#simpler asks like these are easier to answer

[asktotallyhuman]

Maybe you should go ask the Illager why she is the way she is... Or ask her Villager friends why she is different...

"Perhaps they can shed some light on this predicament."

[downbad4sylus]

“I killed you”

synopsis: After spending the day with Sylus, the energy linkage binding you appears just when you were about to leave for the night, so you stay and fall asleep in Sylus’s bed only to have your past life finally catch up to you.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; soft!sylus; pre-relationship; angst but happy ending; sort of cliff-hanger; vaguely proofread

word count: ~1.8k

a/n: been lurking in the LADS tag for ages now and finally got around to making an account so this is my first ever fic!!! i have a part 2 in the works if people want to see where the story goes after it ends but either way, hope you guys like it :)

You and Sylus had been spending quite a bit of time together lately. Ever since returning from the grasslands, you both stayed true to your promise to be more upfront and honest about what you wanted. And you both wanted to be near each other.

Whether it was Sylus helping with one of your missions or you accompanying him to his many auctions. Or something much simpler, like him dropping by your apartment in Linkon when he “happened to be in the area” or you visiting the Onychinus base in the N109 Zone because you also “happened to be in the area.” Either way, you’d been at the other’s side more often than not these days, which had a certain energy linkage making a reoccurring appearance as well.

The linkage appeared nearly every time you were with Sylus now, particularly when one of you was about to depart, the linkage stopping you from separating. You and Sylus had adopted a common practice of holding hands when linked, under the pretense it was just “easier” that way, not at all that either of you actually wanted to hold the other’s hand. No, nothing as silly as that.

Tonight had been no different.

You’d gone over to the base in the morning on a rare day off, expecting to find Sylus asleep but was pleasantly surprised when he was the one to answer the door.

“Morning sweetie,” he’d greeted with his signature smirk.

“Sylus? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” you’d asked, cocking your head as you stared up at him.

“I have some business to deal with during the day today,” he’d explained, ushering you into the base with a warm hand on the small of your back. “And lucky me, a certain kitten has come to accompany me.”

That was how you got roped into spending the day hopping from deal to deal with Sylus, clad in a dress he already had prepared for you to match his suit. But you didn’t mind, not one bit, you appreciated any time you got to spend with Sylus.

Ever the gentleman, Sylus took you to an expensive dinner once the deals were complete, ordering anything you so much as glanced at off the menu. He loved to spoil you, loved the little crease between your brows even more when you insisted he was going overboard. But as he always did, he told you he had more money than he knew what to do with, money he wanted to shower you in, and you were just going to have to get used to it.

By the time you returned to the base—and taken the shower Sylus wisely suggested—it was late, and you were exhausted. Sylus offered to drive you home himself, saying he’d have Luke and Kieran drop off your bike tomorrow, but you insisted the roads would be clear this time of night so it would be a quick ride back to Linkon. You didn’t really want to go though, and you would’ve stayed had you not had work in the morning.

Of course, a cheeky energy linkage had other plans.

Sylus leaned against the doorway, watching you as you turned away from him to head for your bike, only for your arm to jerk back suddenly.

He caught you before you could fall, your back flush with his broad chest and his arm wrapped securely around your waist. Without a word, he lifted his other hand to which your own hand followed, the gold linkage shimmering in the moonlight.

“Guess you’re calling out of work,” he chuckled.

This shouldn’t have surprised you, not with the current track record, and honestly, you weren’t mad at all. Not when you were cuddled up to Sylus’s side in his bed, your linked hands entwined in the little space between you, already drifting off to sleep after an eventful day.

…

You were dreaming…

Dreaming about false accusations. About an Abyss, sealed beneath a fiend-filled city. About gold and treasure. About a dragon.

Your dragon.

You were dreaming about Sylus, a dragon with a human form. About a life spent in exile with him, raiding and pillaging, taking from others to hoard for yourselves.

You were dreaming about falling in love with your dragon. Teaching him about human love and compassion. Only to be torn apart by a curse.

You were dreaming…

No.

You were remembering.

You didn’t know how you knew it, but deep in your soul you knew this other life with Sylus was not simply conjured by your subconscious.

And the worst memory was saved for last.

On the day you were to be executed, when your dragon swooped in and killed your accusers. When you thought you’d be able to embrace your dragon one last time, and instead drove a claymore straight through his chest.

You lived through the last time you and Sylus flew through the skies, of him using the last of his strength to bring you to the field of datura flowers you’d both only dreamed of.

You lived through clutching your beloved dragon, pleading with him not to leave you, but he’d died in your arms and disintegrated into ash.

…

You woke abruptly, chest heaving and heart beating wildly. You threw off the arm Sylus had slung over your waist in his sleep and forced him onto his back as you straddled his waist, ripping his robe open to reveal his chest. In the sliver of moonlight coming through the curtains, you saw Sylus’s bare chest, free of scales, no red pattern etched into his skin, no red gem at the center of his chest, and most importantly, no claymore.

Sylus, who had been startled awake by your sudden manhandling, stared up at you with wide eyes, watching as tears streamed down your cheeks and onto the chest your gaze was locked on.

“Sweetie,” he murmured, raising a hand to brush the hair out of your face.

Your eyes snapped to his. “I killed you,” you whispered.

His hand froze midair.

It couldn’t be.

“I killed you,” you repeated, no less quiet but far more anguished.

You remembered.

Sylus couldn’t believe it, you actually remembered.

He’d long given up hope of you recalling the past you shared with him, and, if he was being honest with himself, was glad you didn’t. He was happy with you as you were now, not much different than when he knew you then. Your time together did not end happily and the last thing he wanted was for you to go through such heartbreak again. Yet here you were, doing exactly that.

Sylus broke free of his stupor and wrapped his arms securely around you, hauling you into his lap as he sat up against the headboard. You buried your face in his neck, racked with heart-wrenching sobs.

“How could you make me do that?” you wailed, clutching his robe so hard your knuckles were white.

Sylus rubbed your back in an attempt to comfort you. “I had to,” he answered, his voice rough as he too remembered that fateful day. “I couldn’t let you die, but had we both lived, you would’ve succumbed to the curse with me. I couldn’t let that happen, you didn’t deserve that.”

“But it meant I lost you, Sylus!” you cried.

He hugged you closer to him. “I know, Y/N, and I’m so sorry.”

It was all he could offer you. He couldn’t take back what he’d done, what he’d taken from you, that he’d left you alone. But his words were true, he’d rather die than you fall to the curse alongside him. You saved his life with half your soul, the least he could do was spare you from his fate.

That was what love was, wasn’t it? Sacrifice. He’d fall on the sword a hundred times over if it meant saving you, his beloved. You were everything to him, his reason for living, breathing.

Sylus sat, holding you tight while you mourned a lifetime’s worth of love and loss, until your sobs quieted and your short breaths were warm against his neck.

You traced a finger along his collarbone, dipping down into the center of his chest where the red gem once rested. “Sylus.”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“If I told you I loved you, would you make me kill you again?”

His heart stopped, though he couldn’t tell if it was because you all but confessed your love for him or if it was from the thought of you having to take his life again.

Sylus recovered quickly however, not wanting to cause you any unnecessary stress. “The curse died with the dragon,” he said softly. “The only one that remains is your own, sweetie.”

You were quiet for a beat. “The one where you’re tied to me? Where only I can grant you a true death?”

“Yes, that one.”

You nodded.

Pieces were clicking into place for you. Everything Sylus had done when you first met, down the what he’d said, it was to jog your memory. He just wanted you to remember him. No wonder he’d treated you like that, he was trying to provoke the old you. It broke your heart realizing that you hadn’t remembered him, that it probably broke his.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, choking on a sob.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Sylus said firmly.

“I didn’t remember you,” you protested weakly.

“I know, sweetie, and it’s okay,” he assured gently.

You shook your head, your chest aching at his gentle tone. Despite not remembering him, Sylus still wanted to spend time with you, to get to know this you. He didn’t have to make an effort, but he still wanted you. You didn’t know what you’d done to deserve someone like him. To have fallen in love not once but twice with a man who’d sacrifice himself in order to save you.

You lifted your head and gazed into those beautiful, gem-like eyes. “Sylus?”

His own gaze didn’t waver from yours. “Yes, sweetie.”

“Is there a field of flowers near the N109 Zone that we could visit tomorrow?” you asked.

Sylus’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but then his full lips lifted into a smile. “Not in the N109 Zone, but close enough to drive to. Can I know why you’re asking?”

A smile teased your own lips. “I’d like to bring our dream to reality, if that’s all right with you.”

Sylus reached up, finally brushing that strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “It’s more than all right with me.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, the meaning no longer lost to you. “Sleep now, we can go in the morning.”

[ratherchili]

𖹭 cw angst, smut, mildly explicit mdni

"Oh, god," corrupt priest suguru geto whines. "Turn it off." The words are muffled as he buries his face into the pad of fat below your belly button.

You giggle at the image of him on the tv screen, his easy smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he reminds his congregation - which, at times, seems to outnumber the city lights glittering outside the floor to ceiling windows of your penthouse - to tune in for his televised Sunday morning mass. "You look pretty, though," you murmur as you twirl a silky lock of his hair around your finger.

"Be quiet," he says, turning his cheek. His dark eyes seem to fixate on the rise and fall of your bare chest, but you know better. By the time the commercial ends, he's far away, retreated into the depths of his troubled mind, his mouth a thin line. You could ask, but it's easier to spider your fingers over his shoulder blade to tickle his neck. It is enough to bring a version of him back to you. He gives you a smile that, you suspect, is as much a costume as the robes folded neatly and over the back of a plush accent chair beside the bed.

He hums into your skin and kisses the soft flesh of your lower belly. "Su," you whine as you try to squirm away.

"What?" He murmurs. His fingers sink into the fat of your thighs, holding you in place as he drags his tongue across your hip bone.

"I can't," you protest despite the flutter he's causing between your legs. "I have a client in 30."

"You're not kicking me out," he says. His hair brushes against your skin as he leaves wet kisses along the inside of your thigh.

"I am," you say as you work against his hands to close your legs. "Like I said, I have a client."

"Cancel," he says, pushing up onto his palms to crawl on top of you. His tone is playful, but you recognize the brief flash of anger in his eyes. "I'll pay." He settles his hips between yours, already hard again and pressing urgently against your belly.

"Mm mm," you hum, shaking your head and resisting the powerful urge to arch into him.

"I'll pay double," he whispers into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point.

"No, Suguru," you sigh, pressing your palms into the springy flesh of his pecs in a very half-hearted attempt to push him away. "I feel weird taking money from you."

He pulls away and regards you with lidded eyes. "You don't seem to feel 'weird' about me paying the lease on this place."

"Uhg, that's why I feel weird about it. You do enough."

"Is that the only reason?" He asks, that gaurded look creeping back into his eyes.

Truth be told, all the man would have to do is ask and you wouldn't take clients anymore, wouldn't fuck them, anyway. You would let him keep you in this castle in the sky. You would let him purchase you for himself. But, he won't ask. He'd rather you offer, you suppose. "That's the only reason," you answer.

"Fine," he says, pushing himself off of you.

"Wait," you say, dragging him back. "Okay, I'll cancel. Hand me my phone?"

He leaves a trail of gentle kisses over your ribs as you tap at the screen. "Thanks," he says. "I feel like I can be myself when I'm with you... "

It's a pretty sentiment, and one you would have eaten up when you first met him. Now, you're unsure if Suguru is truly genuine with anyone.

But it's simpler just to say, "Me, too."

[orellazalonia]

Even If You Forget

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Bucky loses all memory of his relationship with you. Though heartbroken, you patiently stay by his side, offering gentle support and quiet company. Despite the emotional distance, you hold onto the hope that someday he’ll find his way back. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 2.1k+

A/N: This has ANGST by the way. I absolutely adore anything to do with memories, so much potential. I might write another version of this where the reader loses her memories instead. You are responsible for the media you consume. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | His Version

The mornings with Bucky were always slow, quiet, and warm.

His arm was usually draped over your waist by the time the sun started to creep through the blinds. He breathed a little heavier in the mornings, caught between dreams and the weight of his history. However, he never seemed to stir until you moved.

You liked it that way. It gave you time to look at him, at the faint worry lines that softened in sleep, at the longer strands of brown hair you liked to brush behind his ear, at the mouth that rarely smiled in public but had no trouble curving up for you when the world was far away.

You loved him deeply. In the way people loved after surviving something. There were scars on both of you and silences that stretched longer than they should’ve, but you understood him, and he had never once looked at you like he regretted being understood.

Your relationship had started quietly, like most things with Bucky did. It wasn’t love at first sight. It wasn’t loud declarations or stolen kisses in the rain. It was simpler. He’d sit near you during debriefings and glance over to make sure you understood the mission. He’d knock on your door late at night when he couldn’t sleep and leave a book outside if you didn’t answer. He remembered how you liked your coffee and never asked why you kept a light on when you slept.

Eventually, he started sitting a little closer. Touching your hand a little longer. Smiling a little easier. It wasn’t fast, but it was safe and real. You both needed that.

Sixteen months into the relationship, you'd moved in together into a tiny apartment, tucked above an old bookstore with creaky floors and a heater that only worked when Bucky kicked it. You painted the walls together. He helped pick out the furniture. You made him tea when his nightmares left him shaking, and he kissed your forehead when your hands trembled after bad missions.

He was never one to say I love you right away and especially not out loud. But he showed it, every single day.

And when he finally did say it, it was late at night, in the middle of an argument about laundry or groceries or something equally domestic and ridiculous when you both froze. He looked horrified that it slipped out. You looked stunned for barely a second before smiling and leaning closer to him, saying it back like it was the easiest thing in the world.

You thought nothing could take that from you.

But you were wrong.

You and Bucky had been paired up for another mission like normal to infiltrate an abandoned Hydra facility. Retrieve what remained of their stolen technology and data, destroy the rest. Bucky didn’t want you going in at first, but you reminded him that you were a trained operative, not a civilian. Besides, you worked better together anyways.

You were halfway through the facility when the alarms went off. Not an intruder alert but something else. Something that triggered deeper in the system. You split up briefly to cover more ground, and that was the last time Bucky looked at you like he knew who you were.

When you found him again twenty minutes later, he was hunched over and clutching his head near a strange, flickering device. When he raised his head, all you could see was cold, calculating eyes staring back.

Like a stranger.

And when you called his name, your voice shaking, and your hands reaching out to steady him; he backed away like you were poison.

“Who the hell are you?”

You froze in your spot. His voice wasn’t like Bucky’s. It was lower, flatter. Measured. It lacked the hesitant warmth that usually colored his words when he spoke to you. It was the voice of someone evaluating a threat.

Your hand, half-raised, trembled in the air between you.

“Bucky,” You whispered, like maybe the sound of it would crack something open. “It’s me.”

He stood slowly, the whir of his metal arm slicing through the silence. His eyes didn’t flicker with recognition. No softness. No guilt. Just analysis and caution.

You’d seen that expression before. Once. Years ago, when the Winter Soldier was still a ghost wandering about without a strip of autonomy. You definitely didn’t see this expression on the man who crawled into your bed at night and tucked a blanket around your shoulders.

But, here he was. You could feel how painfully your heart pounded in your chest.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” He said, almost to himself. He looked around, scanning the shadows like he expected enemies to crawl out of the dark. His hand hovered near the side holster at his thigh. “Who sent you?”

“No one sent me,” You said, stepping forward. “You’re-… Bucky, you’re not well. That machine, something happened. Let me help-“

“Stop,” He snapped. Your name was unfamiliar to him now. It didn’t make him pause. It didn’t register. “You’re not cleared to speak to me. I don’t know you.”

The words landed with brutal precision. You stepped back like you’d been struck. Because in a way, you had. He didn’t remember you.

The realization settled over you slowly, like frost creeping across glass. You felt your lungs tighten, your throat close. You could still see the outline of the relationship you'd built, months of laughter and late nights and slow healing, but he stood on the other side of it now, locked out.

You reached for your comm, fingers clumsy and stiff with dread as you called for backup and reported the situation.

When the team arrived, faster than you had expected, they didn’t ask many questions. You let them take over while you stood to the side, arms wrapped tightly around your chest, eyes fixed on the man who no longer knew your name.

Steve had been brought with the other agents. Miraculously, Bucky still remembered him and trusted his words to lead him to safety. He had followed Steve back to the Quinjet without hesitation. There was a time when he would have trusted you without a second thought too, but now you were just another stranger.

You sat in the back of the jet, silent and numb, your eyes never leaving his tense form. One hand was curled loosely near his chest. You remembered how he used to hold your hand that way when he slept. Like he needed to know you were real.

Now he didn’t know you at all.

Back at HQ, medical scans confirmed your worst fear. The machine had been some kind of neural disruptor, a crude prototype designed to extract and overwrite memory. Hydra tech, of course. The data was incomplete, scrambled, but the damage wasn’t.

He remembered Steve. Missions. Pieces of his past. It didn’t bring back the Winter Soldier thanks to his time in Wakanda. However, anything recent or anything soft, was gone.

You. Erased just like that.

You spent three days outside the glass of the room he stayed in, watching him rebuild his reality in pieces. He spoke little. Ate less. The team tried reintroducing him to other faces, but he flinched away from most of them. He was polite, distant, cautious. Like a soldier unsure of his orders.

Every time you entered the room, his eyes would land on you and linger. But they never softened. He never said your name, not even once.

And every night, you’d sit alone in your apartment above the bookstore, staring at the spot on the couch where he used to fall asleep during movie nights, wondering how you could miss someone who was technically still alive, just out of reach.

You never forced him to remember. You didn’t even try. Because you knew memory wasn’t something you could demand back. It wasn’t a switch you could flip or a locked door you could break down with frustration or anger. It was delicate. Fragile. Like glass edges that could cut him deeper if handled carelessly.

So instead, you became quiet. You became gentle even though visiting him wasn’t easy. Each time you entered the room, you reminded yourself to soften your eyes, to keep your voice low, calm. To be someone who he might feel safe with, even if he didn’t remember why.

“Hey,” You’d say, just like that. Simple. No pressure. No demands.

You’d bring small things like his favorite book, a picture from your last trip, or a worn jacket he’d left behind. You hoped these would speak to something buried inside him, a spark.

Some days, he’d look at you with confusion. Others, with suspicion. Sometimes, his eyes would flicker like he was searching for a ghost behind your face.

You hated that, but you never showed it. You never let him see it because you couldn’t. You remembered how lost he felt the first time you met him, before all the pieces of you and him fit together. And you knew patience was the only thread strong enough to hold you both together now.

Because you could tell he was afraid. Of you. Of himself. Of what he’d lost. And you were afraid, too. Afraid you’d never get him back. Afraid he’d forget the moments you shared, the trust you built. All the moments you shared together.

But you stayed. Every passing day, every painful visit, you stayed. Even when it hurt to see the distance in his eyes or the way his hand no longer found yours in the dark or the way his voice no longer softened when he spoke your name.

Because love wasn’t about forcing recognition or surfacing memories of what used to be. It was about waiting. Waiting until he could find you again, on his own terms.

-

In the halls of the Avengers compound, you often caught the looks of the team. Quiet glances that lingered too long before they quickly looked away. Soft expressions shadowed with pity. Sometimes, it was Tony shaking his head slightly when he thought you weren’t looking. Sometimes, Natasha’s eyes would meet yours briefly, sympathy buried beneath her usual stoic mask. Steve especially, steady as ever, gave you a small nod of understanding whenever your paths crossed.

They all knew. They knew what you were going through. They knew exactly what you had lost, but no one said it aloud. They didn’t need to after all.

You felt the weight of it, like invisible hands pressing down on your chest when you thought you were alone. The way they looked at you said, She’s holding onto someone who’s slipping away. She’s pretending to be okay, but she’s breaking.

You never asked for their pity. You never wanted it. It felt like another reminder that things were broken beyond repair. So you kept forcing yourself to keep your head high and to keep moving forward.

You showed up for briefings. You trained with the others. You made sure your smiles were steady, your voice calm. But deep within you, every step was heavy. Every breath felt borrowed. Because the truth everyone was coming to realize, no one could fix this but Bucky. And Bucky couldn’t remember you.

And as days bled into weeks, your visits with him continued. Still quiet, steady, and unyielding. But no breakthroughs. No magic moments where Bucky suddenly remembered your name or the warmth of your touch.

But slowly, you learned to be okay with that. Because sometimes, healing wasn’t about the big gestures. It was about the small ones.

A flicker of recognition in his eyes when you laughed at a joke you’d shared long ago. A twitch of hesitation before he pulled back when you offered your hand. A breath held a moment longer when you read aloud from his favorite book.

Those tiny cracks in the wall gave you hope.

One evening, as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the compound, you found yourself sitting beside him on the couch. No words were spoken, there was no need.

His hand, tentative and unsure, brushed against yours. You paused for a moment and didn’t dare pull away. Instead, you let your fingers intertwine slowly, grounding both of you in that fragile moment of connection.

It wasn’t the past rushing back. It wasn’t a promise of what would come. But it was something. A beginning. A chance. And sometimes, that was enough.

Because you knew this story wasn’t finished. Not yet.

And as long as you both were willing to try, maybe one day, he’d find his way back to you.

[mamiobesssionfics]

All the Quiet Things

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Summary: As a single mother who was left behind, you never expected to find love.

It had been a long time since someone looked at you the way Rhea Ripley did.

Not just with affection but with presence. Like she saw you. Like she’d memorised the tired lines under your eyes and the way your shoulders curled protectively when you felt like the world asked too much. Like she admired how you held everything together with trembling hands, even when it all felt too heavy.

But that didn’t mean you trusted it.

Because you remembered what it felt like to be left.

Your son had barely been a flutter in your belly when his father walked out.

He said he “wasn’t ready,” said he “didn’t sign up for this,” and you said nothing at all, because your mouth couldn’t move around the shards of your heart.

Now, years later, love didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like a loaded question.

And Rhea, kind, slow-moving, dog-loving, bedtime-story-reading Rhea, was answering it without even knowing.

You knew she was falling for you.

The way she looked at you when you were laughing with your son. The way she reached for your hand while you pushed the trolley through the supermarket.

The way she always asked how you were doing before she asked about anything else.

But you pulled back, gently at first.

You told yourself it was about space. About being cautious. About doing the right thing for your son.

But of course, she noticed it.

One night, after she’d fixed your wobbly garden gate and stayed for tea, she looked across the table and asked softly, “Are you pulling away from me?”

Your fork stalled in mid-air. You looked at her, cheeks warm, guilt flooding your throat.

“I just… don’t want to mess anything up.”

“Mess what up?” she asked. Her voice was quiet but steady. “This?”

You nodded. “This. You. Him. All of it. What if I let myself want this and it all falls apart?”

Rhea leaned back in her chair. Ran a hand through her hair.

“You think I’d leave?”

“I think people do,” you whispered. “Even when they love you. Even when they promise.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then she stood up. Moved around the table. Knelt in front of you.

“I’m not him.”

“I know.”

“I’m not here for a version of you that’s easier or simpler or less tired. I’m here for you.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them away. “Rhea, I’m not good at trusting people.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me right away,” she said. “Just don’t run from me while I’m standing still for you.”

But still, something inside you held back.

A wall built of old heartbreak, bricks labelled with shame, with fear, with the endless echo of what if you’re too much?

You didn’t realise you were breaking her heart too, in your silence, in your fear, in all the half-answers you gave her when she reached out.

It came to a head one evening.

Your son had just gone to sleep. You were folding laundry. Rhea had come over to bring you dinner. You hadn’t touched it.

“You’re pushing me out again,” she said suddenly. “I can feel it.”

You didn’t deny it.

“I think I should go,” she said, her voice breaking for the first time. “I keep trying, and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Your heart twisted.

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” you whispered.

“Then why are you still so afraid of me?”

And just like that, something snapped.

You dropped the shirt you were folding. Turned to her, hands trembling.

“Because I love you,” you said. “And I don’t know how to let myself have something that doesn’t hurt.”

The silence was thick. Your chest heaved. Her eyes were shining.

You stepped forward. “You look at me like I’m something good. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

She reached for you. Held your face in both hands. Her thumbs brushed your cheeks.

“You are something good,” she whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

And that was it.

The wall crumbled.

You sobbed into her shoulder, and she held you like she’d been waiting her whole life to. No promises. No demands. Just presence.

Just her. Just you.

Just love.

Later, curled up together on the sofa with your head on her chest and her arms tight around you, she kissed your hair and murmured,

“We’ll go slow. We’ll make our own rules.”

