memory of Bakugo’s hand around your throat as he fucked you from behind prompted a surge of heat to your core.

Even when the two of you couldn’t see each other because neither of your schedules coincided, you found a way to make things work, whether it was over the phone, through text, or over Facetime.

Occasionally, you’d ring up Bakugo while he was closing up the shop to taunt him, touching yourself on the other line while he’d grow painfully hard and couldn’t relieve himself until he got home.

“You little fucking shit.” You loved the way his low growls sounded over the phone. “Let’s see how bold you are when I come over and turn your thighs into earmuffs.”

And occasionally, he’d send you videos of himself in bed while you were at the library late cramming for your exams the next morning, touching his cock with haste before cumming on his hands as he groaned your name loudly.

Not an ounce of passion was lost between you two, and if anything you’d only grown closer together from the time spent apart. You had your love back, and everything in your life was ideal.

Of course, that was all before the party.

The party at Sero’s house that you’d caught wind of once you joined Momo, Ochako, and your other friend Mina for lunch.

“You know I don’t like going to parties thrown by frats,” Ochako muttered, ripping off small bites of her chicken wrap.

“Why not? There’ll be plenty of guys there for you to talk to, your phone has been a little dry lately,” Mina responded, laughing silently.

Ochako squinted at her jest before playfully rolling her eyes herself. “That’s exactly why. You know what happened last time I went to a frat party. The hangover isn’t worth it.”

Mina exhaled heavily and turned to you with a hopeful look.

“Y/N, you’ll go with us right? Me and Momo?”

You squeezed your water bottle wearily. “I don’t know. I’m not a fan of frat parties either.” You didn’t know what answer to give her, she looked extremely optimistic, and you hated to rain on Mina’s Friday night plans, but you didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening crammed in a frat house with a crowd of strangers.

Mina stuck out her bottom lip and reached to grab your hand from across the table. “Please? Please? There’s no guarantee Momo won’t ditch me at the party for Todoroki.”

Momo murmured inaudibly beside her.

You sighed, however you relented, giving into the arrangements Mina had made for you, but you regretted your decision far too late.

You showed up to the gathering with Mina and Momo dressed modestly. Unlike your friends and many of the other girls there, you already had someone that you were seeing, and you wanted to look as reserved as you could so there was no confusion around whether or not you were off the market.

Bakugo was possessive, and he preferred to keep his possessions close. There was no telling what he would do or how he’d react if he learned of another man trying to make a move on you.

You took small sips out of your cup while you followed quietly behind Momo and Mina as they moved from person to person, greeting friends you were unfamiliar with. You feigned a cheery smile when you were introduced to them, but overall you were bored with the party scene. You weren’t really a frat party girl.

You yelled over to Momo that you needed another drink and shook your head when she asked you if you needed her to come with you. She looked far too engrossed in her conversation with Todoroki, and you didn’t want to just whisk her away while they were talking. In fact, you were the chairman of the Anti-Cockblock Committee.

You sauntered into the kitchen, sliding in next to the counter once the guests who were there first left. You started grabbing bottles to inspect the labels because to be honest, you weren’t sure what half of these brands were. As a broke college student, you bought your own drinks, which were mainly $20 cases of hard lemonade and cheap raspberry Smirnoff vodka from the liquor store. Clearly Sero had selective taste in high quality shit.

You poured yourself a small sip of Patron, tasting the clear liquid, and tried not to gag at the oaky taste as it burned your throat going down.

You felt someone ease in beside you. “Hey, bartender.”

You glanced at the guest next to you, their familiar visage coming into view. You recognized his distinctive green head of hair and innocent freckles peppered across his cheeks, it was the same face you saw every day in your sociology class.

What was his name? Ku--something. Zu…?

You remembered your professor referred to him by his nickname, Deku, and once you said his name as convincingly as you could, you gathered by his boyish grin that you were right.

“I’m surprised you remembered,” he laughed, and adjusted his circle-rimmed glasses while his emerald eyes swelled into crescents.

“I didn’t really take you for a partier,” you observed. Deku was incredibly smart from what you’d seen in class. He knew the answers before your professor could even finish their questions, and when you’d ask him if he could repeat what the teacher said for your notes, he explained the material even better than the person who was an expert in the subject for a living.

“I’m not,” he replied. “But you know, the college experience and all that.”