You nodded. “He already loves you, you know.”

She smiled into your hair. “Yeah. I kind of love him too.”

Then, after a pause…

“And his mum.”

You looked up at her.

“I love you,” she said again, firm this time. “Even if you don’t believe it yet.”

You believed her.

Finally, you believed her.

And you never ran again.

---

The garden was overgrown in the best kind of way.

Flowers your son had planted with Rhea grew crooked and bright along the fence, tomatoes ripened on a vine she’d tied with care, and his toys lay scattered in the grass like the aftermath of a joyful storm.

You watched them from the kitchen window, heart full to the brim.

She had him on her shoulders, laughing as he held a paper plane above his head. He launched it, and it nosedived directly into the vegetable patch.

“That was brilliant!” she called, spinning in circles with him, his giggles echoing through the summer air.

You had no idea a life could feel like this. So full.

That evening, after bath time and three full rounds of “The Gruffalo,” you stood in the doorway of your son’s bedroom while Rhea curled up beside him on the bed.

She’d started reading to him the week after she fixed your garden gate. Now it was a ritual — one you couldn’t break even if you tried.

“Did you like the story?” she whispered, brushing his damp hair from his forehead.

He nodded sleepily. “Yeah.”

“You sleepy now?”

He blinked slowly. “Mhm.”

She kissed his head.

“Rhea?” he mumbled.

“Yes, little man?”

His eyes fluttered open again — wide, soft, so much like yours. He reached for her hand and held it.

“I love you.”

Rhea froze.

Your breath caught.

She looked at him, then at you. Her lips parted, voice trembling.

“I love you too, mate,” she whispered, leaning in close. “So, so much.”

He nodded. “You’re my best.”

“I’ll always be your best.”

You turned away, tears slipping down your cheeks, not from sadness, but from a kind of peace you’d forgotten existed.

That night, Rhea found you on the sofa with a blanket and a mug of tea, staring out at the fairy lights twinkling over the patio.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Then, softly, “That meant the world to me.”

“I know,” you whispered. “Me too.”

She sat down beside you, arm brushing yours.

You stared into your mug for a moment. Then, with trembling fingers, you reached into your jumper pocket.

A small, velvet ring box sat in your palm.

She stared at it. Her mouth dropped open slightly.

“Wait, are you-”

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes shining. “I am.”

Rhea blinked rapidly. “But I thought you’d never want to-”

“I didn’t think I could,” you said. “Not until tonight. Not until he said he loved you. Not until I realised that so do I. Enough to do this. To ask.”

You opened the box. A simple silver band lay inside. No diamonds, no flourish. Just a promise.

“You stayed. You loved us. I want you to stay forever.”

Rhea didn’t speak.

She just threw her arms around you, burying her face in your neck, breath shaking with emotion.

You felt the dampness of her tears against your skin.

“I was going to ask you,” she whispered. “I swear to God. I’ve had a ring hidden in my toolbox for weeks.”

You laughed, crying too now. “Of course you did.”

“I’ll still give it to you,” she said, pulling back with a grin, and wiping her eyes. “But this- this is all I ever wanted.”

You slipped the ring onto her finger.

Then she reached into her pocket, just like you had — and pulled out her ring for you.

It was a mess of laughter and tears and tangled arms as you tried to put each ring on with shaking hands.

Outside, a dog barked in the distance.

The fairy lights flickered. Your world, small and precious, held its breath.

Then Rhea kissed you like the answer to every question you’d ever been too afraid to ask.

Later, she curled up behind you in bed, hand resting gently on your stomach, her forehead tucked against your shoulder.

“Did you ever think,” she murmured, “we’d end up here?”

You turned, and kissed the crown of her head.

“Not once,” you said. “And I’ve never been happier to be wrong.”

Masterlist

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

calendula | gaku (sakamoto days)

✮ tags ; afab + gn!reader, no dialogue, gakus perspective, established relationship, technically pre-canon but not relevant, tit worship, riding, unprotected sex / no prep, 18+

✮ wc ; 3.4k (???????????)

✮ a/n ; girl idk. guy i characterized off of vibes and a brief reread. this is kind of a character study. if you squint. if this characterization is completely wack im sorry i think i was overcome by lust

more importantly this fic is me attempting to practice my prose so there's no dialogue rip. i dont think it succeeded but that's why there's only one line of dialogue sdkjfhkjsd.

✮ synopsis ; gaku gives you whatever you want.

Gaku knows it’s you before he answers the door.  

From the weight and sound of footfall to the way you knock on the door—always twice in rapid succession. All of these details about you linger in his mind all day. He knows you’re going to knock on the door and waits for it. His attention is away from the screen. His avatar takes a hit and the weighted controller vibrates in his hand. He let it happen. It’d have been easy enough to dodge, since he’s got good reflexes and all. But if he takes a hit, there’s a brief second that makes it easier for him to pause his game.  

He clicks a few buttons to hit pause. Neon lights paint his bedroom walls, casting shadow on the wall behind him and dimmed by the pause menu. A simpler techno beat replaces the flashy, high energy background music of an intense boss battle. Gaku gropes his bed for the remote to turn the sound lower.  

You knock at the door just when Gaku expects you. He tosses his controller and remote onto the bed , landing with a barely audible thud.  

He opens his door to find you right where he thought you’d be. Leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest and eyes lidded—he stares at you, observing your expression. It’s not like he’s going to interrogate you, not really.  

He can just tell. You’re thinking about something. Could be anything. He knows a lot about you. All of things you say to him when you impolitely assume he’s not listening are kept in the same part of his mind all the other details about you are. He doesn’t think you’re upset about anything. He’s developed a sixth sense for that.  

You’re here for something else. Gaku has a guess, though he doesn’t voice it to you. Just looks on with lidded eyes and waits. Something else is on your mind, too he’s sure. He can tell you don’t want to talk about it. Or that it’s not worth talking about to you.  

You’ve got your hoodie barely zipped up, he notices. Gaku’s hoodie, actually. It’s too big on him, and falls even bigger on you, the shoulder slipping off of your frame revealing the skin underneath. Gaku lets his eyes run over the vision. Tugging at the front of your top and pulling it down, covering your shorts and making it look like you’re wearing nothing at all—you fidget conspicuously. Shifting your weight from one side to another. He gets a clear view of the set you’re wearing. Work-out clothes, he thinks.  

He feels his lips twitch at the sight of you. You pick your head up to look at him, expectant. You don’t want to say what you’re thinking, but you look like you figure he might pry anyway. Sometimes he does. In matters concern you, he often finds himself sticking his nose in places it doesn’t belong in general. He does want to know, but decides it’s fine for now.  

It’s not mercy. He just doesn’t think he needs to ask. Whatever it is, he can do it for you if needs to. He does a lazy glance in the hallway for sight of anyone. 

When he finds no one, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into the room all in one go.  

You let out a squeal as he grabs you. It’s easy to do it. All the strength he’s been building has its uses other than killing. He’s learned that lesson because of you. Your hands are fisted against his chest, arms folded at the elbow--as he shuts the door behind you and backs you into it. He uses his other arm  to cage you—resting his weight on his forearm as his hand clenched into a first.  

He should give you a second to breathe. Should play nice when you’re already looking for a way to wash your hands of your thoughts.  

But, he doesn’t want to let go of you right away. This close proximity—the slight tension in the air. Feels good because it’s you. Impossibly close with unspoken understanding. 

 Already close, he wonders if it’d be fine just to linger there for a minute longer than he would otherwise.  

With an arm still around your spine, Gaku presses into your space. His nose is milimeters away from yours. The only light faint from the TV screen, the atmosphere around you shifts in the darkness. Your face is shrouded, but up this close he can see you with perfect clarity. Like you’re the only two people in the world.  Your wide eyes, glimmering with expectancy. Mouth pressed into a flat line like you’re unamused—in a way that’s completely contrary to how you’re staring at him.  

He can see every detail. A part of him thinks he could trace them out with his eyes closed.  

Both things make him wanna kiss you. Both your stubborn desire to hold onto a petty grudge (that is, him pulling you in and surprising you) and the obvious, bone-deep devoted look in your eye. 

Before you can ask him anything, Gaku lets you go. With your back now pressed up against the door, he uses his free hand to to tip your chin up and kiss you.  

You relent easy. He knew you would. Always quick to forgive him when he gets on your nerves. Your arms loop around his neck and his hands finds your hips and you kiss. Your lips are soft and warm. They taste like cheap vanilla, the artificial taste that comes with whatever chapstick you use.  

(Gaku knows the brand. As in, he could get it for you if he saw it but he doesn’t know the name. Another unimportant detail he keeps tucked away for himself.)  

He’s fond of the way you melt into his touch. Your body slumped against the door, the lazy draw of your limbs and your arms around his neck - sleeves pulled your hands. The tension bleeds from you as kiss him back eagerly.  

You always kiss too fast. The first few times he had to tell you to take it easy. You never learned. He kind of hopes you never do 

Gaku prefers to draw it out. Pull away for a while with nothing but the threads of spit and bitten lips as proof  before kissing you again. But you’re eager, excitable. Your tongue laps at his lips hurriedly, brows furrowed -desperate and whimpering. Greedy. Wanting for more because Gaku can give it to you just fine if you want it.   

You never have to tell Gaku what you want. For the most part, he doesn’t how else to operate other than give you whatever. Never asks you for any favors, just gives it because it makes sense to him. Gaku likes kissing slow, but for you—it’s fine to kiss a little faster.  

His tongue slips against your mouth. The pace changes. The air in the room becomes thick around you and Gaku can’t breathe around it it. Seemingly, neither can you, but it doesn’t deter you.  

Doesn’t deter your eagerness. He’s fond of it. Lets you suck on his tongue and kiss him sloppy just because.  

It amuses him. He lets you do what you want. Gets him hard to see you act that way, despite knowing each time you come to him for something—its already yours. Puppyish to your own demise, Gaku squeezes your hips. His hands slip under the fabric of your hoodie until he can feel the waistband of your shorts.  

Your skin is bare underneath. Just a bra and shorts then. Good to know.  

You pull away panting. Face flush, mouth spit slick. Still so adoring in a way that makes his stomach flip. Excites him in a way so few things in the world do. It makes him laugh. If he had a shirt for you to tug on, you would.  

You’re not gonna ask for it directly. Gaku doesn’t exactly feel like making you, either.  

He nudges his nose against your jawline before he bites gently into the space below your chin. A breath of laughter passes through his nose as he slips his hand into your, fingers locked and tugs you further into his room. A silent confirmation.  

Yeah, he thinks. If you want it.  

Falling into bed with you is always easy.  

You crawl into his bed like you belong there. Get comfortable in his unfolded clothes, his blankets, his pillows. You’re never in the same place very long but Gaku likes the sight of you in his temporary bed, with his things.  

The lines between you and him blur when you’re tucked in with his other belongings and Gaku sort of likes it that way. He tries not to reflect on it.  

You sit on your knees, expectant. Reaching out to grab Gaku’s hand but holding his finger, you pull him into bed along side you. He looks at you amused, head tilted to one side. You put a hand on his thigh and Gaku gets the message  - scooting himself to sit up against a wall.  

Your eyes light up, just a little. You crawl into his lap like a spoiled thing. Your knees on either side of his thighs as he’s spread out, straddling his waist with his hoodie still on. He can feel himself get hard right away. It feels pathetic every time, but it’s the way it goes. Your ass is soft as you sit on his dick like its yours. He can feel the heat radiating off you. You grind back against him tentatively.  

He lets out a deep sigh.  

He can see you a little better this way. It’s the way you’re both sitting. Gaku with his back a side wall and you just over. The light from the TV is close enough to cast on your face. Your features are clearer this way. The subtle nuances of your expression especially visible.  

It’s so easy to tell when you want him to fuck you. Of all of things he likes about fucking you (and that list is long)—it’s this face that drives him most up the wall. Makes him want for it even when he thinks less of himself for being so easy.  

You’re vicious. And talented. You’ve got a knack for assassination like no one else, not motivated by blood lust but some strange desire to be the very best at it, if you’re going to do it all. 

But you’re so debauched like this. Eyes clouded in visible arousal. Wearing an athleisure fit that’s perfectly, seamlessly tight and so see-through in all of the right places. Wearing his hoodie.  

That look on your face like you want his dick so fucking bad, so desperately—that you’d go as far as begging him. He knows you would. You practically are. A sloppy, ultimately transparent attempt to get him to pound your pussy the way you like. The way you need.  

(The way he’s made you need)  

You don’t really have to do any of it. It’d be just as easy if you barged in and pulled his pants down. He wouldn’t say no to you. Might laugh, but wouldn’t turn you away.  

But you work for things you want. Like a compulsion. If Gaku’s gonna fuck you, it can’t just be because he’s whipped beyond words (he has enough self-awareness to know, but tries not to dwell.) 

 You would want him to lust after you just as bad, get him hard and excited since it’s not easy to accomplish. There’s nothing for you to earn but you’ll earn it anyway. 

Gaku ruts his dick against your ass, feeling the outline of his cock stretch the seam of your shorts. Like he’s trying to fuck you through it. He’s hard. It’s making him dizzy, just how much. All you’ve done is kiss, he remembers.  

It doesn’t make his hard-on any less severe.  

You urge him to do it again. Rub yourself against him as best you can, grinding at his lap for friction on your clit. Your body wracks with a shiver, mouth fallen open as you use your hands on his legs to keep yourself up and rut against him for pleasure—moving back so you’re pussy is sliding against him properly. Riding his hard-on. The sheer material of your shorts gives him a preview of how you’ve got nothing on underneath, your pussy visible in the thin stretchy material. So wet it’s dampening them. They seep through the fabric. Nylon and spandex and polyester. Too thin.  

It turns him on so much it makes his head throb. 

Gaku’s hands slide up underneath your hoodie again. Your skin is warm underneath the tips of his fingers. Even through bandaged hand he can feel you just slightly. They travel upwards, until he’s at the end of your sports bra. He gets underneath the stretchy band, pulling it up until it sits bunched up over your breasts— just underneath your neck and chin.  

Your nipples are hard from arousal, pert and begging for his attention. Gaku likes the way you feel in grasp. Soft and warm and supple, sweet and pliable under his touch. His palms squeezes the fat of your tits, playing with them as you grind yourself on his cock unabashedly. Head thrown back and not entirely paying attention—something he’ll tese you for later. He squishes your tits together, testing their gravity. His fingers brushing across your nipples, flicking lightly. Teasing and rolling them with the pads of his thumb.  

Above him you shiver. Moan out his name, still humping yourself on him. He figures you’ll tucker out soon. Beg him to put in it. He decides to wait it out more.  

He leans in close, placing a kiss under your sternum before his mouth travels upwards. Gaku is meticulous as his tongue laves over the soft patches of skin. He kisses and licks first, but always finishes with a bite or bruise. He can’t help himself. He loves the way his teeth sink in. Loves the mark it leaves in your skin when he bites hard enough, the indents of his incisors and canines that linger for a long while after him.  

(Loves kissing the yellowing bruises when you have sex in the mornings. On the rare slow and lazy days where the sex more sweet than anything. He tries to save it for when you’re sleepy. For his sake and yours)  

You moan loudly when his tongue flicks against hardened buds. Impatience flickers through him listening to you. His hands grip your ass hard enough to keep you in place - no longer content with just sitting. His mouth sucks and licks at your nipples while his hands change the pace from a shallow grind to a long, deep one. 

He moves you with intention against the outline of his cock. Slowly, steadily - at the kind of pace that lets him worship your chest with his tongue and teeth without risking a bite that’s too hard. Your hands fall around his neck, as you curl into him.  

Once Gaku gets control of you like this, you’re eager to let him have it. You give into the forcefulness of his touch, the demand of it. Your words are more whimpers and please against his neck. Your nails are digging into the muscles of his back—no doubt leaving red marks for him to admire later. He’s sure he’ll get a look from Kei when he sees them.  

Your shoulders are trembling. The first word to leave your lips is one Gaku likes hearing you say. Whined against the column of his throat, muffled but loud enough for him to catch.  

“Please,”  

It’s like a gut-punch. Makes the lust in him so urgent, so heavy, so daunting—he can feel it in the way moves. His breathing is labored. He presses his head against your chest and inhales deeply. Tries to mellow and keep composure.  

It just feels like he can’t get his dick into you fast enough. Feels like there’s no amount of time he’s willing to be patient for it. He needs his dick in you now, needs to take you by your hips and bounce you on his lap.  

You did say please. He’s being fair, is all.  

Gaku grabs the thin material of your shorts and rips it right along the seam. You gasp, but you’re too worked up to protest it. Soaked all the way through, your clit is hard and demanding attention. Gaku slips his his dick out from under his sweats quickly. 

He taps the head of his cock right against your clit, rubbing it with his tip - a mess of pre-cum making it sticky. Gaku moans low in the back of his throat, eyes rolling back.  

Fuck. Fuck. You feel so wet. So fucking good. Just thinking about putting it in makes him ache.  

It’s your hand that guides the head of his cock into your pussy. 

Without prep, you’re dripping wet but still so tight. You’ve taken him enough to know your limits, but you’re eager. Just as much as he is, for him to split you in half the way he’s good at. Your pussy stretches easily to the shape of him. Accommodates what it knows so well. Your body makes home for him. 

 Gaku can hear how fucking wet you are, each inch stretching you out further and further. He holds your hips and waits for you to sink down all the way.  

When you bottom out, Gaku’s jaw grits ever so slightly. He waits for you to get used to. You slide yourself slowly, up and down until the stretch of his cock isn’t achy. He can tell when it starts to feel good for you. 

 Your pussy opens up for him so well, gets slippery and soft and so perfect for him to fuck into, he isn’t sure what he was doing before that. You feel so fucking good to him every time.  

You stop, your arms wrapping around his shoulder blades and hugging him tight. You say his name that time to substitute for please, synonyms of each other. A testament to how easy he is when it involves you.  

Gaku gives you what you want. Of course he does. He takes both of his hands and holds onto your waist and fucks you exactly the way you deserve. You cry aloud, sobbing into his neck from pleasure. Your pussy squeezes around him in that familiar way and he groans. He knows you came without telling him. He knows that feel better than anything.  

It spurs him into action. Gaku builds it up but it takes practically no time for him to piston you. Half-way between holding you up so he can fuck into you and slamming you onto his cock with endless stamina and relentless desire. Whatever inbetween he finds is a good one, makes sure he knocks into your sweet spot in exactly the right way. 

The sound it makes each time he pounds into you echoes in the room. It’s filthy—the wet sound of skin to skin and his cock stretching you over and over and over. It’s good. It’s always so good with you. 

You sneak a shaky hand between your bodies. Gaku can tell you’re getting close, your fingers clumsy and twitching. You’re trying your best to match up to his brutal pace, but the thought only endears him more. Makes him harder, growing bigger inside you. 

It’s easy enough to hold off until you cum first. Until he feels your pussy clamp down on him tight again, feels you tremble and shake in his grip as you bite into his bare shoulder and cum hard. Your whole body curling into him, crying as Gaku fucks you through it.  

When you’ve fallen limp and come down from your high— that’s when Gaku finally lets himself go. His thrusts grow sloppy - fucking into your went cunt shallowly until he feels the muscles in your stomach tense. He cums inside, unable to pull out from the way you have him gripped. Thick ropes of cum paint your insides and slowly drip back out onto his cock.  

Gaku stays inside of you even as he goes soft. He can feel you in his arms, your breathing growing steady again as you both catch your breath.  

He uses a hand to pull hair away from your face, kissing whatever he can reach. A rare, quiet intimacy that makes sense to him in the moment. You let out a giggle,  a sweet sound from your lips and Gaku finds himself smiling just barely.   

Whatever you want, Gaku thinks. It’ll be yours if he can get it for you.  

[flwrkid14]

A Ghost of a Chance: Tim Moves to Amity Park

Tim Drake never expected to end up in Amity Park.

It wasn’t the kind of place you’d move to voluntarily—not if you valued normalcy, peace, or, you know, not being attacked by spectral entities on the regular. But when Danny asked—his voice soft, eyes hopeful—Tim couldn’t say no.

Amity was Danny’s home.

And maybe, just maybe, it could be Tim's too.

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

At first, it wasn’t bad. Tim had seen worse. Gotham had prepared him for everything, right? But there was something about Amity Park that made the shadows seem deeper, the nights colder. The constant hum of the town’s protective shields, the flicker of green in the sky—like the city itself was watching.

Danny blended back in seamlessly, slipping into old routines like he’d never left.

Tim… didn’t.

The ghosts were different. Gotham’s rogues, at least, followed patterns. There was a rhythm to crime, a predictability to chaos. Ghosts didn’t play by those rules. They came and went as they pleased, driven by grudges older than time. One day they’d fight beside you, the next, they’d haunt you.

Tim couldn’t get a read on them. Couldn’t strategize. Couldn’t feel useful.

And the more time passed, the more he felt like he was sinking.

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

The bats haunted him too. Every time his phone buzzed, he half-expected to see a message from Dick or Bruce, maybe even a snarky text from Jason. But it was always quiet. No calls. No emergencies. The silence felt heavier here, like it pressed against his chest.

Danny had Amity. He had the support of people who knew him. Tim was just... there. A shadow on the edge of Danny's world. Everyone knew Danny—Phantom, their hero. They didn’t know Tim. Didn’t know who Danny was to him. More than that, they didn’t seem to care.

Tim couldn’t shake the feeling. Replaceable. At least when Jason had thrown that word at him, Tim knew there was always something he could work on to feel needed. A case to solve, a system to hack, a mission to plan.

With Danny, there was... nothing. No crises to solve, no skills that set him apart. No place where he fit.

Danny didn’t need him.

And maybe that was the worst part.

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

They started drifting. Danny would leave in the middle of the night, chasing ghosts Tim didn’t understand. He’d wake up alone in a bed that felt colder by the day. The quiet wasn’t the comforting silence of the Cave or the stillness of a stakeout. It was empty. Lonely.

Tim wasn’t built for this kind of stillness.

One night, he followed Danny. Watched from the shadows as Danny fought a ghost—a brutal, violent storm of green energy and ice. Danny won, of course. Danny always won. But when he turned back, hair white and eyes glowing, something flickered. Something inhuman.

Tim realized, he doesn’t need me.

He confronted Danny that night. “Tim, you can’t follow me out there.” “Why not? You think I can’t handle it?” “It’s not that—” “Then what is it?” Danny’s eyes softened. “This place… it’s dangerous. The things I face, they’re not like Gotham’s criminals.” “I know danger, Danny. I’ve lived with it my whole life.” “That’s not the point.”

Tim’s voice cracked. “Then what is?”

Danny didn’t answer. And Tim didn’t press.

He stayed because leaving felt like admitting defeat. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, he wondered if love was enough. If Amity Park would ever feel like home. If Danny’s ghosts were more than just spectral enemies—if they were the distance growing between them.

He’d jumped too quickly, left too much behind, trusted too blindly. Maybe he’d wanted to believe that leaving Gotham meant he could start over, that he could belong to something simpler. Easier.

But it wasn’t simple. It wasn’t easier.

Tim missed the bats. Missed the chaos, the noise, the feeling of being needed. Here, he felt like a shadow—an echo of a life he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back. And if he stayed too long, he wasn’t sure there’d be anything left of him. He'd become just another ghost haunting Amity Park.

[keen-li]

What you need | 06

Chapter title: You need...to get a grip.

Synopsis: Everybody needs, but how do you define need? do you even know what you need. The simple answer is no. But Jungkook knows what you need. he just wants to help you realize it.

Genre: best friends au, angst, fluff, smut, slow burn. Friends to FWB to Lovers

Jungkook x reader.

Wc: 6.9k

Prev | next

Index

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Jungkook never understood how female lip products worked, chemically at least. But what he knew for sure was that he shouldn’t still be able to feel the remnants of your gloss the next morning. Right?

He washed his face just before bed while you slept, trying to shake the feeling of guilt. Did he do the right thing? He was just trying to be there for you. But now that he thinks of it, maybe there are easier and simpler ways to do that.

Ways that don't make him curious.

But even after washing his face, he could still feel it, and at that point, he could still taste the cherries. Is it going to last forever?

He smirks to himself in the mirror, and he's never felt more stupid. It's better if he just forgets it.

He touches his bottom lip. Maybe it’s just the lip product.

Yeah, that’s it. He doesn’t care about what kind of lip product a woman uses. Its not like after he kisses he asks "is this cherry?" He barely notices.

But fuck, he needs to stop thinking about yours.

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair to tame it, and then heads back into the room where you’re still asleep. As he approaches the bed, he notices how the large blankets seem to swallow your figure, and he realizes he’s never really noticed it before. The morning light filters through the window, casting a soft glow on your face. Your skin is dewy, probably from the warmth of the weather and the warmth of the covers you’re tucked under. Your cheeks are puffy, squished against your arm, and for a moment, he’s reminded of how peaceful you look.

His eyes move to your lips, which are puffier than his. They’re in a soft pout, maybe from the way you slept, but they’re rosier than usual. It’s the look you go for when you apply your lip products—but right now, it’s natural. A result of what happened last night.

His heart tightens at the thought. Did he overstep? Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed you. But it made you feel better, right?

He doesn’t know if he should bring it up when you wake up. Maybe he can just joke about it, show you he doesn’t mind, so you won’t overthink it like you always do. Or maybe it’s better not to mention it at all. You might not even remember it when you wake up. But that would eat at him. It’s important to talk about these things, so there’s no tension.

He thinks back to how easygoing his friendship with you has always been-no awkwardness, no tension, nothing. Except for those moments that lasted less than a day. Hours at most. He wants to keep it that way. The kiss was nothing more than a comfort, a way to make you feel better.

He turns to grab his eye drops from the drawer by the bed, not noticing that your lashes flutter as your eyes begin to open.

When you first open your eyes, the world feels like it's spinning, but you quickly realize it’s not. You throw the covers off, feeling hot but also chilled at the same time. A dull ache settles at the nape of your neck, reminding you of one of the reasons you don’t like drinking. The weight of the blanket feels both like a burden and a comfort, and you can’t decide whether to leave it on or kick it off. Eventually, you settle on a compromise, pulling it down just enough to uncover your chest, with one leg sticking out.

Becoming more aware of your surroundings, you glance around the room. For a second, you thought you were home, but then you spot Jungkook walking out of his bathroom and remember where you are. The door to your own bathroom isn’t in your bedroom.

You feel embarrassed, but you needed this—who knows what could’ve happened if you were on your own?

He’s blinking rapidly, presumably from putting in eye drops, and you consider getting some for yourself, but your tears do a great job already. But then your thoughts drift back to last night. It’s a blur, but the people you went out with and the man you met are still fresh in your mind. Chae comes to mind, and you make a mental note to call her and apologize for dipping out so suddenly. It was probably the best thing you could’ve done, though.

Then, the thought of Yunho hits you like a ton of bricks. The way your heart clenches makes you want to throw up. Seeing him last night… it might have been exactly what you needed, but it also makes you feel stupid. You chose him, said yes when he asked you to be his girlfriend, and yoh let him in everytime not knowing you were letting in a cheater. It’s all on you, and yet… it doesn’t feel like it should be also. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t cheat, and even though he blamed the breakup on Jungkook, you know that you and Jungkook have never been anything more than friends. You’d understand if Jungkook was your ex, but he’s not. He’s just your best friend. But why do people overthink things?

Jungkook’s voice breaks your train of thought, snapping you back into the present. “You’re awake.”

It’s not really a question, more of a statement. It’s already 9 a.m., and he thought you’d sleep longer, especially after how you were last night.

You groan in response, your brain still not fully awake.

“You want water?” Jungkook asks, already on his way to the kitchen. He doesn’t even wait for your protest, knowing full well you’ll need it. He returns with a glass of water and an ibuprofen, handing it to you with a casual expression.

You sit up, sluggish, and swallow the pill, the bitterness of it lingering in your throat.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice carrying a weight of concern that feels a little too formal. It’s not the usual teasing, carefree Jungkook.

You laugh, despite yourself. The tone of his voice is so serious, and it’s making you feel strangely out for character. “Aside from the hangover, you know how that feels,” you mutter. He does. “I feel like shit thinking about last night.”

Jungkook nods, understanding. He wants to tease you, make light of the situation, he knows you'd want that. You know like feeling the emotions. But jungkook just can’t bring himself to do it. It feels wrong, given how serious it seems. You need to face the emotions.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his voice unsure as he runs his hands over his thighs.

You sink back into the bed, wrapping yourself in the pillows. “Not really,” you mumble, your voice muffled into the fabric. It’s comforting, but there’s still a nagging feeling in your chest that won’t go away.

“What time did I get here?” Speaking of getting here, you remember leaving, getting into a cab, and walking up to his building. What came after that, you’ve got no idea. But you assume since you’re dressed in more comfortable clothes (Jungkook’s) and you don’t smell like sweat, that you took a shower. Did you take it by yourself or… you don’t bother questioning him because you don’t want to know. It’s already embarrassing to know that he probably saw you drunk, like before. You just hope you didn’t say something stupid.

Jungkook recounts, “Midnight.” You gasp when he says that.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s cool. I was just getting back, so I wasn’t slow to being asleep.”

You furrow your brows. Where could Jungkook have been out that late? He’s an adult, and you wouldn’t judge him or question him for it, but it’s not something he usually does, well unless he’s out with you, or Jimin, or Willoe even. But those two are scratched out, and so are you, so where could he have been? Only one thought comes to mind.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” You squeal but immediately hold yourself because of the jolt of pain it causes. “Who is she? Kook, why didn’t you tell me?”

Jungkook just watches you and laughs at how silly you look. So… this is how you’d act if he did get a girlfriend. But like he’s told you before, he’s not really focused on dating right now.

“It’s not a girlfriend,” he states simply, not wanting to elaborate because it would cause more interrogation.

You knit your brows. “Then who? Were you with that boxing friend of yours? Or do you have new friends?”

“Yoongi?” he reminds, but you brush it away; that’s not what you’re looking for. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to bring it up. “I don’t have new friends,” he adds when you stare. There’s no way you should be talking this much with a hangover. It’s like he’s the one with it.

“Then who’s this person you don’t want to tell me about?”

There’s nothing to hide, so it’s not a big problem to mention. It’s just that you might think it was a date, which it was not.

So, preparing to answer, Jungkook lets out a sigh. “It was Irene.” The look on your face when he says it is not far from what he expected. And when you sit up a little too fast, Jungkook’s almost reaching over to push you back down.

“YOUR BOSS?” You gasp but immediately after narrow your eyes and him with a sky smirk. “Trying to get a promotion?” You playfully raise a brow at him.

The disgusted look on his face tells you what you already know. Jungkook wouldn’t do that; he’s too obsessed with working hard and earning everything he gets. “Fuck off,” he puffs out air and stands, getting tired of you. You seem like you’re dealing with your hangover fine. The meds have kicked in quickly, so you are. You dint need him. Hut little does he know that his presence is the reason you're able to act like this. You feel less lonely when someone is around.

“Put in a word for me, darling,” you tease. He’s sure Irene is familiar with who you are. You’ve never met her, but all you know is she’s two years older than you and one year younger than Jungkook. So you’re all around the same age. When Jungkook first told you about her, you thought she was too young to be owning an auto repair shop. You suggested that she was a privileged girl who had her dad wrapped around her finger. When Jungkook confirmed with a laugh, you rolled your eyes at the idea. You weren’t proud of yourself for the reaction, but it happened. Eventually, you put her out of your mind; you didn’t know the girl. What if she was sweet and kind, and you were just being mean for no reason?

The only times you heard about her was when Jungkook was complaining, and maybe his complaining and hearing him so tired has you biased. But now you’re hearing about her again, and it’s her and Jungkook going on a date. You scoff internally; you never knew Jungkook was into girls who caused him stress.

When Jungkook walks out of the room and you’re left in silence, you realize how much you’re depending on his presence to distract you. Distract you from the thoughts and emotions and the realization that if you keep it up, you’ll become an emotional leech. That’s even worse than the other thing you were worried about.

It’s not Jungkook’s job, or any of your friends, to heal or deal with your emotions for you; it’s yours. But gosh, it’s so hard. It feels easier to lean on them, lean on Jungkook. Because he’s always there for you. But you can’t help but feel guilty every time.

Feeling a little better, you get off the bed. And just then, Jungkook walks in with an energy bar, just something quick while he sorts out breakfast. You can smell it. Your favorite thing after a hangover: chicken soup. Gosh, it’s alarming how Jungkook knows just what you need. "I should get home," you say before he can question you.

"Why?" Jungkook watches you stretch, your face scrunching up when you fold a muscle, releasing tension. You know you're always welcome to stay longer and he knows you know that. So why are you running. "You can stay longer. I’m making you food, and you want to leave?"

It’s like guilt is hitting you from every corner.

You pause, pulling a face as though you're in thought. "I don't want to disturb your schedule." You don’t look at him.

Jungkook tosses the bar on the bed, and you watch it bounce before it finally settles.

Jungkook furrows his brows. Your hangover must be fucking with your memory. "What schedule?" he laughs.

"Don't you have work?" You freeze, not knowing why he's laughing when you're being serious.

"It's Saturday."

A sound of realization leaves your mouth. You forgot.

Wanting to come back from your embarrassment, you say, "Well, don't you still work on Saturdays?" That's what you remember, and you just hope you're not wrong.

"Sometimes." But after the stress and overworking he's had, he's not going to. The coming week too, he doesn't want to step foot into that shop. His body and brain ache, and he needs to take a break. Isabel gets that; that's why she's not going to call him until he goes back.

"We can just have a sleepover." The words sound childish coming from his mouth, but he has no clue what else to call it. But it's you, so he's not so embarrassed. "You’re free too, right?"

You are since you're waiting for your callback, which could be in the next two weeks, or never if you're unlucky. You don't even want to get into thinking about that; you can already feel your throat tighten at the idea. What would you do if you didn't get this job?

"I am," you tell him, finding yourself by his mirror. Why are your lips so rosy? "You want to have a week-long sleepover?" It sounds like a joke. But knowing Jungkook, it's far from it; otherwise, he wouldn't have said it with such a serious face.

"Yeah. To make up for lost time." It's not a bad idea. You need it too, seeing that this is your only time to enjoy before the possibility of going back to work and having Hoseok as your team leader. You roll your eyes at the memory. Hoseok made it clear that if you did get hired, you'd be on his team, and gosh, the thought has your bones shaking but it also makes you blush, cause you knew his dislike for you was forced...But being in Hoseok's team really is better than not having a job; you'd take it. Maybe that's why you feel relaxed because you feel Hoseok might vouch for you, even though the man promises he doesn't vouch for anyone. You don't know why, but you feel that he would for you, or maybe it's your thoughts getting ahead of you. Hoseok's unpredictable sometimes. "You don't want to?"

"I do..." It sounds unsure, causing Jungkook to tilt his head, an action you think is very cartoonish of him. You want to, but you're just scared you might end up crying. You don't know where you stand with your thoughts and emotions right now, and even though Jungkook has proved to be fine with it, you just don't want to put him through it.

"But?" He drags out the question.

But you feel like you’re bothering him. He’d be sad to hear you think that way; that’s why you keep it in your head. "But nothing. I want to," you pick at your palm, looking unsure and at war with your thoughts. "But if we're gonna do this, then I need some things from my place, though." You choose to ignore your real concern of not knowing your state of mind. But Jungkook, being Jungkook and your best friend, knows something's up but does not address it. He wants yiu you tell him, he can't always just think, even though he's sure.

"We can drop by after breakfast." He leaves no room for debate. You take the energy bar and take a bite after he insists on opening it.

Yay!! Your stomach rumbles.

--

Jungkook is sat on your couch watching whatever, as you grab stuff from around your place. You're running around like a rat even though Jungkook told you to take your time so that you didn't forget your underwear and have to borrow his. He was joking. You'd never wear Jungkook's boxers... (crickets)... IT WAS ONE TIME! And they were new. But he tries to remind you any chance he gets.

As you're packing, your phone rings, and when you check, it's Chae. Great, you were going to call her anyway.

When you pick up, her vibrant voice booms through. It's just her asking how you are, overwhelmingly, and asking why you left. You just tell her you didn't feel well, brushing off her concerns with "I'm fine."

You talk here and there about what you're doing for the weekend. You say you're hanging out with a friend, and she squeals jealously. But her plans are honestly better than yours: hanging out with her girlfriend. At first, you questioned yourself about what type of girlfriend she meant, but after she clarified, you understood. You don't mind it at all; you just never expected Chae to be into women. But you're glad she was comfortable enough to share that with you. But you soon start to feel bad because you can't even share the real reason you left because you're embarrassed. The call ends with her promising you that you will be hired. You smile.

"Bad news for you, Jungkook." You walk into the living room laughing and pocketing your phone in your jeans you just changed into.

Jungkook looks up at you, confused at why you look so snug. For a second, he thought you'd changed your mind. "What?"

"You're not your date's type." You inform him, and Jungkook grows more confused.

"I'm everybody's type." He leans back with a smug smile. You roll your eyes. He's attractive, but it's so cocky of him to think that. You shake your head. you're sure there's someone out there who doesn't find him attractive.

"You're so cocky it's almost chronic." He just waves you away. Like you said, so cocky.

"Almost. so, I'm still safe." for now, you mumble. "Who's this date who thinks I'm not her type?"

"Chae." He looks at you to elaborate. "She's into girls. I just found out." maybe you're gossiping but it's Jungkook, he wouldn't tell anyone else.

The way his jaw drops open, as if he’s never met her. "Close your mouth; you've never even met her."

He clears his throat dramatically, as if he's an opera singer preparing for a high note. "Just give me a moment with her, and she'll like me."

You scoff at his smugness, though it's part of his charm. "No one likes a guy with a big head." You sit down for a moment to watch whatever he's watching.

He breathes out, feigning offense. "My head is perfectly shaped. thank you." He strokes his face, knowing very well that's not what you meant. You roll your eyes and ignore him, causing him to laugh.

For a moment, you just relax, and it's fun. Nothing to think of, just relaxing with Jungkook. As you lay your head on the couch, you can't help but get a good view of your apartment. Everything you asked for. And as much as you love the space and feel grateful for it, you'd like a change. Especially if you get the job. The neighborhood has gotten a little unsafe over the years, something Jungkook reminds you of. You like the view and your apartment and the way your landlord is active and caring. But over the time of living here, the people who have come into your life (Yunho) have left memories and a piece of themselves, and whenever you're here, it's all you can think of. You're not sure if you're being dramatic, but you feel it's hard to be in this place with all these motifs. You could throw them away, but you can't throw away the lights he put up or the marks on the wall from him trying to do handiwork for the way your tap swings a little too loosely from when you two thought you'd be able to change the taps by yourselves and do a good job. Or how the paint—

"You okay?" Jungkook pulls you out of your thoughts.

You don't turn to look at him, though you can feel him looking at you. You sigh. "Do you think I should find another apartment?"

It's a sudden question, taking Jungkook back, but he quickly catches himself. He senses the heavy emotions behind your words and thought process. "Why?"

You bite your lower lip. "I don't know."

"Do you really want to?"

"I'm just thinking about it." You turn to look at him, and his eyes that never move bore into you. Watching your face for seriousness or playfulness, but all he can see is confusion. You fight the desire to keep the place, even though it serves as a war field for your mind.

"Don't you need your job first?" he states. You know that; that's why you're only thinking about it.

"I have my savings," you joke, knowing you'd never touch your savings unless it was necessary, Jungkook wouldn't let you do that too. You can still live in the house. Nothing wrong with it. "But I'll probably wait until I have my job back."

"I think it's a good idea..." He nods, agreeing with you. he looks up at the ceiling and you do the same, you're not staring at any particular, but the action bring comfort. "...finding a new place."

He goes silent, and you switch facial expressions. "What are you thinking about?"

Jungkook loses himself in the idea more than you.

"I think there's an apartment at my—" he starts, but you cut him off with a sound of disapproval.

"I am not moving into your building." That's what he wants to suggest. And his building is nice; it's pretty and in a safe environment. And from your time spent in Jungkook's apartment, it's large and modern. But the bill, gosh, you fear that. you don't even know how Jungkook manages, but he's more well off than you are. seeing that he has a stable job.

"Why? I want you to be in a safe area." and closer to him is the safest.

you think it would be a waste of rent cause you both would just spend time in each other's apartments.

You shake your head and use your hand to speak, being dramatic. "I get it, but..." You pause, biting your lip to find what to add. You have nothing.

"But...?" Jungkook pries deeper.

"I don't know; it just seems... I can't explain." You can't. You really can't. "Look, it was just an idea; I don't even know if I'm going to get my job back. So I'll hold the thoughts for now." You try to end the conversation before it ends in more of Jungkook's questions.

"Whatever you say." He leans back into your couch. "But if you really don't want to be here, you can stay at mine." His voice is softer and genuine, not that he's never genuine.

Finding an opportunity to tease him, you say, "You're so clingy. I'm already spending a week with you." You mock him and make him want to take back his words. But he eventually laughs it off.

He's not clingy.

---

You've been thinking about it since you looked into the mirror. The images and sensations had been hitting you in flashes during the day. You didn’t think longer on it; you didn’t want to ask or bring it up just in case you were wrong. But the feeling of being right was lurking. You’d been distracted all morning with depressing thoughts and Jungkook, so you didn't get to remember. and as the hangover subsided the thoughts became clear, but it only made you more confused.

Your Google search bar has never seen such a stupid search, but you just had to. You ignored it because you thought it had been a dream that was lingering, but something just felt off. So as you sit in the front seat with Jungkook driving and listening to music as you drive back to his place, you Google:

How to tell the difference between a dream and something that actually happened?

You wait as it loads, and when it does, everything you read serves to prove what you're thinking of. But no. There's only one way to find out. Gosh, you hope you don't sound stupid. How the hell did you not realize this?

"This is going to sound weird, but..." You pause, trying to think if you should ask. Your mind has been flashing to your lips, and you don't remember hangovers giving you lip filler. So if you didn't kiss Jungkook, then you had to have kissed someone else, which sounds worse. "Did you and I kiss last night?" You turn to look at him, one hand on the wheel and the other on his thigh. His shorts offer a view of the gentle skin and blush-touched knees. He doesn't look your way because he has his eyes on the road, but gosh, you wish you could see his eyes and try to decipher what he's thinking. Do you sound crazy right now? "Gosh, it sounds so stupid, but I can swear that—"

"We did." He doesn't look at you when he answers, which makes you sure he could be lying. But there's a lingering feeling that he could be telling the truth. The way he said it is sudden, taking you back sharply.

"Huh?" Your eyes could fall out of their sockets right now. They probably will if you don't blink. and just before you do you catch a glimpse turning the steering as he takes a corner, the hottest thing a man can do and Jungkook makes it feel like hell. stop, you're getting distracted.

"We kissed last night..." he confirms, and you finally blink. Why does he sound so relaxed? You're hunched over with your jaw on the floor, while he's leaned back, hand on thigh with a smirk reacting to the look on your face.

You slam yourself back into the chair and look out your side of the window before looking back at him, the smirk growing wider. Is he joking? "You're fucking with me, right?" You breathe in, relaxing; maybe you're exaggerating right now. But gosh, did you two really kiss? "I could've sworn it was a dream. But I don't know which is better: it actually happened or it being a dream."

Jungkook bites his lip. He's also not sure which he prefers; he never even thought of it, but now you're giving him something to think about when he shouldn't be thinking about it.

There's a silence that falls. A silence that carries internal thoughts that you both wish you could hear to know what the other is thinking.

"Was it me?"

"What?"

"Was I the one who initiated it?" You ask, and the possible answer makes you anxious, and with the way he's taking his time, it's like he's teasing the answer. It's fun for him to watch you scramble. He nods. It's the worst and best thing at the same time. You don't know what you'd do if Jungkook was the one that initiated it, but you initiating it doesn't make it better. What were you thinking?

"Why would you do that, Jungkook?" You smack him playfully from your seat, and after he lectures you about hitting the driver, he chuckles. Like your embarrassment is funny. You’re not blaming him, but… what happened to the rational thinking, Jungkook?

"You were all teary, and you asked me to kiss you, and I did it." He says like it's nothing. It probably is for him.

When he looks over at you, you have a face that's a mixture of anger, embarrassment, cringe, and confusion. Jungkook never knew a person could pull off so many emotions in their face. But you expose him to new things every time. "Why are you mad at me? You said it’d help you feel better." He shrugs his shoulders.

You side-eye him for a split second. it did, from what you feel like you remember and feel. You're back to silence. Your face falls flat. Why are you blaming him when you're the one who initiated it?

"I'm sorry," he says after seeing the sad look on your face.

You should be the one saying sorry. At least he doesn't seem offended by it. You probably put him in a tough spot; he wanted to comfort you and at the same time not cross an undefined boundary. In the end, he had to pick one, one which probably has him in a loop more than you.

"No. I'm sorry." You start, voice softened. "I shouldn’t have done that." You play with the ends of the shirt he gave you.

"You were drunk; it's fine." He reaches over, and for a moment, you think he's reaching for you, so you hold your breath. But no, he's just reaching over to hold onto your seat head. Maybe it's a form of indirect comfort for you. You don't know why you frown

You shake your head. "No, it's not. But gosh, I'm glad it was you at least." Jungkook forgets and snaps his head to look at you. You have a pleased face that could be mistaken for happiness, but Jungkook knows crossing boundaries brings anything but happiness. "What if it was some random guy?" you think.

He smiles. "I'm honored, I guess." Is all he can say.

"It's so embarrassing still," you mutter to yourself.

Turning the wheel to take a turn, he says calmly, "Don't worry; we won't talk about it if you don't want to."

"Would you?" It's more sarcastic than an actual question. And you're right; he doesn’t want to think about it. You don't want to talk about this honestly; you just want to go back to knowing what Jungkook's lips feel and taste like: warm, sweet, with a hint of bitter, but maybe that's from the alcohol you were drinking.

What do alcohol and Jungkook's lips have in common? They're both not good for your mind.

---

Finding it fit and the perfect moment, late Sunday afternoon, Jungkook dragged you to the gym with him. Not because he thinks you need it, but because it’s a good habit for distracting oneself. He’s well acquainted with the concept.

And since he brought you here ‘against your will,’ (you freely walked in). You find that you deserve to head the conversation. And there’s one topic that’s been on your mind. Just curiosity, though.

Jungkook gives in when you ask, because the treadmill’s not going to make him walk anyway, but in no direction. And with you right next to him, he has to answer.

"She took us—I mean me; the other guys couldn't go." Jungkook is very sure most were excuses, childish ones not to spend any minute longer with Irene. "We went for dinner and... just talked."

"Mm. What’d you talk about?"

Jungkook chuckles. you won't leave this huh?

"We had a favorite show in common, and then that was mainly it."

You don’t know why you feel like he’s lying, but you'll take his word for it. "Sounds like you didn’t mind spending time with her."

"I didn’t; I think people at the shop exaggerate."

"Is she your type?"

He chuckles. "I don't know. She's alright."

"Ouch."

"She's my boss, Yn."

"I know. And while I squint my eyes at workplace romance..." He rolls his eyes at the word 'romance.' "I think it would be nice if you two saw things through."

"What things?" Jungkook means this very lightly, very, because it rarely happens. but you are kind of irritating him with this talk.

"Whatever you guys have got." You just want him to do some things for himself, find a nice girl. And even though you don’t know her well or at all, Irene seems like the closest Jungkook’s gonna get with his stubbornness to even talk to a girl.

"We've got nothing. She's my boss," he repeats.

"You sound like you're trying to remind yourself."

Maybe he is. Or maybe it's simply true, and you're pushing for something that doesn’t exist.

---

Getting back from the gym, you run to the bathroom, calling dibs.

"It's my bathroom; I get to go first. Get out!" he jokes, threatening to walk into the shower.

You stare at him, challenging. "First come, first serve." You tell him, and he doesn't budge. "You're free to watch."

He feigns a grossed-out face, and you throw it back at him before he's walking out. But before he leaves, he turns back to say something, but he's turned into a pillar of salt., you're taking off your shirt, but you have you back to him.

"Perv." you say when you meet his eyes.

"You told me I could watch." You scoff and swat him holding your shirt to your chest. "Be quick."

---

Jungkook walks into the kitchen, still running his hands through his damp hair. The kitchen light hums softly as you rummage through the cabinets, already knowing where the snacks you want are. Jungkook reaches into the fridge, on a mission, and pulls out a pack of shredded cheese. The air’s filled with the fading smell of popcorn, and when Jungkook holds the pack of cheese out to you, there’s an unspoken understanding between you two about what happens next.

It’s a staple for movie night.