You scoffed and nodded, knowingly. “Melt your brain studying for 25 hours a day, 8 days a week, and then get shitfaced whenever you can. Yeah, that’s definitely the college experience,” you joked, pouring yourself a couple shots of vodka and mixed it with orange soda.

“I was meaning to ask you,” Deku started. “I mean--Yeah--I was meaning to ask you for your number in class earlier this week.”

You stirred your drink with a finger before stealing a taste. “Of course,” you agreed happily.

Deku’s face deepened into a rosy bloom once he took out his phone, typing in your contact while you recited the numbers.

“I’m not asking for a weird reason or anything like that. Just so we can help each other out with homework and stuff.”

You nodded, already acknowledging that Deku was a sweet kid, at least as far as you knew. You didn’t expect him to have any promiscuous intentions.

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll be as much help to you as you’ll be to me,” you teased, and Deku chuckled nervously still trying to shake the blush off his cheeks. “I’m free on Monday, I can meet up with you after class if you want.”

Deku buried his face into his cup, his shallow breathing causing his glasses to fog up. “Yeah, that sounds great,” he mumbled bashfully.

“Text me the deets,” you grinned, before wandering off back to your friends.

On the way back to the stairwell where Momo and Mina were still standing, your attention was drawn by a large crowd around the living room that erupted into jovial squeals and cheers every few seconds. You gravitated toward the mass of guests, standing on your toes to get a better look, but when that didn’t work you gently made your way through the throng of people, issuing soft “sorry, excuse me’s” and “thank you’s” to the people that didn’t mind letting you slip past them.

You had no knowledge that he was going to be here. He never told you what his plans for the night were, but this was the last place you were expecting Bakugo to be.

Here.

Playing a game of “Kiss and Blow” on a crowded couch with someone who wasn’t you. When it reached his turn, you could see his shallow inhale and how he put in no effort to keep the card against his mouth. It fell between the cushions, and the crowd erupted into another rally.

Bakugo grinned artfully and hooked his arm around the eager brunette before smothering her giggles with a deep tongue-filled kiss.

At first, the cogs in your brain couldn’t turn fast enough to register what was happening, and your thought process stuttered for a moment while your eyes took in more than you expected. Your body remained immobile, giving your thoughts a few seconds to catch up. Maybe for those few seconds, your anguish was suspended, and your shock was simply a cushion until you fell apart.

You couldn’t make your way out of the party fast enough, and you didn’t even think to let Momo and Mina know that you were leaving. Everything around you sounded warbled, like you were underwater, as your leaden legs carried you out, past the front lawn, and across the street until you were far away that you could no longer hear the music of the party. It was then that you pulled out your phone to text Mina claiming that you didn’t feel well and called an Uber to take you home.

The following morning you ignored all of Bakugo’s texts. He sent one at 10 AM, asking you if you were down to get breakfast, and then another at noon suggesting lunch since you didn’t respond to his text about breakfast. He texted you again, and again, and again, and you continued to disregard him.

You didn’t cry this time around. No. You were filled with a foreign anger. It was strange and new, and it burned nothing like the rage you’d felt in all your years of living. You didn’t know whether you were angry at him for putting you through this again or if you were angry at yourself for really believing that he’d changed. You really wanted to confront Bakugo in person, but you were afraid of your unpredictability. You didn’t know what you would do if you saw him--roundhouse kick him in the throat most likely.

Bakugo’s relentless attempts to get in contact with you didn’t let up, even late into the night. He sent another text threatening to show up at your apartment if you didn’t answer him, and then he called yet again.

Angrily, you reached out to answer your phone, but once you held it to your ear all the fury you’d been bearing throughout the day emerged.

“Can you fuck off?” You hissed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bakugo responded, taken off guard by your greeting. “What the fuck?”

“If you were so hellbent on seeing me today, you should have thought about that before you decided to be a hypocritical little bastard! Again!” You shook with anger, unable to effectively piece together all the profane names you wanted to call him.

Bakugo was still while you put him on blast.

“Do you not have anything to say to me, you fuckwit?”

“No, because I don’t even know why you’re going full bitch right now!” Bakugo defended himself. You sat back at his reply, confused at why he was guarded. You knew that when Bakugo was aware he was in the wrong he always remained quiet and pensive.

“Last night?” you clarified. “Does last night not ring a bell to you?”

He let out a small grunt of recollection. “I was at a party last night, what are you talking about?”

“No shit, Bakugo! I saw you swallowing another girl whole!”

The other line erupted into laughter, and a large knot settled in your throat.