"You know it’d be easier to use a cheese spice," you say, taking the pack after he opens it. You don’t mind the combination of shredded cheese and popcorn; you’ve grown to like it. Jungkook likes it, and he’s imprinted the interest on you too. Jimin thinks it’s odd, and Willow is indifferent to it. Though she says you're like Romeo and Juliet, and you'll kill yourselves with your odd combinations.

Romeo and Juliet in a friend way.

"Nahh..." he shakes his head and leans on the counter, watching you mix the two. "It’s about texture. And the cheese tastes richer." You just smile and shake your head.

"Oh-" you gasp when you remember what you wanted him to do once he was in the kitchen. "Can you make your Coke drink?" you don't even know the name, but he makes it for you often. you make note to give it a special name.

He stares at you with a smirk.

"You’re okay with alcohol?" he asks as though it’d be the first time. but it should be aright if you drink when you're with him.

"I’m not going to have a lot of it," you bargain. He’s reluctant but soon just gives in. while Jungkook is no bartender, he mixes it so good you can't help but want it when you can. you only drink it when he makes it. and he always does for you.

You smile as you watch him mix. You missed this, just hanging out and doing little things you two like to do. Feels natural. Nothing's changed, and you’re good. you hoped for that.

"Have you ever watched this movie before?" you ask as you sip the drink, which is almost done before the movie starts.

He shakes his head. "First time." Jungkook answers reaching for his popcorn.

You just nod.

you're not sure if it's the gore or the drink you've had that has your stomach churning. it's probably the movie though.

"We should've watched another movie. Something less..." You pull the blanket closer over you, feeling the scare settle in you. And the darkness of the room only intensifies.

"What? You’re already scared?" He looks over at you, folded into the corner of the couch. He’s leaned back against the couch, adding to his relaxed demeanor.

His presence should’ve relaxed you. But you didn’t realize how scary it would be.

"Noo," you drag out your lie. "I’m saving you from nightmares."

"Me?" he chuckles. He's right; you’re saving yourself from nightmares.

"Can we just watch something else?" When you're met with silence and a lopsided smile, telling you he's not budging, you take matters into your own hands. You try to reach for the remote that is currently closer to him, but before you do, he smacks your hand.

"Jungkook. Ouch." You rub where he's hit you.

He doesn't react and takes the remote and stuffs it by his side. "You wanted to watch this movie, so we're going to. We can watch a comedy after if you like."

Yes, you did, you forgot that. You can only watch horrors with another person and right now (and most times) Jungkook is the one you're watching with. You thought you would be able to watch it still but turns out to be scary than you thought.

Being cheeky and stubborn and not wanting to sit through a movie you never knew would have such a heavy dark theme, and more jumpscares than plot, you reach over his lap and try to grab the device from his side.

In your attempt, you're on all fours reaching across his lap. Your hand on the side, you want to reach...

Jungkook watches you closely, it all happens so fast, but in the moment, taking the position as an advantage, Jungkook smacks the back of your thigh to stop you from moving further. It works. You freeze over his lap and when you look to stare at him, his face is inches away from yours. He stares at you with lowered eyes.

You could preach on the street about how well you know Jungkook, but you don't know the man here. He seems like Jungkook's alter ego, something saved for his partners to see.

You're not that, so you don't know why witnessing it.

You're in shorts, so when his palm met your skin, it was raw and loud. It stings and you can swear it will bruise. Not that someone has ever done that for you to know.

As you're still in shock Jungkook decides to turn the action by tenfold. The same hand the caused the sting moves up to rub and pat the area warmly. you can almost feel every detail of his hand. it burns when it rubs over the skin.

Jungkook doesn't know why he did it, it felt like instinct. Though he's only ever done it during sex, finding it fit there. He's never done it in a casual sense.

But he did it and it got him what he wanted.

"Let's finish the movie. It's almost done. Okay?" he smirks through his words. Like he's mocking you for your tied tongue. Why can't you say anything. Tease him back or smack him back for what he just did. Why the hell aren't you feeling offended. Why does the sting not disturb you like it should.

Still stunned from the action, you surrender and sit back down, your hand immediately moves to feel the area that he caressed.

Jungkook chuckles when he looks at you and you look like a child in time out.

"You can sit closer to me if you’re so scared."

Is he serious? you side-eye him, as though his suggestion is ridiculous. It's the pretending like what happened didn't just happen. Not wanting to be one to say it, you ignore it. "Come on, I know you want to." He opens his arms. You do and you hate that he knows that. You should be upset with him right now.

You side-eye him one more time before giving up and moving into him. His arms immediately wrap around your figure. Your head rests on his chest, your legs falling on his lap.

Looking up at him and being this close to him, you can’t help but get flashbacks. Thoughts of curiosity cripple your mind. To add on he just spanked you and you think you liked it. You think.

What the hell is going on?

"You okay?" he asks when you go too quiet, and feels you tense at a jump scare.

Fuck him, he knows you're not okay. "Yeah." You mumble.

And you watch the rest of the movie like Jungkook told you to. You don't argue or protest.

He notes in his brain.

So, a smack on your thigh is what gets you to behave?

He smirks.

📍

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Tell me what you think😏 who do you think the kiss has affected more?

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A/N: i don't want to jinx it but I have some free time and I'm feeling quite creative so maybe some chapters will come a little faster than usual. fingers crossed 🤞.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 12)

A/N: ik it took be forever to post this, pls dont crucify me. I also don't care if we have canon cregan; thats literally not my man

WORD COUNT: 1,078 words

masterlist

You gave him hope. You knew you did and perhaps you shouldn’t have. It would have been easier if you didn’t, but you think you… wanted to? Do you want to have dinner with him?

“Seven hells.” You grumble to Sȳndror after you’ve dismounted. “I suppose I have to eat with him.”

Well, you know you don��t have to. You didn’t even give him proper confirmation, but it’s much simpler to think of it as something you can’t avoid, you decide, making the walk back inside the castle.

“Draw my bath.” You say to Rose as you enter your chambers. “And you’ll need to select a proper evening gown for me today. I’ll be having my supper with Lord Stark.”

“You will?” Your handmaiden asks, looking at you as though you’ve grown a second head.

“I have just said it, haven’t I? Don’t look so bewildered.”

“My apologies.” She curtseys and runs off to start your bath.

When you walk over to the prepared tub, she begins to help you undress. “My apologies for my harsh tone. The situation is simply unusual for me.”

“You never need to apologize, princess. I understand fully.” She finishes undoing your dress and lets the garment drop before also helping you out of your shift.

“I brought him to meet Sȳndror today.” You say wistfully as you step into the perfectly hot bath. Rose always knows just how you like it.

“What prompted that?” She asks carefully, knowing that not even your closest friends have met the beast.

“He caught me watching him train. I wanted to frighten him.” You reply and she giggles.

“I would expect nothing less.” She says and begins to wash your body clean from the smell of dragon. “I also quite like watching the way the northernmen train.”

“There is something unique about the way they move.” You murmur thoughtfully.

“I would say there is something… primal in it.” Rose says with a giggle, clearly thinking about a different adjective in truth.

“Yes, it's very rough.” You muse.

“Did he get along with Sȳndror?” She asks, now running her fingers through your wet hair.

“He is not dead. So, I suppose the answer is yes.” You both giggle.

“Well, I am sure he is appreciative of the honour.”

“He doesn’t quite realize how much of an honour it is.”

“Lord Stark doesn’t know he is the first non-Targaryen you have brought to meet your dragon?” She gives you a slightly bewildered look.

“Of course not. He would be far too pleased with himself if he knew.” You roll your eyes and with your hair washed, you stand, Rose bringing you a robe.

“It is very gracious of you to allow him the meeting nonetheless.” 

“I am known to be gracious.” You reply with a cheeky smile and the both of you giggle.

“I am excited that you’ll be getting more wear out of your evening gowns.” Rose says as she throws open the doors of your closet. “This one could be most suitable.” She holds out a stormy grey dress and you scoff.

“There’s no way in the Seven Hells i’m wearing Stark colours.”

“But it would make him go positively insane.” Rose muses.

“I’ll have one of my black and red gowns.” You say, ignoring her. “The one with the sleeves that Baela adores.”

“Oh, that will be a splendid choice. Lord Stark has never seen you in a proper evening gown. This one will make for a strong start.” She admires the dress in the cupboard before fetching your small clothes.

When you’re dressed, you look nothing short of phenomenal. 

“He may faint from the sight of you.”

“I hope he does.” You murmur, checking yourself one last time in the mirror before strutting out of the room. “Come, Ser Robert. I will be suppering with Lord Stark.” You say to the surprised guard as you walk past him.

“You will dine… with your husband, princess?” He asks in a confused tone as he catches up with you.

“Well I just said that, did I not?” You shoot in a snarky tone.

He chuckles. “My apologies. I simply did not realize you enjoyed his company.”

“I am starting to think that I don’t enjoy your company. Perhaps I should get a new protector.” 

“Any man but I will be subpar and that is the second time you have threatened to replace me today, princess. Should I be worried?”

“Not worried. Perhaps just less irritating.” You smile.

“Anything to please her highness.” He responds playfully just before the two of you arrive at one of the smaller dining halls in the castle. The doors are thrust open for you, your protector waiting just outside as you walk in.

Cregan stands when he sees you and immediately makes his way over before bringing your hand up for a kiss. “Princess.” He murmurs, not wanting to seem too casual by using your name (even if you are his wife).

“Lord Stark.” Your formality makes him frown. His own formality also made him frown.

“That dress looks beautiful on you.” He says, wanting to make sure you know he’s complimenting you and not the gown. He couldn’t care less about a few pieces of fabric.

“You are also looking well.” You murmur in response, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second before gliding out of his hold and to your seat. You can feel the ghostly touch of his lips on your hand and you see how he lingers for just a moment before sitting down himself.

“How was your ride today?” He asks as you start to plate your food.

“‘Twas as good as it can be. Sȳndror is restless these days. He doesn’t enjoy flying as high as he used to; I think the bite of chill in the air bothers him.”

“I hope that he can settle soon. It will get warmer… in a few months' time.” Cregan tries to help, but the discussion of the passage of time unnerves you. You don’t want to think about how in a few months, you will still be here.

“He isn’t used to being alone.” Neither are you.

“Then we will have to house your brothers for a visit. I know how important family is.” He sees it then, the little glimmer in your eyes at the suggestion. Your husband feels like he’s made you somewhat happy for the first time ever.

“I would like that.”

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes’ class is your most difficult, but he’s about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: monday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Friday arrives too quickly for your likely. Amid the usual cluster of readings, lectures, and assignments, you have Professor’s Holmes’ additional task to add to the pile. It feels unfair that he would point out your own efforts only to force more upon you. His praise hardly seems like that in retrospect. 

That you did the readings likely made your experience simpler, though the vague instructions leave you uncertain. No rubric, no objectives, no outline. Your format in the usual style and triple-check the word count before you resign yourself to fate or fortune, whichever favours you. 

As usual, Professor Holmes prefers a physical copy, neglecting the digital workspace designed by the campus for ease of access. He doesn’t seem to be the type for the easy way out, does he? You try not to malinger on your gripes and head off, promising to reward yourself with a double whip frap for your work. It’s certainly more than you’ll receive from your professor, even if you do manage to gleam your first A+ from the man. 

The softness of autumn mingles with the crispness of early winter. You mourn the orange and yellow leaves as they start to curl at the edges and brown, blowing across the pavement and catching on pantlegs and tree roots. Midterm season is almost over but it won’t be long before finals rise to haunt you. 

You come up the Herringbone building and look up at the romanticist arches and columns. The esteemed architecture has you feeling even smaller. Surely, the professor will only add to that. 

Inside, the air is dry from the heat blowing from the high vents and curved staircases crest the foyer. You follow the left one up and continue along to the small set of steps that lead up to a hallway with only three office doors. Holmes is at the very end. You went there once before when you needed to be signed into the course; he was certain to make you wait then threatened not to sign the form at all. 

You stop and stare at the frosted glass with his pedigree emblazoned on it. You contemplate just shoving the paper through his slot but the light is on. You raise your fist and gently tap on the wood. You bounce on your feet as you wait, tugging at the itchy collar of the blue sweater dotted with little clouds. In the warmth of the stuffy building and under your wool jacket, it’s stifling. 

You hear movement from within and ready yourself for the encounter. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to Professor Holmes without some degree of awkwardness. On your end, of course. He can’t be bothered to care what others think of him. 

The door opens and you try to smile but it feels like chewing rocks. He looks back at you without an ounce of emotion. You gulp. 

“Um, Professor, I have my paper--” 

He’s already walking away as you stand dumbly in the doorway. You blanch as he circles back to his desk and sits heavily in his seat. He leans forward and dips his head, bending over an open leather folio with a lined pad within. A curl falls onto his forehead and he reaches without looking for the pipe propped up on a mahogany tray. 

“Come in,” he says before he puts the pipe to his lips and bites down. He teethes on it as he snatches up a pen with his other hand. You warily obey and cross the threshold. 

“So, um, here you go,” you near the desk and lay down the stapled paper. He doesn’t look up. “Erm, thanks, professor. I hate to disturb, so I’ll just leave it here--” 

He sighs and sits up, flicking back the curl as he replaces the pipe on the tray, “they won’t let me light that, even with the window open.” 

You glance over at the drawn curtains and nod, “oh.” 

“You’re the first,” he interjects before you can summon any sort of response. 

“Ah, oh--” 

“You are rather quick, aren’t you?” He challenges as he rolls the pen between his fingers, his shoulders spreading wide against the puckered leather chair, “fleet of foot, as some Victorian ponce might say. Quiet.” 

You blink and purse your lips, giving a shrug. 

“You didn’t say hello,” he intones, “it is courteous when you see an acquaintance to greet them, though I suppose etiquette does continue to change.” 

“Um, I didn’t want to... impose?” You murmur. 

His expression remains cryptic. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else. 

“So you didn’t,” he shrugs, his vest bracing on his chest. 

“Sorry, er, sir. But um, there’s my paper, I’ll... let you be. I’m sure you’re busy enough--” 

“Terribly busy,” he confirms dryly. “Since I’ll have a new batch of papers to mark, I’ll be kept well in hand.” 

You clasp your hands together and sway, “right, uh--” 

“And you’ll be off like the rest of those dull girls, paying no mind to the real purpose of study, but rather the wordly pleasures of the modern campus. All that pumpkin spice and such.” He reprimands. 

“Oh, uh, professor...” you know better than to argue. He is set in his ideas of his students and what should make you any different than the rest. 

“Right then,” he reaches for your paper and barely glances at the title page. He flips to the short essay and his eyes skim. He reaches for the antique pen and marks up the page as he goes. He hums as he scratches with the nib. “Good point but clunky prose. No, redudant.” He scribbles his comments in the margins. He turns to the second page and sighs. He closes it and holds it out. “You show comprehension but you need refinement.” 

“Um, thanks, er...” you take it hesitantly and back up again. He watches you with his bold blue eyes, not showing a single crack in his veneer. 

“Go off and enjoy your weekend, don’t fret over the fault of others. Certainly, you show more promise than most who haunt my lectures,” he says. His tone is flat but his words are praising. The contradiction has you off-foot. 

“Thank you, Professor, have a good weekend too.” 

He doesn’t respond as he puts his attention back to another stack of papers. You turn on your heel slowly and scurry to the door. He clears his throat and you stop. 

“Perhaps I mightn’t have such a tedious weekend.” 

You glance back but he still has his head down. You nod and leave him be with a sharp inhale. You hold your breath in until you close the door from the other side. 

Only a few more weeks and you’ll be through this class. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to face the heart palpitations that come with each encounter after that. For now, you will focus on the last paper and the eventual exam. Those are hurdles that look higher the closer you get. 

📕

There’s a cafe off campus you prefer. The library kiosk and the franchised booth in the Student Rec Centre are always overcrowded. This place isn’t so bad. A local mom and pop with a single barista. Maude, the retiree turned businesswoman, works slowly but efficiently. Traffic matches her pace but is enough to keep her thriving. 

“I’ll bring it to you, dearie,” she smiles as she hands you a plate with a crumbly scone on it. You thank her and go to find a seat. 

The place is homey. The seating is mismatched. There are armchairs around a low coffee table, some long tables with thrift store dining chairs, and square table in the corner with two benches and some stools. The rug that stands center to the sitting space is faded but its patterns still visible. 

You claim one of the armchairs near the bookcases and sit. Despite the tense submission, you’re glad not be stressing over another mark. Another A- to add to the rota in Holmes’ class. You could do a lot worse given what you’ve overheard from your classmates. 

The door opens and closes, letting in a chilly. You keep your coat on as you balance the scone on the coffee table. You’ll wait until you have your mocha and savour them together. It’s a rare treat but the dropping temperature coaxed you into it. 

A familiar baritone pricks your ears. You glance over before you can bury your nose in your phone and flinch. What luck. You almost doubt it’s a coincidence. Twice in a row you’ve managed to stumble upon the Professor outside of class. 

Your shoulders sink as you turn back and plant your elbow on the armrest, shielding your face behind your hand. What do you do? Your mind races. Despite what he said in his office he does not radiate welcoming energy. You can’t just flee and leave your order behind; it isn’t fair to Maude and you wouldn’t want to waste the money. 

Professor Holmes’ voice carries. He orders a black coffee and two shortbread biscuits; the Saturday special. The elder barista takes his order and as usual, bids him to sit down so she can bring it to him. You chew your lip as time ticks on. Make up your mind. 

Too late.  

“Pardon, oh,” Holmes approaches and gives pause as you look up at him. “You aren’t reserving these for your friends?” 

He gestures to the other arm chairs. You shake your head and clasp your phone tight in your hands. He dips his chin and sidles around the coffee chair. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack between the bookshelves. He lingers there as he browses the titles on the spines. 

Maude appears with your mocha in a large mug on a matching saucer. You thank her as she sets it by your scone. She calls over to Holmes, “I’ll have your coffee and biscuits in just a moment, dearie.” 

He turns his head and nods but says nothing else. She shuffles off and you lean forward to take your mug. Somehow your chocolatey treat doesn’t seem so sweet any more. He backs up and lowers himself across from you. You shyly return his gaze over the brim of your cup. 

“You come here often?” He asks. 

The question has you off-guard as much as his presence. You slurp noisily before you pull the cup away and put it down. You take the napkin by your scone and wipe your lips. 

“Sometimes. Once in a while. Er, I... I make my coffee at home. Tea, more often.” You clamp your lip shut before you can ramble on. 

“Mm, yes, I prefer tea as well. I was suggested the dark roast here by a colleague however.” 

You don’t know what to say. You’re entirely unprepared for the conversation. You’ve never thought much of what he might speak of outside his lectures. His interests, you assume, would align with his expertise. 

“You are enjoying your time? You haven’t any schoolwork?” He asks. 

You slant your lips one way then the other. You look down at the bag by your feet and back at him. He wears a wool sweater with elbow patches; not quite casual but casual for him. 

“I was going to do my readings...” you say. 

“Ah,” he sits back in the chair as Maude brings his coffee and biscuits. He thanks her tersely. 

You bend over and reach for your bag. You slide out your notebook and open it to the printed articles stashed between the pages. You hope it’s enough of an excuse not to talk as much. 

“My class?” He asks. 

“Yes, sir, er, Professor,” you answer. 

“Those are available digitally, as I understand.” 

“I know, but I, er, prefer print.” 

“Mm, yes, it does permeate more effectively, doesn’t it?” He intones. 

You agree with a silent nod and try to focus. You’re too shy to check if he’s watching you but it feels like he is. He sighs and sips from his cup. 

“What were you on the hunt for then?” He asks abruptly before you can read the introduction for the fifth time. You look up, perplexed. “At the craft store?” 

You open your mouth then pause. Finally, you summon the answer, “thread.” 

“Thread?” 

“Yes, I... make little things. Sometimes. It wasn’t urgent. I don’t have my sewing machine in my dorm and... no time.” You shrug and let the papers lay flat on your notebook. 

He considers you as his cheek dimples and he leans his chin on his knuckles. He looks down at the cup he holds over one leg. He sucks his teeth. 

“Rather flat,” he dislodges his elbow and leans forward. “And what did you get? It smells intriguing.” 

“Mocha with peppermint,” you answer. 

“Mm, with whip?” He peeks at your cup and the melting glut of cream. 

“Yes, Professor,” you reply. 

“I think I might trade mine for the same,” he stands with his cup in hand. 

You watch him, confused and uneasy. So much for getting some studying done. You doubt you’ll be able to concentrate with him looming on the other side of the table. 

[betweenstorms]

Chapter 7/2 of Skin Of Thunder Nostos And The Knife (previous chapter) (next chapter) (all SOT chapters) (masterlist) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

“He followed the thread back to you, Ariadne in periwinkle. But the labyrinth was inside him now, and your gaze was the knife that refused to cut him free.”

Downtown London crouched beneath a bruised sky, stained with ink, the darkness slick and suffocating, pressing down like a hand around the throat of God.

The hum of distant traffic sounded like whispers from another life, broken voices weaving through the smog, stitched with the sharp bark of a dog that wouldn’t shut up and the laughter of drunk men who hadn’t yet realised the evening was swallowing them whole.

From his cramped flat, Ghost watched distorted shadows dance across the peeling wallpaper, casted by the streetlamps below. Neon seeped through the blinds like a surgical blade, slicing him open in thin, clinical ribbons of light. Somehow his bed felt smaller tonight. He lay rigid, staring upward at the ceiling, which felt impossibly close, like a coffin lid ready to close.

It was a dull canvas for his mind’s twisted cinema.

He rolled onto his back, the cold mattress creaking beneath him, gaze fixed blankly upwards. Sleep was a luxury long abandoned, replaced by endless nights spent wrestling with demons that wore faces he recognised all too well. Bloodied hands, empty eyes, whispers in the dark. And now, among them, was you. Your voice was a ghost of its own, more persistent than the dead he carried on his back. It lingered like the scent of gunpowder on his fingertips. Because you wanted him to confront himself, but Christ, you had no clue what lay beneath the mask. No bloody clue the Pandora’s box you were desperate to pry open.

It had been four days since he left the base.

Four days hollowed out by silence so thick it pressed against his eardrums like the deep sea, a pressure that didn’t burst him, only crushed. During his voluntary exile, he cleaned his entire flat, not to tidy, but to repent, scrubbing the tiles like they were sins, vacuuming dust from the corners where memory congealed.

He moved through it all like a revenant.

Washing laundry that wasn’t dirty, scrubbing dishes that weren’t stained, cutting his hair with the precision of a soldier dressing a corpse, shopping for groceries in the fog of strangers. He cooked food he didn’t eat. Lit cigarettes he didn’t smoke. Slept with the telly on just to drown out the sound of his own mind clawing at the inside of his skull. Oh, and he drank. A lot. Not to forget, but to remember things differently, until the bottle’s mouth became a confessional, and his silence tasted like rot.

He drank to feel you.

Ghost was clawing at the walls of a cage he built himself. All he could think about was you and he wanted to burn it out. Carve the image of you from his brain with fingernails and whiskey. But it stayed. You stayed. And he hated how badly he wanted to be fourteen again, not because it was easier, but because pain was simpler then.

So he drank until the room spun like a carousel and he could almost see her, his lovely mum, standing in the corner again, hands wringing the hem of her apron. Ghost wanted the pain. He wanted the sting of his father’s hand across his face, sharp and red and real. Wanted the sound of his mother screaming his name through bruised lips and trembling teeth, her voice splitting the tiny kitchen like lightning tearing a house in two. Because for a single, sickening moment, he’d be close enough to reach her again. Just to crawl back to her warmth, to that tragedy of a woman who once kissed his bruises and pressed damp hands to his fevered brow like prayer.

Ghost wanted his mum to tell him what to do with you.

But the dead didn’t answer.

There was no one left to ask. His mother was bone now. Ash and absence. There was no absolution waiting for him in the dark. Only the walls replied, groaning like they were fucking sick of him, too. His flat smelled like disinfectant and smoke, and the only voice left was the one in his head, whispering things he couldn’t outrun.

You are your father’s son.

You are your father’s son.

You are your—

Ghost shifted, fists clenching around rumpled sheets as he forced his eyes shut. He wanted to forget everything, at least for tonight. Yet sleep remained a distant shore, forever receding no matter how fiercely he swam towards it. His ocean of thoughts churned like stormy waves, tossing him mercilessly until he could barely breathe. But he wasn’t afraid of dying. No, he was afraid of wanting to live.

Because it meant he might need you.

As the hours dragged their carcasses across the floor, Ghost found himself teetering on the lip of sleep, that trembling and fevered edge where reality softens just enough to let the rot seep through. He lay there like a body not yet buried, the ceiling above him a void, a mouth with no teeth as the city bled in through the cracks. His eyelids sagged, breath slowing, and for a heartbeat he welcomed it. Finally, that last inch before falling. Sleep wasn’t rest, not for men like him. It was oblivion. And oblivion was holy.

In his dreams, you were in Manchester with him.

It was summer, but the sun was wrong. Somehow it was too sharp, too white and too hungry. It seared everything it touched. Bloody hell, and you were there, laughing on Tommy’s rusted bike, the wind threading your hair into ribbons, your smile the only real thing in that melting place. Your mustard colored dress tangled around your thighs, sweet as blood on milk teeth.

“Come on, Si,” you shrieked joyfully.

Not Ghost. Not Lieutenant. Not sir.

Just Simon.

He was just a boy in this dream. Small, dirt on his kneed, breath hitching in his chest like he hadn’t earned the right to air. And you were you, exactly as you were now, radiant and unreachable, sunlight caught in your lashes, your laughter slicing him open.

You told him to chase you.

And he did.

Because how could he not?

You were his. Even in the wrong time, the wrong skin, the wrong world—

—you were his.

“Wait,” Simon begged, stumbling forward. “You have to stop!”

He ran, barefoot and panting, legs sticky with sweat and panic, the gravel biting into his soles like a thousand tiny needles. You were always just out of reach. And you never looked back. You never slowed down. And the sun—God, it burned. It melted into his dark eyes until all he could see was your outline, blurred and brilliant and cruel.

“I have to go home,” Simon cried out, voice cracking like snapped bone. “He’s gonna be so angry—please, give the bike back—I need to go—he’ll hurt me, please—”

Then his feet tangled—

—and the world tilted.

You never listened.

You never fucking listened.

His mobile buzzed.

Ghost jolted upright, heart kicking like a boot against his ribs, breath stuck in his throat as if he’d just been yanked from the dream by the collar. His phone lit up the room like a morgue drawer opening, cold, white and sterile.

Fuck. He didn’t even remember closing his eyes.

The screen glowed with a number he didn’t recognize. His hand closed around it, knuckles pale with the force of his grip, dread sinking teeth deep into his gut. Only a handful of souls walked this Earth with his personal number and they knew damn well it weren’t for fucking social calls. Emergency only. Life-or-death. So who the fuck was this?

He brought the phone to his ear with a growl.

“Who’s this?”

“Ghost? Is that you?”

His blood turned to ice—no, to shards, jagged slivers scraping through veins suddenly too narrow to carry the weight of his pulse. His gut coiled tight, a sick knot of anger braided with fear.

For a heartbeat, he was certain this wasn’t real, just some cruel, looping dream dragging him back to Manchester, back to the scorching pavement and the echo of your laughter fading down some endless road. A feverish hallucination stitched together by whisky and weariness, taunting him with the only voice he both craved and feared.

Yours. Always yours.

“The fuck is this?”

There was a pause, and then you giggled.

A real one. Not like in his dream, where it was haunting and hollow. No, it was a real laugh, messy, clumsy and unfiltered, followed by a faint snort, like you were half embarrassed by it, and he swore something cracked open in his chest.

“It’s just me,” you said, giggling still. “Jesus, calm down.” The laughter turned sheepish, and Ghost stood up fast, the room spinning a little.

He pressed a palm to the wall to steady himself.

Fucking hell.

This was exactly what he deserved, wasn’t it?

Some divine bloody punishment.

“How’d you get this number?” He snapped, already pacing, muscles coiled tight.

This had to be a dream.

His flat was cold, dark and dead, yet somehow he could still feel the Manchester sun burning his skin, hear your voice like it was stitched into the walls. It didn’t belong here. None of it did. This wasn’t right. No, you weren’t supposed to call him, weren’t supposed to reach him here. This place, this flat, it was his personal grave, buried far beneath the reach of anyone he cared for. Including you.

Especially you.

You hummed, the warmth in your voice frayed at the edges now, softer than before. More vulnerable. It pulled him back to reality. Back to you. “Ah, well—I saved everyone’s number. Emergency contacts, remember? But listen, that’s not important right now, I—”

Ghost stood by the window, parting the blinds with two fingers, peering down into the street below. London stared back, neon glaring, puddles shimmering like pools of mercury beneath the white street lamps. The world felt strangely alien, distant somehow. Unreal. Like he was still trapped in his own head. He dragged a hand down his face, calloused fingertips catching on the stubble at his jaw, urging him to wake up fully.

“I—” you started again, hesitating, your voice dropping to something more fragile, uncertain. “You’re in London, right? Still on leave?”

Ghost’s jaw clenched so tight it made his ears ring.

He didn’t reply, just waited for you to get to the bloody point.

“See, I’m out with my friends and they… well, they’re all a bit tipsy, and—” You murmured, like you were confessing a sin, accompanied by distant laughter, girlish and drunken whispers echoing faintly behind you. “And they said I should call you.”

Ghost blinked hard, frustration pulsing behind his eyes.

He couldn’t believe his ears.

“The fuck are you on about?”

A muffled snort sounded through the line, followed by a feminine voice, still urging you on. You sighed, your sweet voice trembling slightly now, edged with that familiar vulnerability he’d spent days trying to erase from his memory. “I, uhm… told my friends about you. More than I meant to, honestly, and—shit, they convinced me to call.”

Ghost blinked again.

His back hit the wall beside the window, shoulder blades landing with a dull thud. The city below blurred into meaningless shapes. Now, it was your voice that painted everything with meaning, whispering his ruin into the goddamn phone.

There was a long silence on his end.

Not tactical. Not measured. Not the sort of quiet you keep on a stakeout, waiting for the target to show their face. It was the kind of silence that only existed when something cracked open inside you, and everything started pouring out. Except nothing did. Because he didn’t have words for this. Ghost didn’t have tools for it. No briefing, no procedure. Just you, your voice skipping over the line like a stone on dark water, pulling ripples out of places in him that had been still for too fucking long.

“I’m sorry,” you added, quieter now. “I shouldn’t’ve called. It’s just—I thought maybe you wouldn’t pick up, and then you did and—oh, now I feel stupid.”

Ghost exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp.

“Hang up, then,” he muttered, low. “Spare us both the fuckin’ trouble.”

It was cruel.

He knew it in the marrow of his bones, in the echo of his mother’s voice warning him about kindness turned into knife, but still, he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Because every second your voice bled through the phone, every syllable trembled like a bloody memory soaked in salt, it scraped something raw inside him. Peeled him back to sinew and sin, to the tender flesh he’d buried beneath drink, beneath distance, beneath the grit of pretending he didn’t care.

You were a wound speaking in ruin. A siren dragging its nails down the inside of his ribcage. And with each breath you gave him, he bled a little more—

—because you didn’t hang up.

Instead, you continued. “I guess I just wanted to ask—I mean, I just wanted to know if you’re alright. That you’re—you know. That you’re okay. I mean, I—”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You pissed?”

“…Uhm, maybe a little.” You giggled again, softer this time, like you knew you were on thin ice, like you knew the weight of his name on your tongue might break you both. “But not that drunk. Not—I mean, not wasted or anything. Just—uhm, comfortably tipsy.”

“Don’t call me pissed out your skull and tell me you’re not.”

“I’m not pissed,” you objected childishly.

“You’re slurrin’, love.”

You went quiet. Ghost rubbed his eyes.

Your voice dropped then, barely audible now. “I just—I dunno. You disappeared. Again. And I guess I thought maybe—maybe I said too much. Or didn’t say enough. And I couldn’t—”

Ghost turned away from the window, dragging a hand through his short, damp hair. He paced. The floorboards creaked under his bare feet like dry bone. The air in the apartment had grown thick, warmer somehow, like your voice had soaked into the wallpaper, into the floor, into the hollow of his fucking throat.

“Listen—”

“I’m not good at this,” you interrupted suddenly. “At—at knowing what’s too far. Or what’s okay. I just—I just wanted to know that you’re alright.” Your words stumbled out, heavy with nerves and the weight of whatever drink had made you bold enough to call him. “I’ve always been like this. Since I was a kid. Oversharing, I mean. Saying too much. Being too much. My dad used to say I’d get myself hurt if I—but I—I can’t live like that, Simon. I never could. And maybe I’m a fool for it, but I—”

Ghost stopped pacing.

He should’ve told you to sod off. Should’ve hung up. Cut the cord before it tangled further. But he couldn’t. Bloody hell, not when you sounded like that. Not when your voice hit him like shrapnel to the ribs. Ghost exhaled, slow and deep, the sound dragging from the pit of his stomach like something dying. You didn’t even realise what you were doing to him, did you? You never did. You never fucking understood the damage you dealt—

—sweetly, softly, unintentionally.

“Comin’ to get you,” he muttered.

“What?” you breathed, caught off guard.

“Fuck’s sake, just stay where you are,” Ghost said again, firmer this time, already grabbing the jet black shirt from the back of his chair and pulled it on over his head with a rough jerk. “Don’t leave. I’ll come get you.”

“Wait, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t care. Stay put.”

He bent to grab his worn jeans, yanked them on with fingers that moved like muscle memory, like ritual, breath catching slightly as the room tilted for half a second. His stubborn hangover still clung to the back of his skull like dried blood, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now but getting to you. His boots sat by the door with military precision, laced tight, waiting like loyal dogs as he stepped into them.

“You don’t have to—” you tried again. “I shouldn’t’ve called. I’m sorry—”

But he wasn’t listening. Not really.

He was already moving, slamming his baseball cap low over his eyes and dragging his black surgical mask up over the lower half of his face, the fabric familiar against his skin, a quiet veil he could breathe behind. He yanked his coat from the hook by the door and shoved his arms through the sleeves, movement fast and angry, as if he could somehow outpace the ache coiled behind his sternum. His fingers flew through the motions as he threw up his hood like they were made for this—preparation, protection, damage control.

“Name of the pub?” he barked, voice hoarse.

“Er—Hold on.” You fumbled with the phone. There were irritating noises in the background. Music, laughter, some bloke yelling about tequila like it was the Second Coming. Then your voice came back, clearer but nervous. “The Grey Mare. It’s off Meard Street. Soho.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

“But Simon—”

He hung up before you could say anything else.

Before he could.

The phone slid into his pocket.

He needed both hands free. For the wheel. For the weight of this choice. For the hollow in his chest that had started to echo when he heard your voice again. The stairwell reeked of mildew and cigarettes. Every step echoed as he descended. The night had grown colder, it bit sharper, like it knew something was about to change.

Like it wanted to see it bleed.

The London streets were slick with rain.

Ghost didn’t remember getting in the car. Didn’t remember the way his fingers curled around the door handle like they were choking it, knuckles white. He just drove. He gripped the wheel tighter than necessary as he pulled out of his narrow street, headlights smearing across wet brick and dark pavement. Soho wasn’t far, but the drive stretched like wire under tension, each red light another nail through the heart. Rain flicked against the windscreen in nervous bursts, like even the sky couldn’t decide if it should cry or not.

His hands trembled on the gearshift.

Just once. Just for a moment.

Fuck. What the hell was he doing?

He should’ve never let this happen. He should’ve told you to go home. He should’ve stayed in his flat and let the memory of you dissolve like aspirin in the morning. Should’ve never let you near him. Should’ve built the wall higher. Should’ve scorched the bloody ground beneath his feet before letting you step close.

But then he remembered your voice.

I just wanted to know that you’re alright.

He didn’t know what he was going to say.

Ghost didn’t have a speech ready, no tactical approach to this situation. But you’d called him. After everything. After the silence, the argument, the look in your eyes when you’d told him you were done begging him to be human.

He parked half a block away, somewhere off Wardour Street, the kind of alley where piss and perfume lingered in equal measure. He killed the engine, shoved the door open, and stepped into the night. He stepped out into the wet, cold air, shoulders hunched against the drizzle, hands in his pockets. The streets were busy with bodies spilling from clubs and kebab shops, people blending into the Friday night. He moved like a shadow, weaving through it all, ears tuned to the cadence of your voice.

Ghost didn’t need to ask where you were.

He knew, knew before the turn, before the light changed. He felt you before he saw you, like gravity bending toward a star. He could’ve found you blindfolded in a burning city, through fog or fire or riot, guided by some merciless tether buried in his ribs. Even if a hundred hands dragged him back, even if they carved him down to bone—

—he’d still find you.

And there you were.

Perched on a bench outside the pub like some forgotten deity from a myth no one had written yet. One foot tucked beneath you, phone gripped in both hands like it might float away, head bowed beneath the soft blur of city lights. That daft periwinkle coat you always wore clung to you, sleeves darkened at the cuffs from the damp. Your hair was a halo of chaos, twisted back in that way you always did when you weren’t trying, but still managed to look divine. And your cheeks glowed like you’d stolen fire from the gods and didn’t know where to put it.

Your top glittered, sequins catching the amber light like a sky swallowing itself into dusk and shimmering like spilled stardust. Red, violet and indigo, colours he never thought could look holy on skin. But they did. On you, they did. A fucking galaxy written across your chest. You didn’t look real. You looked like a siren mid-breath, a goddess waiting at the edge of war, soft and unbothered while men burned for the right to kneel.

You looked unholy in your softness.

Like a cathedral dressed in neon—

—a saint cloaked in sin.

Ghost froze.

Something in him broke open.

Ghost felt the weight of you like revelation, like prophecy etched into bone. In that moment, all he wanted, all he needed, was to press his face between your thighs, to disappear into the scent and heat of you, to be unmade in your softness and drowned in the sacred altar where your warmth lived. Not for pleasure. Not for sin. But for absolution. To be ruined by you in the most reverent way a man could ask for. As if the only peace left in this goddamn world waited there. As if his salvation was the sound of you gasping his name.

His boots scuffed the wet pavement, and your head snapped up.

Eyes wide. Lips parted.

Like you hadn’t really believed he’d come.

Ghost stopped a few feet away, soaked through the shoulders already, staring down at you through rain and neon. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

Your voice broke the quiet. “Jesus Christ. You really came.”

He stared at you for a long moment, chest burning with something ancient and endless.

“Told you to stay put, didn’t I?”

You huffed a laugh and looked away, embarrassed. “I did.”

He stepped closer. “You still drunk?”

You shook your head. “No.”

Ghost sighed. “Alright?”

“I don’t know,” you said. And it wasn’t a lie.

Another breathless beat dragged through the rain, each drop ticking like a slow countdown off the brim of his cap.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, searching, as if you couldn’t quite tell what story his silence would choose to write this time. Would it be rejection? Would it be the cold turn of his back, boots retreating into shadow while the night swallowed you whole? You looked at Ghost like you expected punishment, like you feared he might vanish with the rain and take your name with him. And God, he almost did. Almost turned. Almost broke.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he said, voice low, “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

A pause.

Then you rose, slowly, like the earth itself had to loosen its grip on you. The hem of your coat fluttered in the breathless hush between raindrops, and your hand slipped your phone into your pocket with a finality that made Ghost’s lungs tighten. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. The moment stretched, quiet and trembling, as you lingered beside him, your eyes lifting to meet his dark ones beneath the wet brim of his cap.

And oh, how you searched him.

Like you were looking for the path home in the wreckage of his face. For mercy, maybe. For the echo of that tenderness he buried so carefully. For a flicker of warmth he’d let slip once, too rare to trust, too sacred to name. Nostos, the old word whispered somewhere in the cradle of your gaze. The ache of return. Not to a place, but to a person. To him.

And then, you whispered, barely audible, “You look like shit, sir.”

Ghost huffed. Almost smiled.

Almost.

“You too.”

“You were the Iliad, he the ash after the fire. He brought the blade back with him, yes—but left the hand that held it.” Skin of Thunder Chapters

[dead3ve]

tasm!Peter Parker x shy!fem!reader

Summary: After Peter fails English, the teacher pairs him with the English whiz of the class. They, however, are very shy. After several lessons with them, Peter has only just started to gain full sentences from them, but has been pining over them for much longer.

Warnings: Reader uses they/them pronouns. no use of y/n.

Peter was meant to be reading.

He wasn't. He was staring. Listening to their fingers clack on the laptop in front of them.

They turned to him suddenly, seeing the book disregarded underneath Peter's chest as he leaned his head on his hands to look at them.

"Did you finish reading?" They asked, eyes still on the screen of the laptop. They spoke quieter than usual because the pair were in the library. It was unnecessary to Peter; they were already very quiet.

Peter couldn't even find it in himself to lie to them. He opened his mouth to answer and then closed it and opened it again. He released a guilty, breathy chuckle as he shook his head.

"I got halfway; I think." Peter spoke with a laugh still. His neck was warm in embarrassment for being caught ogling the girl.

The girl smiled at him, not minding that he didn't read the work. They passed him their notes and took his book and circled where he was going wrong and provided tips for where he went wrong. They gave Peter their book, hoping he would understand having all the information in front of him. The text was a difficult read. Even for the girl when they were sat next to such a pretty boy.

Peter hadn't really comprehended anything from the girl's book.

There were pretty arrows in all different colors and words that had bubbles and clouds drawn around them. He hadn't even read the summary they had written on the next page. The swirl of their 's' and the curve of their 'o' had made him flustered and distracted.

The girl looked back up once they were ready to give Peter's book back.

"Here." They'd closed the pages over their thumb so Peter could take the book and find the page. Peter liked that. "Tell me what that's about, Peter." They'd asked softly.

"Hm?" Peter looked at them after taking his book back. He gave theirs back gently before he could fake an answer. "It's about people..." He began. Peter then trailed off and looked back down at his pages.

Peter had the same swirls of color and words over his book now. He smiled as he looked at the pages, turning a slight pink in the cheeks. They were somewhat simpler than their notes. They had made it easier for him to understand.

"Anything else, Peter?" The gentle voice interrupted his internal monologue of "I love you".

He looked up at them like a deer in headlights. Suddenly, he had to ask a very important and academic question, so the deer-like daze was broken and turned into a charming smile.

"I think this would be easier if we did it at my place." Peter spoke in a whisper. He lowered his head to meet theirs when they looked away after the flirty statement.

The girl went red. Heat was warming their face from Peter's gaze and smile. They crossed their legs and looked at their laptop. "If I look at Peter for one more second, I think I'll faint." They thought to themself.

Peter mistook it for something else. Something negative and hurtful.

"I didn't mean it like that." He spoke quickly. "I meant so we could do the work at my place." He had taken their hand by that point. Squeezing it in reassurance.

That had disappointed the girl.

"Oh." They released the small noise sadly. "Okay" they closed their laptop and rested their head on their hand that wasn't in Peter's grip. Their eyebrow had knitted together slightly.

Peter's other hand found their face and his thumb met the middle of their brow and softly smoothed it. He didn't think he had flirted that badly.

"If you want, we can ditch the English work and watch a movie." Peter leant down again to meet their gloomy eyes as he whispered to them. The next part was spoken as if it was only for them to hear, "I asked because I thought you liked me..." he was growing quieter in his admission and he broke eye contact with them, growing nervous.

"I do!" They admitted it too loudly, with urgency and surprise. People in the library gave them dirty looks. The silent girl had broken broken the silence. They admitted it quieter the second time, saying, "I like you..." The girl searched for his eyes desperately, "Do you like me, Peter?"

He flicked his head up so urgently, his neck must've hurt. "Yes!" He spoke with a smile drowning the word. Peter squeezed the hand he was holding.

Suddenly, he stood from the table and started to pack up his things, packing them without care, scrunching things into his bag.

The girl was confused. They'd both just told each other they had feelings for one another. Why was this his reaction?

Peter had moved to packing their things, this time with gentle hands. He knew where all of their pencils, pens and highlighters went in their pencil case. He closed their laptop and put it into their case. That was when he looked up at the girl.

"What movie will it be?" He asked. He hadn't realised why the girl had stopped. He was so innocently unaware of the gravity his admission had on the girl.

"You like me, Peter." They were telling themself rather than Peter. They needed the confirmation more. Someone as kind as him had fallen for someone as quiet as them. They needed Peter to show them.

At that, Peter realised his fault. He put down their laptop that was now safely in its flowery laptop case. Peter brought his left hand to their cheek and lightly dragged his thumb across their cheekbone. His right hand had caught their hand and brought their knuckles to his lips.

He then whispered into their hand "I do." He pressed his lips again to their hand Peter then went back to packing their bag. "What was the movie?"

[supercorpkid]

Would it really kill you if we kissed? Part 2

Supergirl. Baby Danvers. Kara Danvers x B!D!Reader, Alex Danvers x B!D!Reader, Lena Luthor x Reader, Esmé Danvers

Word Count: 3010

Previously on part 1. Part 2 of 3.

You start spending more time with Esmé, filling your days with her endless energy and her excitement over everything new on this island. You’d planned on being here for the family time anyway, but lately, it’s become easier to dodge Kara’s concerned glances and Lena’s quiet observations. Esmé, at least, never asks questions you’re not ready to answer.

It doesn’t stop Kara from trying, though. You find yourself slipping out of family dinners early, ducking behind palm trees when you spot her coming your way, feigning sleep when she knocks on your door at night. You know it’s getting obvious—Kara’s face fell when you bailed on last night’s dinner, and Alex’s knowing sigh was almost loud enough to break through the silence you’ve wrapped around yourself. But would they even understand if you told them?

Esmé’s simpler. When you’re with her, it’s just fun, silly games and laughter that doesn’t get weighed down by questions. For now, you let yourself hide behind that. That is until Esmé notices, of course. Kids always do, with that unfiltered clarity adults forget to keep.

It catches you by surprise when the two of you are building sandcastles, the sun heavy and warm, and she says, “I miss hanging out with Aunt Kara and Aunt Lena together. You know, like… like we used to.”

You tense, your hands pausing mid-sculpt. “They’re busy with grown-up stuff. It happens.”

Esmé gives you a look, so knowing it’s almost painful. “You’re a bad liar.”

You sigh, brushing sand from your fingers. “I guess I am.”

“Is it because of that thing you can't tell Aunt Kara, but you can tell my mom?”

It takes you by surprise, the perceptiveness of it, the way she’s pinpointed exactly what’s unraveling between you and your sisters without even understanding why. You swallow, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Sort of.”

“I wish I had a sister. If I did, I'd tell her everything! And she would be my best friend!”

"Well, your mom is my best friend and she is my sister too."

She spares a look over her shoulder, to Kara on the other side of the beach swimming alone in the ocean. "I bet Aunt Kara feels lonely."

It’s… whoa. A lot more insightful than you'd expect from a six-year-old.

Kara’s attempts to reach you haven’t gone unnoticed. She’s patient, but only for so long, and it’s clear to everyone around you that you’re holding her at arm’s length.  But what's worse is that you avoid Alex too, because you don't wanna tell her what happened. She's gonna tell you that you missed your chance to come clean, which is obvious and yet extremely unhelpful. 

It’s so evident you're keeping your distance, that when Lena finds you sneaking behind a bush one evening, she doesn’t even act surprised.

"Hey!" Lena’s voice makes you jump, her warm presence somehow amplifying your guilt. "Why are you hiding behind a bush? And why does it feel like I haven't seen you in days?"

"What? It hasn't been days." It has. She raises her eyebrows, and you smooth your hands over your clothes. "I thought I saw a hedgehog," you lie, forcing a smile. She doesn’t look convinced. "What are you up to?"

"I thought you and I could go on a walk," she says, her smile soft, irresistible. You’re about to argue, but she throws a cheap shot. "You know, you did promise me some alone time."

"Did I?" You try a joke, but, as with the last few attempts, it doesn’t quite land with her.

"You don’t have to come if you're more interested in the hedgehog. I could probably hold my own against the wild animals in the forest."

"Yeah, I’m sure you can, but I’d hate to miss you fighting a snake, so I might as well tag along. Wouldn’t want to miss the show."

"Very kind of you, darling." Lena’s eyes light up with humor, and the two of you start toward the nearest forest trail. It’s close to the resort—too close for any real wildlife, which is probably the point.

The conversation is supposed to be casual, just friends catching up. She asks about your thesis, even a few things about your superhero life. But as relaxed as it should be, you can’t shake the tension simmering beneath the surface. Every laugh, every shared glance, every tiny silence, and you’re swallowing feelings, nearly choking on unsaid words. Your heartbeat drums in your ears, terrified that one slip-up could give everything away.