“Am I not allowed to kiss other girls now?” he asked.

Had he been hit by a semi-truck? Did he need a swift lobotomy?

“Why would you kiss another girl if you have a girlfriend?”

Bakugo muttered a quiet “what”, and then the lightbulb clicked.

“Holy shit, Y/N, did you think we were back together?”

Huh?

“When did we ever say that we were together?” he questioned lightly, finding your misunderstanding comical.

But--

“I thought we were just fucking around, you know? I never mentioned getting back together, and you didn’t either, so I just assumed we were just fucking.”

You didn’t say a word. As angry as you wanted to be and as angry as you already were, he was right. You had only assumed that you two were back together, but neither of you agreed on it explicitly.

“Our dates...” you countered listlessly.

“Two people hanging out together isn’t always a date.” Bakugo shifted on the other end and then grunted again to occupy the tense silence. “Shitting me, I didn’t know that’s what you were thinking.”

Realization of how foolish you made yourself look set in, and you hoped the awkwardness that hung in the air was fleeting. You swallow heavily, unable to digest defeat.

“Okay,” you murmured, before hanging up and flinging your phone aside.

You and Bakugo didn’t speak for the rest of the night into next morning, and by midday Monday when your study session with Deku rolled around, you were more than reluctant to go. You knew the frustration of someone cancelling last minute, but you were unsure whether you could bring a positive spirit to your meetup, and the last thing you wanted to do was put kind-hearted Deku through your bad mood.

As the time drew closer, you were considering texting him to rain check, letting him know you were feeling under the weather, when he sent you a picture at the coffee shop. Deku had ordered you lunch, mentioning that you must’ve been hungry after classes all day. He explained that he didn’t know what you liked so he just bought for you what he usually got for himself.

After that, you couldn’t have possibly turned him down, so you showed up anyway. Before you knew it, the clock already approached 9 PM, and the coffee shop was about to close for the night. Time had flown by while you were getting lost in upbeat conversation with Deku, and the two of you laughed and joked around more than you’d done your assignment, but you didn’t mind since it gave you another excuse to meet up with him. You didn’t expect him to be as naturally humorous as he was, nor did you guess you’d have as much in common with him as you did, but you’d forgotten about your own heartache during the time you spent in his company. Not to mention, he was very easy on the eyes, but that was just an additional plus.

However, when you finally returned home to your empty apartment that night, all your feelings came flooding back.

“Right,” you muttered to yourself, setting your backpack down by the door, and throwing your keys onto the kitchen counter. “Back to square one.”

Normally, you’d invite Bakugo over, but you had no desire to be anywhere within a three mile radius of him at the moment, so you quickly got ready for bed, figuring that the more time you spent asleep meant less time that you’d have to dwell over the all-too-familiar pain in your chest.

You continued to spend more and more time with Deku even though most of your plans were organized around schoolwork, even if it was studying for a test or just practicing terminology flashcards. Eventually, you’d gotten close enough that you didn’t mind inviting him over since your apartment was much quieter than the dorm he shared with his roommate, Kaminari.

You were both sat on your couch, and you took turns quizzing each other on general knowledge sociology questions. You flipped through the flashcards, Deku answering every question with impressive ease, until you had grown tired.

“Deku, this isn’t fun. You know every term,” you sighed, shuffling through the stack.

“Studying isn’t supposed to be fun, that’s why it’s called studying and not having fun,” he joked lamely, extending his hands to take his flashcards back.

You giggled silently at his flat humor and leaned back against the armrest to put your knees up. “Okay, well what do you like to do when you’re not studying?”

Deku slipped his flashcards into the pocket of his backpack. “Between classes, studying, and wrestling, I don’t really have much time for anything else.”

You gaped. “You wrestle? No fucking way.”

Deku raised an eyebrow at you, amused and unsure of the reason for your stupefaction. “Why do you think I’m a loser or something?”

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you explained. “I just wouldn’t have guessed.” You took note of his lean stature. He did look like he worked out, but you never considered his pastime was something as brutish as wrestling. You figured his interests would explain the scars that decorated both of his hands.

“Okay then,” you began, hopping up and throwing the blanket you were wrapped in on the couch. “Teach me something.”

Deku stared at you, uncertain whether you were serious. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, timidly.

“Oh man up, you baby,” you joked while wrapping your hands around his wrists, urging him to stand up. “Who’s to say I won’t hurt you?”