"Kara is so thrilled to have you to share these experiences with. I bet it’s lonely, having to figure out this superhero lifestyle on your own."

"I don’t think I’m helping that much, to be honest. I’m just… following her lead most of the time."

"I think you're more important than you give yourself credit for." Lena touches your arm, her eyes soft and unwavering, making it impossible to shrug it off. "For everyone, not just Kara."

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” You mutter the words with such disbelief that Lena almost flinches.

She doesn’t let it go, though. She stops, making you pause too, her expression puzzled but determined.

"Y/N, darling." Just one word—darling—and your heart is pounding, each beat a tiny betrayal. "You know I mean it, right? We wouldn’t miss hanging out with you so much if you weren’t—"

"So fun to have around!" you cut in, your voice unnaturally bright.

Lena reaches for your hand, her gaze softening in a way that makes it impossible to hide. "If you weren’t so incredibly special."

This is it—the moment you could be honest, vulnerable, bare open like she is. But Kara might be in love with her. And she’s probably in love with your sister too, because who would choose you over Kara? No one. Not even you.

So you bite your tongue, force a smile, and watch the moment slip past. “Yeah, I—I don’t know. Maybe the superhero life just isn’t for me.”

“Oh.” Lena blinks, visibly thrown, and when you realize what you’ve just said, it’s too late. Can’t take it back. You’ve tried so hard to hide how you feel about her, you didn’t even think about the other secrets you need to protect.

“Not that I’ll stop!” you rush to reassure her. “I’d never stop supering and leave Kara to it. I just… wonder, sometimes. But, um, everyone wonders about things they’ll never act on, right?”

You can feel Lena’s gaze linger on you as you stumble through your words. Her silence feels weighty, loaded with questions she doesn’t voice. Instead, she’s watching you with that careful, gentle look she has—the one that makes you feel like she can see straight through every defense you’re barely managing to hold up.

“Y/N,” Her voice is low, softer than usual, and you can tell she’s choosing her words carefully. “If you ever feel like talking… Really talking, I mean—I’ll listen, you know that, right?”

You breathe deep, trying to keep your expression neutral, but the way she’s looking is too much; she’s seeing right through you, and every instinct you have screams to deflect, to put distance between you and that sharp, all-seeing gaze.

“I know, Lena. I just—” You pause, forcing the words clawing up your throat back down, swallowing hard against the sting of tears that threaten to break free. “I don’t have much to say right now, but… thank you.”

Her fingers brush down your arm slowly, lingering for a split second before letting go. She doesn’t push, but there’s something in her eyes, something searching, that leaves you feeling bare. She’s not fooled, you know that. But she doesn’t press further, only offers a soft nod.

“I just want to make sure you know that you’re not alone.” Her voice is so gentle, it makes your throat tighten.

Her words land with a bittersweet ache, a reminder of exactly how not alone you actually are—and yet, how impossible it feels to share any of it. You swallow, nodding a little too quickly, desperate to end this before you give yourself away completely.

“I appreciate it,” you mumble, unable to meet her eyes. “Anyway, uh… we should head back before it gets dark.”

A tiny smile curves her lips, one filled with patience, and it only makes the weight in your chest feel heavier. She sees through you, sees the things you’re too afraid to say. And as you walk back, her presence beside you is both comforting and unbearable, the knowledge that she’d listen if you let her like a gentle but relentless pressure against the wall you’re so intent on keeping up.

When you finally reach the resort, you mumble something about needing to freshen up before dinner, ducking away before she can say anything else. But her words stay with you, lingering in the back of your mind: you’re not alone.

Even though you've never felt as lonely and isolated as you do now.

This trip, this whole thing, was a really bad idea.

You throw together your bag in a rush, moving faster than any human eye could see. This trip was supposed to be a break, a chance to breathe—but with each day, it feels like the land on this tiny island is getting even smaller. There’s nowhere left to hide, and the weight of your secrets presses harder, threatening to escape the moment you open your mouth. It almost did with Lena, so you desperately need to leave.

You knock lightly on Alex and Kelly’s door, hoping not to wake Esmé. It’s late, but Alex answers quickly, slipping out into the hall and shutting the door quietly behind her. She gives you a concerned once-over, her expression softening in that big-sister way.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers. “Lena said you two hung out before dinner, but then you didn’t show up—”

“I’m going back to National City.” You say it quickly, barely letting the words settle before you look away, as if that might make it easier. Alex’s eyes shift down to your bag, and she lets out a long, disappointed sigh.

“You can’t keep running forever, you know.”

“No, but I can tonight.” You set your jaw, bracing yourself. Alex is going to try to talk you out of this, and you can’t let her. “I’ll help keep watch over National City with J’onn and M’gann. Say goodbye to Esmé for me.”

“Absolutely not. You want to leave her, you tell her yourself.” She opens the door a fraction, enough for you to glimpse Esmé’s little sneakers by the bed, and you feel something twist painfully in your chest. She knows it’ll be harder for you to look Esmé in the eye, to break your promise of a trip full of fun with her favorite aunt. “Man up.”

“Sexist,” you mutter, half-heartedly, as you step inside. But before you can call for Esmé, you freeze. Kara is sitting on the floor, her gaze sharpening the moment she sees you.

“You’re leaving?” She stands up, arms crossed, and in that moment, she doesn’t look much like your sister—she looks every inch of Supergirl, unyielding. Kelly clears her throat, mumbling something about checking on Esmé before slipping out of the small living room.

“Yeah, I have this… thing.”

“Is this ‘thing’ called a massive crush on Lena that you’re too scared to deal with?” Kara’s voice is quiet but piercing, an eyebrow arching as she studies you, making you feel as transparent as glass. “Or is this ‘thing’ a problem you’ve got with me?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Oh yeah, I forgot everything has to be about you.”

Before you can get another word out, she’s right in front of you, moving faster than even you expected.

“It’s becoming about me because you keep dodging me and shutting everyone out,” she says firmly. “You have to stop running, Y/N. Why won't you deal with your problems like an adult?”

“Oh my God! Is there a version of this conversation where you don’t sound like my mother?”

“I don't know. Is there a version where you don’t sound like a moody teenager?” She fires back, voice sharp as a blade.

"Go to hell, Kara," you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, knowing full well she’ll catch every word. You try to push past her, but she steps in your way, resolute, daring you to challenge her. Fine. If she wants a fight, you’ll give her one.

“Stop acting so tough,” you say, each word sharp and unyielding. “You’re not Alura. You’re not Eliza. You’re not even my oldest sister.” You pause, just long enough to let it sink in, to make sure she feels the sting. "You don’t get to act like you’re in charge."

Kara flinches, just a fraction, but you catch it. And part of you hates that it hurts her—almost as much as the rest of you wants it to.

A hand catches your arm as you make to leave, and you know it’s Alex without even looking. Her grip isn’t harsh, but it’s inflexible, the quiet authority of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

“This has gone too far.” she says, her voice low.

“Alex,” you say, a warning lacing your tone. But your sister doesn’t budge. She’s as immovable as Kara in her own way, and you can tell from her stance that she’s done letting this slide.

“No. You tell her now, or I will.” The seriousness in her voice roots you to the spot, and you stare at her in disbelief. “Don’t test me, Y/N. This has gone on too long.”

“Alex,” you plead, the warning fading, replaced by something that feels like betrayal. “I trusted you.”

But Alex’s stance only hardens. She glances at Kara, crossing her arms in front of her chest, each movement deliberate, telling you in no uncertain terms that this is the line she won’t let you cross.

“You want to know what’s going on?” your voice comes out loud, it's almost a yell in the quiet of the night, voice cracking as you throw the question back at them, your fists clenched so tight they’re shaking. “Fine. Let’s do this. You want honesty? Here it is.”

Kara and Alex fall silent, but they’re staring, eyes wide. You can’t tell if they're surprised or concerned, and for once, you don’t care.

“I’m in love with Lena,” you spit out, practically choking on the words. “There it is. Happy? But it doesn’t matter, because she’s yours, Kara. Everyone is. Everyone who matters, everyone I could ever care about, they’re all yours.”

“I don't—” Kara starts, but you’re not finished. Not even close.

“Don’t!” you snap, cutting her off. “You have no idea what it’s like to be around you, day after day, having to act like it doesn’t kill me. Watching you looking at her like… Like I do. And I just—” Your voice wobbles, a tremor of frustration bubbling up with the tears you’re fighting to keep down. “I just get to stand there and smile and play the part of your perfect little sister, like I should just be grateful to even be a part of your story.”

Alex takes a step toward you, hands up, but you move away, barely holding it together, so you don't hurt her. “Do you know how exhausting it is? How much do I dread putting on the suit, being the hero, pretending this is all I ever wanted? Because it’s not. It’s never been. I hate it," your voice comes out so raw, your throat hurts afterwards. "and I can’t even tell anyone that because you’d all look at me like I’d failed you. Both of you would.”

Alex steps back the slightest, her face twisted in a mix of surprise and sadness. Kara looks stricken, her mouth parting like she wants to say something, but you don’t give her the chance. You’re too far gone, the anger pushing past your better judgment.

“You get to be perfect, and I get to be… what? The second-rate version of you? The one who’s not quite as brave, not quite as good?” You only realize you're crying when you taste your own tears. “The one people don't even glance at because they are too busy looking at you — the super girl. And now you want me to watch you with the person I love too? You just get to take everything.”

"That's not true! None of it is—" Kara reaches out, but you take a step back, hands up like it’s a shield. 

“You don't get it! So don’t—just don't.”

Her expression crumples, and for the first time, you see the real hurt reflected back at you. But the ache inside you is too loud, too sharp to ignore. A small part of you feels vindicated, glad that she’s hurting too—at least now you’re not the only one carrying the weight of pain.

You turn away, ready to escape the suffocating atmosphere, but Alex’s voice cuts through the tension, pulling you back.

"Y/N, wait." Alex tries, voice sweet like you didn't even know she could master. "Let's all take a breath and just… talk about it."

"Oh no," You turn to her. "you don't get to do this. I trusted you with this, and you just—” You can’t find the words, the tears breaking free, your voice shaking. "You just chose Kara over me. Like everyone does. So you don't get to ask me for anything." The next words leave from the depths of your core, it shakes the entire room. "NONE OF YOU get to ask me for ANYTHING!" 

Sometimes hours can feel like minutes, and sometimes a single second can last a lifetime.  "I'm done pretending we're one big happy family." This is it. This is that second. The second you burned every bridge, every connection you've had and flew away from it.

[crusty-chronicles]

The Moon and Sun (Big Sib Reader X Gon/Killua)

Ch 18: For Whom The Bell Tolls: It Tolls For Thee

Synopsis: And then everything just fell apart.

Trigger warning: Extreme Violence

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

"You worked with the phantom troupe!!!”

You quickly covered Gon’s mouth with your hand. Looking around to see if anyone besides the two boys had heard.

“Shhh! Not so loud! And kinda.”

Ever since you'd first opened up, they wanted know everything. Down to the last detail. Of course there were parts of your childhood you'd never really be ready to discuss. But you could share the smaller things. You could talk about the games you'd play, the types of people who were in your clan, the missions you'd go on.

It was..nice. Memories you thought you'd never look back on fondly. You thought you'd never get a chance to reminisce like this. It was also the least you could do to take their minds off of things for a while. 

For the inevitable fight. 

Currently, everyone on the extermination team was heading towards East Gorteau. You and the boys included. So for however long this train ride lasted, you'd make the most of it.

“It was a way of testing me. See how well I'd get along with others given my track record. The only rule was that I couldn't talk to them.”

Oh yes. How could you forget the many lectures before you left? Ones that included your banishment if you were to fail. Though realistically, you probably would have been killed instead. 

You noticed the boys’ curious stares. You figured their friend Kurapika would have filled them in. Maybe he didn't know as much as you did. Albeit you didn't really have a choice, but still.

“It was for good reason. I heard the leader takes people's abilities. In hindsight it makes sense. He kept asking me questions.” You explained.

‘And what can you do little one?’

‘Is that your ability? How does it work?’

It was so painfully obvious looking back. They probably thought you'd be easy since you were a kid. But you were nothing if not true to your word. So you'd said absolutely nothing.

“Is that where you got the idea from?” Killua asked in reference to your new ability.

“Nah. Mines more of a substitution. I don't need to know anything about the person to take theirs.”

It was easier to toss away half your nen into the puppets you conjured. The condition was simpler. So long as you could switch last minute for a direct hit, you'd be able to mimic what they did. 

“That makes it a bigger gamble.” Gon said with a small frown. Remembering what Kite had said about his own ability. How chance made it stronger.

“C’mon. When has my speed ever failed me?” You tried to reassure.

“I guess. But just be careful.”

He'd been more clingy towards you. More protective. They both were. But the way Gon went about it felt more intense. He hardly let you go outside by yourself. Sticking stubbornly by your side. And he'd started enforcing a bedtime on you. Using those damn puppy eyes every time you refused. You felt like a fool having a kid parent you. Although the circles under your eyes did lessen.

But you reminded yourself he was just scared. He didn't want to lose anybody else. A strong desire to keep you safe after what happened with Kite. A mentality so similar to yours that you just couldn't get after him for it. If clinging onto you was what kept that dark aura at bay, then you’d just have to suck it up.

“I'm the one who's supposed to be telling you that. You're ten times as reckless.” You pointed out.

He pouted up at you, mouth opening for a rebuttal before you cut him off.

“And I better not catch you saying it's okay when you get hurt. Got it?”

He deflated. Wanting to add something but knowing you'd shut him down again. Luckily Killua was there to back him up. The fact that there were two of them always being used against you.

“But it's okay when you get hurt?” He questioned.

You scrambled for an answer. It was unfair how they ganged up on you sometimes. 

“None of us should be getting hurt if we can help it.” You settled on.

They seemed satisfied with your response, temporarily dropping the subject. It was only a matter of time before Gon perked up once more.

“Hey. Could you teach us that game you were talking about earlier?” He asked.

“I don't know. You've gotta have pretty sharp eyes to play.” You teased.

“Not too sharp considering you've got bags puffing up yours.” Killua joked.

“Hey!”

You dealt out the box of cards they'd brought. Using the opportunity to check in on them. Gon's aura was calm. Eerily so. You were worried the murkiness of his aura would rise to the surface any second. That it would consume him. You had a bad feeling about it. 

Killua’s was nervous, but determined. You'd never know he was tense by just looking at him, but his aura was plain as day. You hated to admit it, but his was the normal reaction you were expecting from both.

You briefly glanced over to the left. The men in front of you were apprehensive. About who, you couldn't really tell. The boys for both being ready? Not being strong enough? Or you being mentally unstable? Cracking under pressure because of a little blood? You'd all just have to wait and see.

You always hated the waiting game.

At least Knuckle and Shoot weren't scared of you anymore. Thanks to Morel putting in a good word for you. You’d almost say you enjoyed that old man’s company. It was nice to talk about everything for a change. Talk without fear of being judged. He didn't spill the secret of your identity to the rest, and you were immensely grateful. 

If things ended up working out after all, maybe you'd take him up on his offer to get some counseling. God knows you needed it after everything you've been through. For now, you would relish in the few hours you still had with your boys.

—---------------------------

You'd reached the city within two hours, stopping at a restaurant to stock up on food. It just so happened that a broadcast was playing. One that stated the ruler wanted everyone in Peijing to make their way to the palace. You didn't have a good feeling about it.

All those people in one place…it left plenty of room for disaster. Morel only confirmed your suspicions.

“Colt has a theory. He believes that the celebration will be used to sort the population.”

What was it that damn cat had called you? A Rare? The chimera ants seemed to be obsessed with those who possessed nen. They would most likely be eaten by the king or worse. You had a pretty good idea of what ‘worse’ was after seeing the state Kite was in. 

You didn't think ten days would be enough to save all those people. And unfortunately for them, they weren't a top priority. Everyone's focus would be on the king and his lackeys.  

There was also the issue of Netero’s whereabouts. He'd gone off on his own in East Gorteau without any backup. Telling Knov if he didn't respond today, he was most likely dead. Now while you weren't fond of the old man, you didn't want him dead. But knowing him, he was perfectly fine out there.

Ping

Right on schedule. Knov read the text on his phone before showing everyone else. His plan was to lure the royal guards away from the king starting at midnight. Great. Just great. Let your kids deal with one of those monsters. Though you knew they'd made enough progress to keep up. Netero made sure to include the ‘satellite ears’ comment from Morel as well.

“That old bastard scares the crap out of me.” He mumbled.

“Yeah? Well he irritates the hell out of me. Damn geezer always has something up his sleeve.” You added.

You beamed as the waiter served you a slice of cake. The duo next to trying to stifle their laughter at your reaction. The rest of the men at the table, however, eyed the tall pile of sweets on your plate with concern.

“That much can't be good for you.” Knuckle said, watching you scarf down another sweet.

You looked up for a brief moment. 

“Mind your business.” 

“Okay then.” He put his hands up in defense.

The hard ass who made a deal of being guarded, eating like a little kid with no dietary restrictions. It was baffling. Downing apple juice after apple juice. Cookie after cookie.

“Remember what we said. At least one real piece of food.” Gon scolded.

Giving out a small grumble, you took a bite out of your sandwich before continuing on.

—---------------------------------

All you could do was wait. You hated it. The rapid beating of your heart in anticipation. Bated breath as the seconds ticked down. Any moment now, Gon’s nen would return to him. He had done surprisingly well during training. The question now was how well he'd apply what he learned.

You could feel it, the exact moment the curse had been lifted. All at once his nen had surged through him. The little cat hovering over his shoulder was finally gone. He looked down at himself to confirm the aura around him.

“Well alright. It looks like you can use nen again. Go on, try it out.” Knuckle encouraged him.

Before he could try anything, Morel called out to him.

“Gon…”

The boy in green gave his full attention.

“Sorry, but I'm not convinced we should keep you around.”

A small feeling of protectiveness came over you. They make these kids train like hell only to go back on their word? You didn't think so. Although you hadn't wanted them here in the first place. But it was too late to turn back now.

“Show me your resolve,” He continued on, discarding his shirt to prepare for an attack.

“Pretend I'm the enemy who did all that to Kite.”

You could feel Gon’s aura shift into something darker. He really shouldn't have said that. The dark murkiness you've been trying to help keep at bay was slowly rising to the surface.

“If your attack isn't powerful enough, I'll call for a replacement hunter.” Morel was only adding fuel to the fire.

“A real attack?” Gon questioned.

You didn't have a good feeling about this. Kite was a sensitive subject. To use that as a means to provoke Gon… You knew damn well that kid could do damage just fine without nen. You didn't know what he was capable of with it. And it worried you. For his sake more than his opponent’s.

“Yes dammit! Give me everything you've got or you're off the team.” 

A steady anger, and then it was gone. Once again Gon's aura had been eerily calm. Approaching Morel slowly before responding.

“Got it.”

He stood still for a moment, then all at once a feeling of bloodlust consumed him. The intent to kill evident as the aura built in his fist. From the others, you could sense their shock. Their fear. You were in a similar boat.

For a split second, you were afraid. Trembling at the force of his power. For a second, you were reminded of him. The onslaught of ren that poured out. The malice. 

“Show me rock!”

It felt like you couldn't breathe. Killua, taking notice of your panicked state, went to calm down Gon. He was overdoing it, especially if it was scaring you. So he put a hand on Gon’s shoulder. The aura in his fist disappearing almost instantly.

“Gon, that's enough.”

You could breathe again. That was exactly what you were worried about. He was just a kid. You didn't want him to do something he'd regret. To have blood on his hands at such a young age. But there was only so much you could do.

“Am I right, old man?” Killua asked Morel.

The older man took a few deep breaths. Trying to calm the racing of his own heart. If that was Gon’s raw strength, there was no telling what he could do with your training. Good. They really needed an ace in their hole.

“...Yeah ..” He answered at last.

Gon seemed to snap out of the daze he was in. Jumping up in shock with his own actions. He turned around and offered Killua a ‘thanks’ for stopping him. He turned back to Morel and clasped his hands together in an apology.

“Sorry Mr. Morel! I really was just about to kill you!”

It felt like all the air in your body escaped from your lungs. That wasn't right. But Morel just laughed him off.

“You got me real good there kid!”

It felt all too similar to the way you grew up. Being praised for having no limits. You couldn't have been the only one who was worried. The only one who was scared he'd cross a line he couldn't come back from. You felt like you were going insane. 

Gon looked back over at you expecting your usual praise. Instead he was met with your somber expression. It was too close to the way you'd looked the last time you were in the NGL. He wonders if he scared you. The thought makes him feel icky inside.

He approaches you and hugs you as tight as he can. It's the only thing he can think to do. Whether it's to reassure him or you, he can't tell. 

“I didn't mean to. I know I'm not supposed to get that worked up. Not yet at least. I'm sorry.”

It takes you a second to respond. Trying to collect your thoughts after the intensity of that moment. Of what was surely to come.

“You're fine. Just, don't get too carried away.” You reassured. 

He relaxes at the feeling of you hugging him back.

But you didn't believe the words tumbling out of your mouth.

—---------------------------------

It wasn't hard for the three of you to infiltrate East Gorteau. In fact, it was almost too easy. Still, none of you could risk being caught. It didn't help there were so many people on the lookout for intruders.

You continued on to the meeting point, listening as Killua explained the situation to Gon. How the people here were just itching to rat each other out for some money.

“My older brother told me everything, and he probably heard it from grandpa.”

Killua didn't talk about his family often, and you couldn't blame him. But he seemed to respect his Grandfather. He spoke about him with something just shy of fondness. You were glad he had some family he could rely on. 

You stopped short near the ledge of a cliff. The three of you ducking down quickly.

“A town?” Gon questioned.

“Yeah a tiny one.” Killua confirmed.

You used your eyes to focus on the nearest homes. Empty. You used your en to scan for people next. Nothing. The town was completely abandoned.

“So what now?” Gon looked between you and Killua for a plan.

“We sneak in.” 

“No need. Everyone's gone.” You informed.

They knew better than to question your assessment. Your eyes were never wrong. So it was on to the next step of the plan: finding out just what the hell happened. 

“Stay here then. We'll investigate. You don't need to see anything you don't have to.” Killua instructed.

You gave a small nod. Freaking out over potential corpses was the last thing you needed. If you could stall seeing anything too gruesome, you'd have a better chance during the big fight. Or any fight for that matter.

You watched as the two of them disappeared into the town. Tracking their auras as they went. Gon peeked his head out and gestured for you to come over. You took cautious steps towards them. Knowing your luck you'd probably slip. 

“They've already begun sorting. Most of the people were already buried, and not very deep either. It was a good thing you hung back.” Killua explained.

Good to know you're original ten days was just wishful thinking. You couldn't help but feel bad for these people. No technology and no way to know what was going on in their country.

“They can't even call for help.” You said softly. 

“It's not all bad news,” Killua tried to comfort.

“If my theory is correct, it'll be easy to stop them. We just cause a commotion and the selection will totally stop.”

“In theory it'll be easy. But we have to be prepared for anything.” You warned.

Like counter measures for said commotions. If Pitou could control people, chances are the leader was under control too. His word was law here. There'd be no resistance if he suggested something under the ants' influence.

“Yeah but considering the amount of people the ants have to sort, there's no way they sent nen users to do it. It's most likely Pitou's ability. And if that's the case, this'll all be a sitch.” Killua explained.

“We just have to pop up, take out whoever's being controlled, and cause a panic. And after that. We'll encourage the people who escaped to go off and check on other nearby towns.”

It was a decent plan. The only issue was…Right as you were thinking it, the small assassin already had it covered.

“The problem is they'll detect us quickly. Once we make our move, they'll know. If we wanna go through with the old man’s plan, we should keep as low a profile as we possibly can.” 

You'd almost forgotten he was used to be stealthy. That he was in his element here in the dark and unsuspecting.

“It's your call.” He addressed you and Gon.

The boy in green agreeing almost immediately. Determination radiating off him. 

“Let's do it. If the selection has already begun, we can't just simply ignore it.”

The looked up at you for your answer. A damn shame how much you've changed in just one year. If this was still when you were on Greed Island, you would've told them to stick to the mission at hand. Lives at stake be damned. But you were different now. Softer. And the thoughts of self preservation you were used to having weren't present. Instead was the rational that you couldn't exactly let people die.

“If we go through with this, we've gotta be careful.” You responded at last.

“Alright, let's go!” Killua instructed before stopping in his tracks. He took a breath before facing you and Gon.

“But I'm gonna do it alone. You two stay hidden.”

“Stay hidden!!? But wouldn't it be better if we-” Gon started, but Killua had cut him off.

“Don't forget our primary mission. We have to take Pitou down. That should be your focus.” It had come out more defensive than he wanted. He swore he could feel your eyes focus in on him as the words left his mouth.

“You let me handle everything else, alright? I'll stir things up,” he said softer.

“And uh no offense, but this'll be a lot easier to do alone.”

“Like hell you'll do this alone!” You argued.

The last thing you wanted was to split up. It made it easier for the enemies to pick off one by one. Yet Killua wasn't budging on the subject. Resolve strong in his eyes when he spoke.

“Look I know you're used to doing this, but I'm sure there's more villages like the first one. The moment you freak out is the moment we lose a fighter. Maybe if you weren't…” He stopped himself, trying to phrase what he was gonna say right.

If you weren't so traumatized by blood, you'd be more useful. He'd never say something like that to you again. Or, he'd try his damn best not to.

“If things were different you'd be able to help me fully. But you're our best bet at scouting and Gon’s our strongest fighter. So… just sit this one out. The both of you.” 

You could sense his worry. It made you faulter for a second.

“Yeah, I get it.” Gon said, knowing you and him would just get in Killua’s way. 

“Do you?” The small assassin questioned.

“Huh?” He did a double take at his best friend's words.

“Do you really think you get it?”

“Killua?”

“Then promise me something!” It was a plea. Looking between you and Gon quickly.

“Both of you! Don't make a move! Even if people are killed right in front of you! Promise me!”

He remembered the way you two had reacted at the factory. You'd both lunged forward when those people were killed. Only being stopped by Kite’s quick thinking. He didn't want the same thing happening again. 

You could sense his panic rise. A desperation to keep you two safe at all costs. He was almost begging for you two not to do anything. What the hell was the association putting these kids through? What would they go through before the end of the ten days?

Gon didn't answer. You didn't think he could. As much as he loved Killua, he had his morals. He was a stubborn kid who wouldn't go back on them either. So you answered instead. You could abide by Killua’s conditions if he could abide by yours.

“Sure I'll promise you. As long as you promise me you'll come back no matter what. If there's an enemy stronger than you, you'll run.” 

It was like you were in a standoff. His resolve waivered in the presence of yours. He was tired of running away from fights, and you knew that. Then there was the matter of him coming back. He didn't know what to expect out there. He couldn't promise you what he couldn't guarantee. And he couldn't force you and Gon to do the same. 

His resolve crumbled, giving in to yours. 

“I'll text you okay? Our cell phones should still work in the area.” He tried to diffuse, but you wouldn't let him off the hook that easily.

“You can't just change the subject.”

There was a small amount of guilt radiating off him. But there was still the worry from earlier. 

“I know. I'm Sorry. Don't worry about it. I'm just a little on edge.” He explained.

The mission was already taking its toll on both boys. They shouldn't have the weight of the world on their shoulders at such a young age. You'd curse the association to your dying breath. When this was over, you'd all need some counseling. 

You offered up what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

“It's okay to be scared and worried. I know I am. But we help each other. It's the only way we can get through this. You know that right?”

You could feel him start to relax, steadily gaining back his resolve.

“I know.” He responded.

Gon put his hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“If anything goes wrong, we'll be there to help you.” He added. 

It felt like Killua was engulfed in warmth. Like you all weren't about to march to your potential deaths. It was why he was so scared of losing you both. But he had to have faith in your abilities. Trust that you could get the job done and make it back. 

“Right. I've got your backs too!”

The three of you continued to walk for a while, but something felt off. It felt like something was watching you. The unmistakable sensation of eyes on your back. Then for a split second, you sensed a presence.

Someone was following you. The aura wasn't malicious from what you could tell. Just cautious. Like they were scoping you out. The presence would appear and disappear at one minute intervals. It was probably some sort of nen ability. 

You didn't want to leave the boys by themselves, but you couldn't risk either of them getting hurt right now. You had to be smart about this. 

“Hey, you two go on ahead.” You called out.

“Is something wrong?” Gon asked.

You made sure to keep talking while you signed slowly.

‘Enemy behind.’

“I just need to check something out. It won't take me long.”

The duo nodded in understanding. Never had you been prouder to see them sign ‘safe.’ Slow and meticulous, but the word all the same. You were glad you were able to teach them something useful. 

They took off without you, leaving you to deal with who was following. He'd show himself every minute. All you had to do was wait him out.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

You summoned a strand of nen and shot it straight behind you. There was a noise of surprise as it wrapped completely around the enemy. You tugged them close to you, turning around to face your stalker.

“You know I'm too fond of being followed.”

Your tone was cold as you stared down the chameleon chimera ant. He shook in your presence. Eyes wide at the fact you'd caught him. He'd wanted to continue following one of the boys. This was not good.

“You better have a damn good reason or you're dead.”

He tried to formulate a sentence. Tried to speak, but your resolve was suffocating. Your eyes looked at him like he was nothing. All that came out of his mouth was-

“How did you-!”

But you'd cut him off by tightening your nen around his neck.

“The next words out of your mouth better be an answer. I don't have time for games.”

He panicked, blurting out the first thing he could think of to get him out of trouble.

“I want to defeat the king!”

Your intimidating expression changing into one of confusion.

“What?”

He could feel your nen weaken around him. That was a good sign. He continued to talk, believing more in his chances of convincing you.

“He's a monster. He killed and ate his own men when he was born. He needs to be stopped.” Meleleron explained.

“I thought I'd watch the three of you. See if you were strong enough for the task before I asked for help. I wasn't trying to attack you.”

Your eyes scanned him for any deceit. There was none. All you could sense was determination and fear. Scared of you, yet still wanting to complete his goal. You let him go, releasing your nen.

“Okay.”

“Okay!?! Just like that? You're not gonna interrogate me?” He pushed, unbelieving it was that easy.

“I can see when someone's lying to me. Don't worry, I'd know if you were trying to lure me into a trap.”

It was a thinly veiled threat. One that promised his death if he betrayed you. He'd take it. If you could see when he was being genuine, it only worked in his favor.

“Okay. Where to begin…”

He explained to the situation at hand. How his father figure was eaten by the king. How few ants stayed by the king’s side while the rest left to create their own castles. His plan for catching him off guard. Using his ability to become invisible before attacking. How he needed someone strong enough to carry out the plan. 

“Your best bet is Gon. He's most likely to listen to you. Killua would kill you on the spot.” You said.

“Why can't you help me? You're fast. We'd be able to take the king completely off guard.”

You shook your head. Despite how it looked like, you knew you weren't the best person for the job. Call it a hunch.

“I'm not a fighter. And I've got a personal fight I need to be ready for. I also choke up. Can't stand the sight of blood. Gon’s your best bet. I'm sure he's stronger than me now anyways.”

And Killua was faster. They'd done well in their respective categories. You just hoped it'd be enough. You looked Meleoron head on. 

“Test him if you want…but if you go too far I'll make you suffer.” You warned.

You cared about those boys. It was easy for him to see. As long as you were vouching for the boy in green, he'd take up the offer, and he'd do his damn best not to rough him up too much.

“Right. I'll get going. Thank you for trusting me.”

He took off without a second glance. You were once again on your own. You decided to try and make your way towards the palace. If nothing else, you could take out a few of Pitou's puppets. 

You set a steady pace. Slowing your heart rate little by little. If the ants sensed you now, you'd come off as nothing more than a small animal. They wouldn't recognize you as human. For all the shit your clan put you through, they taught you some pretty helpful tricks. 

Things seemed to be going well before you sensed it. Another presence following you. They weren't concealing themselves either. In fact, they were right above you. You looked up and we're met with a familiar ant. The same one that tried to ambush you the night everything went to shit.

It seemed to recognize you too. Owlish eyes widening before it tried to fly away. So much for going undetected. You gave chase, following directly under it.

“I'm not gonna let you get away!” You shouted, preparing to restrain it.

Right as you were about to summon your nen, a fist made harsh contact on your face. You skidded to the side from the force.

You'd been so distracted, you didn't sense the other ant. You'd fallen for that damn owl’s trap. You braced your legs, looking up at your assailant. A cheetah ant. It beamed at you, sharp teeth on full display.

“I was looking for a meal. Thank you for volunteering!” 

You were really starting to hate cats. You watched the owl ant make its escape. It was most likely gathering information on everybody's abilities. How you all fought. He was a problem. You didn't have time to deal with this new ant.

Judging by his cocky aura, he wouldn't be much of a challenge anyways. He was weak. The only reason he got a hit on you was because you weren't paying attention. 

“You're a Rare, aren't you? This'll be so much fun! Try not to die too early, okay?”

You dodged as he went to strike again, claws fully outstretched. He glared at you. It was then you noticed the small being floating by his side. That was Knuckle’s ability. So this was the ant that got away? You could see why he'd give the others trouble.

But he wouldn't be able to beat you.

“Lucky guess, but you won't be able to dodge my next attack. You humans have got nothing on my speed!”

He rushed towards you once more. Right before he could make contact, you grabbed his wrist. A cruel grin on your face.

“Fast?” You questioned.

He tried to pull back, but your grip was unrelenting. 

“Let go of me!”

He used his free hand to try and slash your face. You caught it too, applying pressure to his wrist. He caught your eyes and froze. You almost looked amused. It made him feel something he'd never felt before. Fear. 

You looked at Cheetu like you knew something he didn't. You weren't afraid of dying. No… You didn't think he could kill you. And then you spoke. Something in your voice had a shiver running down his spine.

“You're so pathetic I might just laugh. Oh you poor creature. You don't even know what speed is. Here, let me show you!”

The grip on his wrist vanished, as did you. His eyes unable to track where you went. He could smell it on you now. The blood imbedded in your scent. You were like them. A monster like the royal guards. 

He shook the thought from his head. A strong Rare? Yeah right. You were nothing compared to him. A slow weakling. He had no reason to be so shaken up by you. It was just an empty threat made to make him lose his cool. He'd kill you in no time.

“Henry, attack!��

It happened so suddenly. One minute he was standing, about to track your scent and put an end to you. The next, his head was rolling on the ground. On his shoulders was a small jester marionette. Its hand morphed into a blade.

Your shoes came into his vision. His eyes trailed up to meet yours in disbelief.

“It can't be! What the hell are you!?!” He shouted.

You couldn't have been that fast. You were a human! 

“Someone who doesn't have time for your insolence. I'm done wasting time on you,” you answered.

You snapped your fingers, signaling for your puppet to finish the job. You looked away as it jumped up, using as much force as possible to slam into the ant’s skull. You could feel the blood splatter onto your clothes. You thought you would have grown used to the sight of blue blood. 

You were wrong. 

Shaking as the warmth seeped into your clothes. The feeling of vile scratching at your throat. You shook your head, preparing to make your way to the meeting point once more.

When you got there, you waited for Knov to open up the portal. You fell into the small room, still trembling from earlier. Everyone was here except Gon and Killua. Your heart beat even faster in your chest.

“You okay?” Morel asked, noticing your dazed state.

“Change of clothes. Now.” You ordered.

You don't remember who tossed you your bag of clothes, but you were grateful all the same. Throwing your bloodied clothes the furthest you could from you as you changed. You hugged yourself to try and calm down. Taking in shaky breaths.

There was no blood on you, and still you felt dirty. You hated being so weak in front of others. But all you could think about was your boys. Killua running from town to town and Gon doing who knows what out there.

“You good kid?” Morel asked once more.

You nodded your head slowly.

“I'll be fine. I just need a minute. I managed to get rid of the ant Knuckle fought.” You informed.

“You got rid of Cheetu? That's awesome! Thanks a lot!” Knuckle said, patting you on the back.

“Mhm.”

You flinched slightly at the gesture, which was immediately picked up by the older man in the room. 

“Give them some space for a while.” He instructed Knuckle before addressing you.

“We still have plenty of time before the selection. You can recoup for a while.”

You gave a small nod. You just hoped your boys were okay.

—---------------------------------

Gon stared down the chameleon ant before him. Its hands were raised in defense as it spoke.

“I've been watching you for a while now. I didn't plan on showing myself so soon, but things changed. Safe to say, you surpassed my expectations.” He explained.

Gon was about to let his guard down when he remembers something. You said somebody was following the three of you. And you'd gone to check it out. This thing was capable of concealing its presence. 

It was the same ant.

He released an angry ten in an instant. Summoning as much nen as he could into his fist.

“What did you do to Y/n!”

Meleoron couldn't help but freeze. Twice now his life had been threatened. And you'd said this kid would be more likely to hear him out. Look how that was turning out.

“Nothing! I swear!” He pleaded. 

Gon glared at him, unbelieving that he hadn't done something to you.

“If you hurt them, I'll kill you!”

He was more quick to aggression here. More on edge than he'd ever been. Especially when it concerned you and Killua. Right as he was about to strike, the ant blurted out the first thing he could think of.

“We're friends! They caught me following them, and I explained myself. They gave me the go ahead to ask for your help. If you think I could take them in a fight, you're severely overstimulating my abilities!”

All at once Gon’s aura dissipated. His guard was still up, but he was less hostile.

“You promise they're fine?” He asked.

“Swear on my life. You can call them.”

He relaxed completely at the confirmation.

“I believe you.”

“Just like that!?!?” The ant exclaimed, once again caught by surprise at how easy it was to convince one of you.

Now that Gon was thinking about it, he may have overreacted. You weren't weak. And you were quick enough to get out of any trouble. You were fine, he was sure of it. 

“Well yeah. Y/n would never be beaten by you. And if you did hurt them…Then I won't have to show you any mercy. I could just kill you, you know?” He responded.

The look in his eye was very reminiscent of yours. Cold with the intent to follow through. But it quickly softened up.

“I just worry about them. I know they're strong, but it's different here.” 

Pitou’s here. 

He didn't want to lose you the same way he'd lost Kite. He promised himself he'd do anything to stop that from happening.

“Man. You two are scary when you're mad.” Meleleron mumbled under his breath.

—-----------------------------------

Your head perked up at the sound of someone entering the room. You weren't as frazzled as before. Directing your attention to the person in the hopes it was one of the boys.

Your eyes landed on Gon first, then on Meleoron. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh? You met the lizard guy. Good.”

“Mhm. He told me you two were friends. I'm so proud of you!” Gon praised.

You weren't the best around people. So to see you made a friend on your own, he was happy for you. But you looked confused by the statement. Face scrunching up.

“Easy. I told him I trusted him. The friends thing is an overstatement.” You explained.

“Well he was gonna kill me if I didn't say I knew you!” Meleoron argued.

“It's your fault for following him.”

“You told me to!!!! Gah! I don't like you at all.” He pointed an accusing finger at you. 

Against your better judgement, you almost laughed. But then you remembered you were still missing your other kid. 

“Killua isn't with you?” You asked.

Gon shook his head.

“We spit up after you left.”

Damn. You didn't have a good feeling about this. Especially with that scout ant still out there. The entire room seemed to go quiet at the information. Killua was the only one missing. And he usually stuck very closely to the plan.

“Do you think…?” Shoot started.

An uncomfortable feeling churned in your gut.

“Let's give him another hour. Besides, we still have a few days left. We can afford to give him that much time.” Morel tried to comfort.

Sensing your distress, Gon sat next to you. He put his head on your shoulder. You could feel worry in his aura, try as he might not to show it. Yet you could tell he was still hopeful Killua would be back.

“Killua will be fine. He won't be beaten so easily.” He assured.

You wanted to believe him, but you couldn't just sit back and do nothing. You summoned half of your nen into your palm. Conjuring a small figure. The ballerina marionette looked up at you, awaiting its orders.

“Find Killua. Return to me in two days if you can't.”

It gave a salute before taking off. 

Your lucky day. 

More waiting.

—--------------------------

Killua felt his body giving out. He'd lost too much blood. He knew he did, collapsing into a puddle of it. A small smile made its way to his face. You probably would have passed out seeing this much. Probably scold him for getting hurt too. He was just glad it was him instead of you.

‘Promise me you'll come back no matter what.’

He blinked slowly. Imagine if he'd made that promise? He would have broken it, and you were never supposed to break a promise to a friend. 

“Sorry, Y/n. I know how you feel about losing another kid. But it's not your fault this time.”

He spoke out into the abyss with the last of his strength. He knew you'd put this on your shoulders. You always did when something went wrong. So much guilt on your conscience.

“It wasn't your fault the first time either.”

He didn't want to add into your trauma, but he could feel himself fading. He wished you could've met Alluka. She would've loved you. And he knows you would've loved to have a little sister again.

He was so grateful he got to meet you. To have someone like you who saw his worth past his assassin potential. He wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to heal. 

“I love you.” 

He thinks he might've traded his own mother and father if it meant he'd get to bask in your warmth again.

He was grateful for Gon too. For him always being on his side. Seeing nothing but the good in him. His first real friend. He didn't want to leave him either.

“Gon…Please take care of them. They're gonna need you. I'm sorry…I wasn't…any help.”

His body felt cold. He didn't have any strength to push himself up. You wouldn't miss him that much anyways. As long as you had Gon, you'd be fine. You seemed to love him more anyways. He tried to console himself with the thought. Although a part of him knew it wasn't true.

He saw a pair of small feet enter his spotty vision. He heard a piercing shriek. And then darkness.

He awoke to the feeling of something on his chest. He was surprised to wake up at all. He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the sudden brightness. He made out the small figure sitting on him.

What was your puppet doing here? 

“Hey Shika. Y/n sent you after me, huh?” He greeted with a smile.

It nodded. 

He doesn't know why it made him so happy. That you cared.

“The little thing didn't leave your side the entire time you were out.” A familiar voice spoke. 

He directed his vision to the side. It was that octopus ant. Ikalgo? He must've been the one that saved him. Now that he thinks about it, he faintly remembered the feeling of being carried.

“How long was I out for?” he asked.

“Three days.”

“TWO DAYS! THEY'RE GONNA KILL ME!”

He took out the IVs from his arms. Getting up as fast as he could to make his way over to you and Gon. You were gonna be so pissed at him.

—--------------------------------------

Shika was still gone. That was a good thing, it meant she found Killua. It meant he was alive out there. It was the only thing that brought you comfort while you waited. 

You glanced over at Knov. He was…well he was mentally fucked. He fell apart at just a glimpse of Pitou's en. You didn't blame him. You'd freaked out too the first time you felt it. But now was not the time. It was one fighter down. 

And then there was Palm. You hadn't heard a word from her. She should've said something by now. Despite getting off on the wrong foot, you'd grown fond of her. You couldn't imagine the weight on her shoulders right now. They'd thrown her right into the lion’s den.

Then there was the matter of how she'd take Knov’s breakdown. The man she loved was physically aging from his fear. Chances are it wouldn't go over well. 

You felt Gon tug on your sleeve. You redirected your attention to him, watching as he pointed up. The portal opened and in finally came Killua.

Thank god.

“Killua!” Gon called out before tackling him in a hug.

He gave out a noise of surprise as he stumbled back. He rebounded quickly, however, and returned the boy in green’s enthusiasm.

“See? I made it out just fine.”

Fine? He was covered in bandages. Just what the hell happened to him. Did you really want to know? You decided it didn't matter, walking towards him slowly.

You were close enough for him to try and make out your expression. You looked drained.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked.

He was caught off guard when you crouched down and pulled him into a hug, cradling his head tightly.

“Don't you ever do that again.”

He could feel you shaking. He didn't mean to make you worry. But despite everything, he couldn't help but smile. You really did care about him. And it's not like peaceful moments like these would last. So he took it all in. Hugging you back tightly.

“I promise I won't. I've got you to protect me, remember?” He tried to lighten the mood, yet you hugged him tighter.

“My precious baby. I was so scared.”

Was it weird he felt like crying? Being loved was such a strange feeling. He thinks his mom would've blown a fuse seeing you coddle him. He doesn't care. Not one bit as you continued to hug him.

You looked over his shoulder, catching the gaze of another chimera ant. This one being an octopus.

“You made a friend?” You asked, hesitantly releasing him.

He couldn't hide his embarrassment when you let him go. Not wanting the other hunters to see him being soft.

“Yeah. He's pretty cool. Just don't call him an octopus.” He responded.

You stood up to your full height, staring down this new ant with scrutiny.

“You give my kid any problems, Squidward?”

He gaped at you. Eyes wide in shock 

“Did…did you just call me squid!?!!”

He turned towards Killua with stars in his eyes.

“Killua I love your big sibling!”

That was unexpected.

Killua stood in front of you protectively.

“You better not! They already have a partner!”

You slapped a hand to your forehead.

“You're such a gremlin. Now you,” you pointed towards the octopus ant.

“Answer the question.”

He stood unwavering in your presence. You were surprised to see a surge of loyalty in his aura.

“I would die if it meant helping Killua out.”

His resolve was strong. 

Geez, these kids had a habit for picking up strange friends. Although you couldn't complain. You needed all the help you could get.

“Well that settles it.” You approved.

Killua high fived him, introducing Ikalgo to Gon while he introduced Meleoron. It filled you with warmth to see your boys back together again. Yet you couldn't get past this gnawing feeling in your gut. The one you always got when something was about to happen. 

It was foreboding.

Over the next three days, you went over the plan. You, Killua, and Gon would take on Pitou. Knuckle, Meleoron, and Shoot would take Youpi. Morel would have to deal with Pouf by himself. Ikalgo was tasked with finding Palm. Something you wouldn't admit had you letting out a sigh of relief.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

It was all you could do while the others plotted for what could go wrong. You don't remember if you've ever been this anxious, your leg bouncing up and down. 

Pitou had healing abilities, or at least you think they did. But what if that wasn't enough to fix Kite? What if he was beyond fixing? Was there any other way you could bring him back? 

You hated how everything was building up. This feeling of dread. Moving from one location to the other. Getting closer and closer to the castle. To your potential doom. It had you chewing on your lip next. Biting at the skin there until it was raw.

Five minutes until midnight.

You decided to ask what was weighing so heavily on your mind.

“What are the other two guards’ abilities?”

Meleoron and Ikalgo looked at each other in thought. The octopus spoke first.

“Pouf has this weird ability. He can give someone a completely different nen type. If there's a specific ability they want, he can grant it.” He explained.

Not good. Was that why there were still so many ants loyal to the king? The chance of becoming more powerful calling to them like a moth to the flame. 

“That's not all. The way he goes about it…It's like the ant was reborn,” Meleoron added.

“He wraps them in a cocoon. Depending on how much was changed, it could take a few hours or a few days before the ant emerges again. It's how they plan to make soldiers out of all the people sorted.”

You felt a flicker of hope. Maybe…Maybe you could substitute it. You just had to be quick. One wrong move and you were dead. You'd be at half power, but it would be worth a shot.

Okay. You had a back up. It helped soothe your nerves a bit. Not enough to get rid of the dread you were feeling.

What was in store for you?

“One minute!” Morel called out.

You tensed as you got up. Everyone around you prepared for battle. You could feel everyone's nerves. Their resolve. Whatever happened now, it would be out of your control. You spared a glance towards Gon and Killua one last time.

You'd protect them no matter what. Even if you had to break your promise to Kari. 

You waited as the last ten seconds ticked down. It was then you finally realized what was wrong. You started shaking. The malicious aura buried so deep inside Gon had consumed him completely. 

“GO!!!!” Morel shouted.

At his command, all of you made a break for it out the door. There was nothing you could do right now. You had to get through this first hurdle first.

What was this power?

Never mind the red beasts on the steps. What was this raw power? No intent to kill, but so overpowering you almost faltered. The building shook from the force. 

Youpi, you presumed, morphed his body to attack. So much happened in just one second. Morel’s smoke screen. The building caving away to golden streaks of nen. Knuckle getting in the first hit. 

You continued running, going right in front of the boys as a precaution. ‘Get past the steps.’ you repeated in your head. Keep going. You could look back later. 

You were fighting with yourself not to let your en scan around you. You couldn't risk letting it clash with another royal guard’s. If you did, you were all screwed. You couldn't even check to see if the boys were still behind you.

All at once, Youpi smashed the steps behind you. You could feel the ground give way slightly, yet still you pushed on. The stairs didn't matter. As long as the boys were okay. 

You relaxed slightly hearing their footfalls behind you. Two pairs of footsteps. Then one. You froze, watching Gon breeze past you without a second thought. You looked back to see Killua running in the opposite direction. Your eyes catching Ikalgo’s aura.