Deku chuckled nervously before following you over to the open space between your living room and kitchen. He stood for a second, thinking of the easiest moves to show you, and then he nodded, like he had fully decided.

“Okay, come here.”

You did as you were told, letting Deku guide you into the correct position. You cleared your throat, unnerved by the way his chest pressed up against your back, and his strong hands looped around your arms to lock them behind your head.

“This is a full nelson,” he instructed. “It’s a submission hold. It’s not allowed in our matches, but feel free to use it if you ever find some creep following you home.” You could feel his chest rumble with laughter between your shoulder blades.  

You nodded, feeling flustered. “Mhm.”

The next demonstration had the two of you on the floor with your arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle while Deku’s arm was situated over your rib cage. You could feel his staggered breathing across the shell of your ear, and you looked over your shoulder expectantly, waiting for him to explain the move.

Deku must have realized how close your faces were to each other because he absolutely lost his cool. He began stammering, unable to get his words out. “And this one is called the--um...sorry it’s called the--,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I’m--I just wanna kiss you so bad right now.” His body tensed with his confession, but you were the one who made the first move.

Once Deku’s hold loosened, you leaned into him, allowing your lips to collide with his. Your mouths moved against each other fervently, and the two of you rolled over until you were on top of him with your legs on either side of his waist. Ever since a few nights before you’d blown up on Bakugo, you hadn’t been touched. Not even by yourself. You tried, but your fingers came nothing close to competing with his. You were so incredibly needy that you had to forcefully stop yourself from gyrating your hips on Deku’s crotch. He was already red in the face, and you were afraid he might collapse if you worked your ass against the growing bulge in his jeans.

You broke your kiss to take Deku’s hands, and you rested them on your chest. With Bakugo, he would have immediately taken control, driving you into ecstasy, but with Deku it was different. It was as if he had never touched a pair of breasts before. His breathing grew even more shallow as his body became rigid.

You tilted your head, slightly irritated from the lack of action, but you were more concerned about Deku’s wellbeing.

“Are you okay?” you asked, tongue in cheek.

Deku nodded anxiously. “Yup, yup, yup, I’m great. I’m good.”

But something was off, and you knew you weren’t enjoying yourself like you typically would even with days of pent up libido. You closed your eyes tiredly and released an exasperated sigh, slowly pulling yourself off of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now--we shouldn’t--.”

Deku opened his mouth to contest, but you cut him off.

“It’s getting late, you should go. I’ll see you around.” You buried your face in your hands, embarrassed at your desperation. “I’m so sorry,” you apologized again.

Deku adjusted his glasses and murmured a small “It’s fine, Y/N.” He helped you up after he pulled himself off of the floor and gathered his belongings before heading out quickly, eager to flee the tension.

Fuck, you thought. How did things get so complicated? Deku was a sweet kid, genuinely pure at heart, and you knew he wanted you from the way his emerald eyes were glued to your frame, even while you were fully-clothed. Yet he wasn’t Bakugo. He didn’t know how to work you like Bakugo did, and you felt shamefaced for thinking about your ex-boyfriend again. You mulled it over and began to question why you were stopping yourself from having your cake and eating it too.

Bakugo didn’t intend on getting back together with you, but he enjoyed the phenomenal sex, and so did you. You held so much contempt for him now, but there was no reason why you couldn’t just agree to the terms of his compact.

Exes with benefits, only now with a few additions of your own.

No dates, no flirty chatter outside of your arrangements, nothing that could potentially steer you the wrong way towards forgiving him yet again, because like you told your friends: you were a pushover, and Bakugo was a sweet talker. That was a combination destined for hell.

Your revelation was exactly how you ended up sleeping with Bakugo again. Your sex life was practically a Dr. Seuss book. The two of you would have sex in his car, in the bathroom at a bar, and you’d have sex here, there, and pretty much anywhere.

When you first called him up, he answered almost immediately, somewhat excited to see your contact after going without speaking to each other for nearly a week. After you acceded, he snorted, wondering if you were conspiring.

“Are you fucking scheming something? Cooking up some devious shit to get me alone so you can kill me? Suffocate me while I’m sleeping? You’re goddamn insane.”

You rolled your eyes aggravated. “No. Are you down, or do you wanna pussy out now?”

Bakugo agreed, and both of you managed to keep things fairly cordial. Well, as cordial as they could possibly be, given your shared history. You couldn’t care less about the differences and arguments you had when you guys were in bed. If anything, you preferred it when Bakugo was angry at you, pissed at something you had said or just releasing pent up stress that built up over the week. That only made the sex filthier.

Although Bakugo wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, that didn’t mean he didn’t hold some affection for you, and perhaps still even vice versa. He was possessive over you regardless, even if it meant coming dangerously close to breaching the contract. Especially when he caught you one night with Deku at an on-campus movie screening in the park.

After the fiasco at your apartment with you and Deku, you apologized sincerely to him a couple of days later in class. Deku took no hard feelings to your blunder, and he nodded at the mild rejection when you clarified that things would be best if the two of you stayed friends. He reassured you that he was fine, and he was far too occupied for a relationship of any sort anyway.

But Bakugo wasn’t aware that you two had already tested the waters and decided it was sink rather than swim.

When he spotted you alone sitting on a blanket, he strolled over, wearing a sardonic grin. He struck up a superficial conversation that quickly dissipated once Deku returned with the snacks you two planned on sharing.

Your grin when Deku arrived didn’t compare to the indifferent smile you gave Bakugo when he approached you, and he noticed. His eyes narrowed at your green-haired friend as burning rage coursed through his veins.

“Deku, this is Bakugo,” you said, uninterested in Bakugo’s presence while you took the bag of sour candy Deku offered to you.

Deku smiled at Bakugo, extending his hand to exchange a handshake, but Bakugo simply slapped his hand away dismissively.

“Whatever,” Bakugo jeered, his jaw rooted, before he diverted his attention back to you. “See you later, dumbass.”

He left without a fight, but you knew he wouldn’t put the memory past him, and the following night, all of Bakugo’s anger came bubbling out. The way his brain operated was fascinating, especially since he knew that you two had no romantic commitments to each other, that’s what you agreed on, but finally seeing you over him with someone who he assumed was your new interest turned him crazed.

Bakugo held a painful fistful of your hair, pushing your face into the mattress while he wrecked you. He forced himself into you from behind, muffling your screams with the pillow while he rammed into you relentlessly. Every thrust was vicious, exhibiting the full height of his temper.

“You’re mine, do you understand that? You’re mine to touch, mine to ruin. If anyone else puts their hands on you, I swear I’ll beat them within an inch of their life.”

Bakugo hated to admit it, especially since he knew admitting it turned him into the hypocritical dick of the year, but he enjoyed having you chase after him like a lovelorn puppy. You clung to his side, and you were there at his beck and call. He’d always hated being emotionally tied down, hence his apprehension toward serious relationships, but the way you took advantage of the freedom to see other men made him livid.

“Maybe if I really did put a baby in you other people wouldn’t be such a fucking pain. What do you think?”

Bakugo’s pace didn’t let up as his grip on your hair tightened, and he pulled you upright until your head rested back on his shoulder.

“Answer me,” he demanded, dangerously.

All you could muster were broken sobs. You had never seen Bakugo like this, and you were willing to avow that after discounting your fear and pain, it was hot, and you were slightly intrigued.

Bakugo secured his hand around your neck, allowing his fingers to dig into the side of your throat, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside you which let you know he was close, but he wasn’t making any efforts to slow down any time soon.

“The thought of you with him makes me want to fucking vomit. You know he’ll never be able to make you feel like I do,” he snarled against your ear. “No one will.”

You choked out a meager “I know” while your vision grew blurrier from the lack of oxygen to your head.

You came first and then Bakugo came shortly after, claiming you by pumping you full with his hot seed until you collapsed on the bed from overexhaustion.

You realized then, through the cloudiness of your thoughts came a single conviction: that your relationship with Bakugo was an endless cycle. You’d taken every romantic risk for Bakugo while he risked nothing. That’s how you remained foolish for so long, so naive. You refused to learn over and over again, and you sacrificed yourself in the process. 

Once Bakugo threw you modest praise and disappeared into the bathroom, you gave way to the enormity of your despair. Your tears were silent and persistent until your breathing turned ragged while humiliation and resentment burned just beneath your skin.

You were smitten with someone who was bad at romance. Your love was a fairytale, but not everyone believed in fairytales, meaning that was both the birth and death of your chronicle. Fairytales were only real if you believed they were.

Bakugo continued to give you reasons to leave and seek out the love you deserved, but you took momentary bliss as your excuse for staying, like a lovesick fool or like an addict dying from overdose. You wish he would at least give you something to hold onto, like false hope or a pretty lie, but you knew that’s all you’d ever be able to do: wish that things were different so you two could have grown into something beautiful.