Thinking on your feet, you sent one of your puppets after Killua. You didn't waste a second chasing after Gon. He needed you more right now. He wasn't thinking rationally. If there was one thing you knew about Killua, it was that he kept a level head. Half of your nen should be enough to help him. 

You continued to make your way outside. Eyes widening seeing Morel’s ability. If he was there, then the king was somewhere else entirely. Gon, having noticed the same thing, took off in another direction. And just before you could enter another building, he stopped short. Body tensing.

You followed his gaze.

You didn't believe what you were seeing. The amount of power swirling around some sort of ant. No, it wasn't just some ant. It had to be the king. His aura radiated acceptance. He wasn't angry or malicious. Not a trace of bloodlust. He held himself high without any worry.

Even if you were at full power, even if you were in your prime…You could never take him on. No one from your former clan could. For the first time since you were seven, you felt lesser. Insignificant in this thing’s presence. 

Was that Netero?

He saw you and Gon, gesturing behind himself with a grin. One that said they're all yours. 

That stupid old bastard!

That fucking idiot!

You were swept away in a surge of furious, vengeful aura. So incredibly dark and full of malintent you had to take a step away. The feeling was suffocating. Undeniably, it felt evil.

You wanted to snap him out of it. You wanted to see her in his eyes. But he was getting closer and closer to the edge of no return. That old geezer shouldn't have goaded him on. Morel shouldn't have pushed him earlier. 

What could you do? 

You couldn't tell him not to fight. This was personal. And he'd only double down if you tried. Knock him out maybe? He'd never forgive you for it, but you were running out of options. All you knew was as of right now, Pitou couldn't be killed.

They needed to be alive to fix Kite. 

“Gon! Y/n!” Killua called out.

You forced yourself to turn around, seeing Henry sitting on his shoulder before he transferred back to you. Your nen whole once again.

He frowned seeing your shaken up state. Then his eyes landed on his grandfather. He took in the situation fully. Netero and his grandfather had the King. Which meant…Pitou was in the tower.

He wanted to open his mouth to scold you for using your ability. Tell you not to waste it on making sure he was okay. But the sound of Gon’s voice made him freeze. Like you, he could feel something wasn't right. 

“Pitou is right over there.” Never had Gon’s tone been this cold.

How could the sun be hiding so much darkness?

“Let's go,” He ordered.

Killua stayed behind as Gon continued on his way. He could feel his eyes watering. His lip trembling. He wanted to ask why. What exactly was Gon asking of him? He didn't want to believe that he…

“It's gonna be okay, Killua. I promise you.” Your voice snapped him from his thoughts.

You reached down to swipe away his tears. He allowed himself to break in front of you, if only for a moment.

“But he's never… he's never spoken like that before. Like we weren't friends. How am I supposed to ignore that?” He sobbed, wrapping his arms around you in an attempt to seek out comfort.

He didn't know what you could do, but he wanted you to do something. He wanted you to get Gon back to normal. He always listened to you. 

“You don't. I don't want to tell you to push your feelings down, but we have to wait until this is over to talk to him.” You tried to reassure.

“He's hurting real bad right now. Whether he knows it or not, he needs our support right now.”

You pulled back to stare him in the eye.

“Please, stay strong a little longer for me.”

He nodded feebly, wiping at the snot and tears on his face. If you said things would be okay, he believed you. He composed himself the best he could. Grabbing at your hand like a child as you followed after Gon.

He was surprised to see his Grandfather still there.

“Hey there.” The old man greeted.

Your protective aura immediately wrapped around both boys. Zeno raised a brow at that. His eyes trailing down to where Killua was still clasping your hand tightly. He got it now.

So that was why he changed so much. Why he stood a little taller now. It should've made the boy weak, your care towards him. Instead, it'd made him stronger. No use dwelling on it. He did what he came here to do.

“If you'll excuse me, my job here is done. I know nothing beyond the mission I was given.”

The words were ominous. The feeling of dread only amplifying. 

“Killua, when you get inside, you make the call.” The old man prompted. 

“Make the call?” Killua said, confused by the implications of his grandfather’s words. 

He said nothing else, leaving the three of you alone. 

You didn't know what you were expecting. Perhaps for the manic aura you'd encountered that night to be full force. You couldn't possibly have predicted the sight in front of you. You didn't want to believe it either. After everything that cat ant put you through…After what they put Kite through…

Pitou was healing a girl. 

All their aura gone and placed into the nurse-like creature next to them. Putting all their focus into making sure the girl was okay. It made your stomach churn uncomfortably. You could see it in their aura. Pitou had changed. You didn't think the bloodthirsty creature could. Couldn't fathom the newfound humanity they'd gained.

They deserved to suffer.

They tried to kill you.

And yet you were willing to reach a compromise.

Something must've been fucked in your head to feel a shred of sympathy for this thing. Pitou turned around slowly to face the three of you. A protective fear radiating off them. It was ironic. So many people had died at the hands of this creature, and yet it was putting everything on the line for one girl. What could've caused this?

Gon's malicious aura spiked. It had you trembling.

“Do you remember who I am.” He said lowly.

His demeanor reminded you of Father. You didn't know how to bring him back in. You were scared to try.

“My name is Gon Freecs! And I came here for one reason! To make you restore Kite!” 

His voice felt like it was rumbling off the walls. Pitou kneeled protectively in front of the girl. It looked like…A bear protecting its cub.

You hated this thing. Hated how the situation reminded you of your own. So much going on at once, you struggled to find one thing to focus on. You couldn't think with the outpour of Gon’s menacing aura. 

His eyes looked between Pitou and the girl. Hands clenching in a searing anger. His output increasing that much more.

“Get away from her. Now.” He demanded.

Pitou was still. The panic in their aura rising. Gon stalked towards them. You tried to force your feet after him, but you couldn't move. 

“I said step away from her. And take that monster with you.” He glared at Pitou's ability.

He probably thought they were hurting the girl. But the more rational part of your brain new better. He didn't want the girl getting in his way. This wasn't the Gon you knew and loved. This wasn't the same kid who thought with his heart first. 

“I came here so I could make Kite whole again! So come and fight me!” He shouted.

Pitou immediately placed their hands on the floor. Palms up as a show of submission. It temporarily shocked Gon into letting up on his ren. You were in a similar state of disbelief.

How the hell could so much change in such a short time? 

“Please. Just wait a while.” Their voice was shaky. Pleading for the chance to fix that girl.

But the anger that had been bottled up for months needed an outlet. Gon needed to lash out. Anything that would alleviate the grief and guilt in his chest. He was blind to anything else. Murky aura amplifying tenfold by the humanity Pitou displayed.

“ARE YOU KIDDING! WHY THE HELL SHOULD I WAIT FOR YOU!?! GET UP! WE'RE GOING OUTSIDE!”

He planned on killing them. You couldn't let him. No matter how upset he was. If Pitou died, the plan was over. Kite would be gone forever. So why the hell weren't you speaking up? Why was your voice caught in your throat? 

Gon approached closer to Pitou. 

“I'LL DO ANYTHING!” They pleaded in a last ditch effort to keep him away.

“I'll do anything you want me to do! But you have to wait. Because I…I have to save this person no matter the cost!”

Never had you felt so sick to your stomach. If only this change had come to Pitou sooner. Or perhaps it'd been better if it didn't happen at all.

“Save? What do you mean by save, huh?” Gon questioned.

One wrong word and he'd snap. Killua quickly tried to take over the situation.

“Anything? You say that you'll do anything?” He asked the ant, knowing this might've been your in to save Kite.

But Gon was too far gone by now.

“Killua. I'm asking the questions here.” He snapped.

You could feel his heart break at Gon's words. See the wobble of his lip as he tried to formulate a response. You'd had enough of this.

“You're acting like a brute!” At last you had found your voice. 

Your feet felt like lead as you walked forward. Gon tensed slightly at your voice.

“They don't want to fight. For whatever reason, they're taking care of that girl. If you can't think with a level head, then you need to leave.” You were at your limit.

You hoped he'd find some clarity in your words. But it felt as if he'd directed his anger towards you. 

“I… I remember you.” Pitou spoke up.

They remember you shoving the other human away to save him. They remembered you moving fast. How you ran off with two smaller humans. The feeling of slicing through your flesh. 

“I'm sorry for what I did.” they apologized.

If anything, they were grateful for your presence now. The boy was listening to you. He was letting you speak. Pitou opted for appealing to your humanity instead. Their best bet at keeping Komugi safe was you.

“This girl is…precious to someone I really care about. More than you could possibly know,” they began to explain.

“Because of her, the king became who he is today. If she ceases to exist, the king will cease to be who he is. She means that much.” They searched your eyes for a glimmer of sympathy.

When they found it, they pleaded harder. Doing their best to ignore the ever darkening aura of the boy next to you.

“So all I want…Is for her to live. I beg you to let me heal her. And then I'll do anything you ask of me. So please just wait!” 

Despite their words being directed at you, they were out in the open for the wrong person to hear. Gon took a step forward, and Pitou started to tremble once more.

“You want to save her life?” The question hung in the air, disbelief evident in his tone.

“You're telling me that you really want to save this girl's life?”

Everything poured out all at once. Gon started hyperventilating, pointing an accusing finger in their direction.

“HOW DARE YOU!”

Your senses were swarmed by anger and hate. Grief and malice. Denial and vengeance. You took a step back. You wanted it to stop. Arms wrapping around yourself in an attempt to protect yourself from everything negative combined.

“DAMN IT! WHY YOU! WHY SHOULD I WAIT!?! WHY SHOULD I DO ANYTHING YOU SAY!?!” 

He stalked forward with the intent to kill. You couldn't stop him. 

“Gon, just wait a second!” Killua called out.

“Look. That girl's really hurt. Probably because of us and grandpa's Dragon Dive.”

He stopped walking. Never had he sounded so cruel. So uncaring about another life.

“And?” Like he didn't see the problem with advancing forward.

“And? Pitou's likely healing her. Well, that's what it looks like anyway. So hold off. Wait until it's done.” It was the last attempt to get him to come to his senses.

“Likely? Probably?” Gon said the words like they were poison in his mouth.

“You want me to wait because of that!?! Even if we did wait, there's no way we can guarantee Pitou will follow through on that promise!” 

He'd completely snapped. Aura unrelenting as it poured out in an endless fountain.

“Probably!?! Likely!?! For real!?? The hell with that!”

He turned around to berate his best friend.

“QUIT MESSING AROUND! WHAT THE HELL'S THE MATTER WITH YOU!?!”

Your fingers dug into your skin before releasing. Your hands clenching by your side. Shaking from the pressure. This wasn't your kid.

He needed to stop.

You needed to protect yourself from him.

“YOU WANT- YOU WANT ME TO TRUST THIS THING!?! SERIOUSLY!?! BECAUSE THERE'S NO WAY IN HELL-!”

SLAP

The sound of your palm hitting him reverberated throughout the room. The force of it sending him to the floor. Gon looked up at you in shock. 

You realized your mistake too late. Disgust consuming your entire being. You didn't mean- You didn't want to do that! How could you ever hit your own kid? You deserved to die. Your eyes were burning with tears. Entire body shaking in repulsion.

He looked up at you heartbroken. The expression mixing in with betrayal. 

You just wanted him to stop.

You didn't want to hurt him.

You'd been pushed to a breaking point you didn't think you could come back from. The tension on your shoulders making you double down. He'd been behaving like them. But so had you.

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK LIKE THAT IN MY PRESENCE! WE HAVE A JOB TO DO! DON'T LET YOUR UNCHECKED EMOTIONS RUIN IT! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!”

You were a monster. How far would you descend into madness by the end of the night? How far would you keep going? 

You were breathing heavily, trying to keep your composure. But seeing the red swell on his cheek made you want to grovel for forgiveness. 

You could feel his hurt increase. Watching him lift a hand to his cheek and wince at the sting. A scowl overtook his features. Angry tears beginning to run down his face.

“IT’S NOT FAIR! WHY?!? WHY ARE YOU TAKING THEIR SIDE!?! AFTER EVERYTHING THEY DID TO KITE!?! AND YOU WANT TO LET THEM LIVE!?! WHY!?! DAMNIT TELL ME!!!!”

“IF YOU WOULD STOP BEING SELFISH FOR ONE SECOND, YOU'D SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE!” You shouted back.

“IF WE KILL PITOU, WE'D NEVER BE ABLE TO BRING KITE BACK! YOU'D THROW AWAY OUR ONLY OPPORTUNITY! QUIT ACTING LIKE A LITTLE KID!”

He went silent. His murky aura retreating back to him. Yet his anger was still very much present. It gave you hope, of only for a moment. Then he spoke, voice unwavering and cold.

“I hate you. You're nothing but a pathetic coward who can't even hold their own.”

And then he said something he hoped hurt you. Not caring about the repercussions it would bring.

“It's no wonder your sister died.”

Your hands clenched. Your own angry aura lashing out. Don't do it. You disgrace. Don't do it. You knew he wanted a reaction from you. You weren't about to give it to him.

You slammed your fist into the wall, crumbling it completely. You didn't want to do something else you'd regret.

“Gon that's enough!” Killua reprimanded. 

He didn't seem to hear him, walking until he was directly in front of Pitou.

He didn't mean it.

Gon would never mean something like that. 

But you didn't think you could forgive him for saying that. Using the secret you'd confided in him to hurt you. You sacrificed so much of yourself for these kids. You didn't ask for much in return. Just the understanding that you were doing your best. You didn't know how you'd get through this one.

You supposed he'd never forgive you either for raising a hand at him. 

“For how long? How long should we wait?” He interrogated the cat ant.

You could feel relief radiate from them.

“I estimate it'll take three to four hours to heal her completely.” They answered.

You knew Pitou was lying to you. You knew they were trying to buy time. And dammit you knew you shouldn't have a shred of sympathy for this thing. But…

But Gon was going too far. He needed a buffer. Anything that might give him time to cool off. You couldn't guarantee the full three hours, but you'd try your best.

“Sorry. Too long.” Gon denied.

You spoke up before Pitou could try to plead for more time.

“Give them a little over an hour.”

He was about to snap at you again, but you didn't give him the opportunity to.

“You said you'd owe me any favor from Greed Island, remember? I'm calling it in right now. Let them heal the girl for an hour.”

You directed your attention to Pitou next.

“And once you're done, you're gonna fix our friend. The off chance you can't…You'll take your own life as payment. Do we have a deal?”

They bowed down their head to you. Truthfully, their priority was the king. They needed to protect him at all costs. If they couldn't fix the human you wanted, then they would leave back to the king's side. But you didn't need to know that.

“I promise.”

A beat of silence. And then your eyes were piercing through theirs. They were unforgiving and knowing.

“Mean it.” You said.

“What?”

“I said mean it when you promise me.” You repeated.

You wouldn't let them get out of this that easily. It was fine. As long as they kept you and that boy away from the king, they could die willingly.

“I swear.” They affirmed, deceit no longer in their aura.

You took a step back, watching as Gon sat himself right in front of Pitou.

“I'll wait right here for one hour.” He conceded.

Neither of you noticed when Killua slipped out of the room. He couldn't handle the tension. Gon had spoken down to him, like he was nothing. Friends weren't supposed to do that. You said he was hurting. That wasn't an excuse to lash out. 

Killua couldn't believe his ears when he'd brought up your past against you. It'd made him mad. Gon was gonna end up making you leave again. And then what? How were they supposed to do this without you?

You'd hit Gon too. He doesn't think he's ever seen that side of you. Even when Killua had been provoking you, never in a million years did he think you would hit him. So what exactly was it that made you slap Gon?

It scared him straight. He knows if he was in the same position he would have broken. 

There were signs, weren't there? Your frantic state. Scared and terrified of the power engulfing you. You pushed yourself to be here. 

He couldn't stand what the NGL had brought out in the two of you. For his sake, he needed space. He needed something to get out all these pent up emotions. The hurt. The anger. The worry. So he left.

You'd been too focused on making sure Gon kept his word to notice. Pitou looked between the two of you. They felt better with you here, leaning closer to your side. As if seeking out protection from Gon’s hateful gaze.

You didn't know how long it'd been. You were sure Gon was keeping track though. Without much thought, you let your en back out. Your 100 meter radius down to 70 from your stress. You felt around for anything heading your way. Faintly you could sense Morel and Knuckle's aura. They were on the cusp of being out of your reach. They were fighting another beastly aura. 

They were struggling. 

You should help them. You shouldn't be sitting here doing nothing. But you just couldn't risk Gon snapping and killing Pitou. You shifted slightly, preparing to make your decision. 

A flicker of life was heading towards you. So small you almost missed it. Two smidges of life floated above you. The aura was disingenuous. It shifted into curiosity after a while. Someone was watching you.

You didn't spare them a glance, concealing the nen in your palm. It slithered like a snake right under the small blimps of life. Little by little one of your puppets formed. Right before you could command it to strike, the aura receded. 

But it wasn't gone. 

More of it started to gather outside the room. Combining until it made up a full being. They seemed unbothered by the situation. As if on cue, a pair of footsteps echoed throughout the hall. Pitou looked out the door in fear.

“Just stay back. Don't come any closer, alright?” They pleaded with the unknown party.

The footsteps picked back up.

“Pouf please!”

You got up slowly. If this was another royal guard, you'd take care of it. You needed an outlet right now. Before they could speak, you met the new ant's eye. 

A butterfly? 

“I don't think so. Let's go.” You gestured back out the door.

He returned your gaze with a glare. Uninterested composure slipping.

“I've got an ass kicking with your name on it.”

A disgusted expression crossed his face. Aura brimming with hostility.

“Excuse me? And what gives you the impression you can give orders to me?” 

A strand of nen wrapped tightly around his neck. He didn't even sense it. Unbeknownst to Pouf, your abilities were somewhat similar. You could read emotions just as he could. Tell what the enemy was thinking. But yours was more practiced. It had him outclassed in a way he was unaware of.

“I wasn't asking.” You said, heading towards the door.

He spared a look over your shoulder at Pitou. Mischief littering his aura before he trailed after you.

“Very well then.”

The grin soon wiped off his face. You reached out and grabbed the particle he released. Crushing it in your hands before speaking. 

“I don't think you understand the position you're in. I'm not gonna let your bullshitery enter this room. Get out or I'll drag you out.”

Your top priority was making sure Gon waited the full hour. Any threat to that needed to be stopped. The ant scowled at you. A petty hatred radiating off him. Still, he followed obediently behind you.

Knowing they were about to be left alone with Gon, Pitou called out to you. 

“Wait! Please don't leave!” They begged. 

“Shut up. Just let them go.” Gon silenced.

It was the last thing you heard before exiting completely. Your en was fully activated to catch any tricks Pouf might throw at you. He faced you without worry, believing you weren't a threat at all.

If anything, he thought you were a fool. Attempting to do what Pitou successfully had.

“May I ask you something?”

But you saw right through it. This thing didn't have a shred of humanity. An animal in every sense of the word. 

“Go to hell.” You responded.

His scowl deepened. He needed to get rid of you. That boy was a problem. And you were the obstacle getting in the way of dealing with him. He tried to gauge your emotional state. There was nothing but an unshakable resolve. 

“Very well then. Have it your way.”

Subduing you should be more than enough. He could always come back and kill you later. Mind made up, he spread his wings and threw his scales at you in mass. 

Even if you tried to get away, you'd be breathing them in. He had you. But as the dust settled, there was a little ballerina in your place. He felt something slam into his artificial body. Another puppet had attacked him.

You were nowhere to be seen.

What the hell?

“I don't have time for this. I must see the King at once.” He grumbled.

“Over here!” You called out.

A foolish mistake. He would not let you get away again. He spit into smaller segments. A few hundred of them charging at you while the others made a beeline away. His core spared a glance back, smiling triumphantly to see his segments holding down their target.

Only to realize it wasn't you. That same ballerina beamed up at the segments with hollow eyes.

“Strike two!” It cheered.

Pouf let out a frustrated noise before deciding to scamper away. Core flying away as fast as he could.

“Fuck! He's getting away!”

You needed one more. One more hit…. One more aura sample. Your eyes scanned for the real him. Spotting it, you used your speed to grab him from the air. 

He gave out a choked sound. 

“Let me go!” He screamed.

You were falling fast back down. Having scaled the side of the building to catch him. He was at your mercy. You could kill him right now. You should kill him. You could feel a mass form next to you. Looking up just in time to see his fake body lunge towards you. 

Bingo!

It's fist making contact with a metallic surface.

“Strike three! Yippee! Game over.” Shika cheered.

Confused, Pouf flew away. 

You landed on your feet. Shika summoned besides you. You couldn't unsummon her or you'd lose Pouf’s ability. You might be able to risk going after him. But your power was cut in half. Realistically you had no chance if the other guard was with him.

A damn shame.

You made your way back to where Pouf and Gon were, stopping at the call of your name.

 “Y/n. What happened to you? Where's Pouf?” Knuckle questioned. 

He thought he saw the butterfly and go this way.

“I dealt with most of him.” You answered.

“Most?”

“A little piece of him got away.”

“His damn segments,” he mumbled before addressing you again.

“That bastard is still out there.” 

“It's okay. I got what I needed from him. If I see him again, I can go all out.” You assured.

He finally noticed the smaller being by your side. He decided not to bring it up. Instead gesturing towards the door behind you.

“How’s Gon doing?”

You let out a drained sigh.

“I wouldn't go in there. He's not himself. He won't listen to anyone right now. Not even me. One wrong word and it's all over. He'll kill Pitou if he's pushed. It's best to leave him alone.” You explained.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded.

“Positive. Please, tell the others not to disturb him.”

Right as the words left your mouth, someone else called out to you.

“Y/n?” It was Killua.

Behind him was Ikalgo and a new ant. You scanned her with your eyes and froze and the familiarity of it. 

“Palm?”

She smiled at you. 

Without thinking, you went up to her and pulled her into a hug.

“Oh Palm, what did they do to you?” You said softly.

You could feel her embarrassment from the contact. Yet she hugged you back all the same.

“They turned me into an ant. I died. But they brought me back. Am I…Do you think Knov will still love me?” She asked shyly.

You pulled back from her with a small smile.

“He better. I was so worried about you. I'm glad to see you're okay.”

Killua cleared his throat, effectively catching your attention.

“I thought if Gon saw Palm was okay, he'd calm down a little.”

Your expression turned somber, shaking your head no.

“He's too far gone. We can't push him right now. It's better if we leave him alone. I'm the only one fast enough to save Pitou if he changes his mind.”

With no other choice but to wait, you all stood by the doorway. It felt like an eternity before they emerged. You were engulfed in the volatile aura once more. 

Pitou hesitated by the exit, turning around to try and comfort the girl. They stopped immediately hearing Gon’s threat. He'd actually threatened to kill Komugi.

You were helpless to do anything. The others in equal shock at his brutal display. Knuckle offered to keep Pitou at bay if they tried anything. But Gon brushed him off. His mind already made up.

“For some reason…I trust Pitou.” He justified, though it sounded like the complete opposite.

You could feel Pitou plotting something in desperation. Their eyes met yours. Silently begging you with their eyes to come along. The hope in them vanishing completely at Gon’s next choice of words.

“Take care of that girl for us until we save Kite.” He ordered.

“Once Pitou heals Kite, we'll release her. I promise you that.” His tone almost mocking as he addressed the cat ant.

“So guess that means for now, you're just gonna have to trust me too. Right, Pitou?” 

They nodded slowly. Following closely behind Gon as he made his way back to Peijing. The icky feeling you've had all night consumed you. You wanted to go after him, something in your gut told you to go. But just this once, you ignored it.

You convinced yourself things would be okay.

“You should've gone with him,” Knuckle said.

“Why didn't you?”

You didn't know how to answer. You didn't know what kept you rooted on the spot. It could've been the familiarity of such malice that kept you away. It could've been not wanting Pitou to use you as a way to get to him. Or it could've done with those three little words.

‘I hate you.’

“It's fine. Now that I've laid my eyes on Gon, I'd know if something happened to him,” Palm intervened.

The subject was soon dropped. Your group of six deciding what to do next when Palm let out a gasp of surprise.

“What is it?” Knuckle asked.

“It's the king! He's coming this way!”

The air felt like it was sucked from your lungs.

“The king? Netero was supposed to take care of him! What do you mean he's on his way!?!” Your tone frantic.

Shit. 

Everybody was working with less than optimal power.

“What do we do? What can we do?” Ikalgo said hopelessly.

You needed a minute to think. A minute you didn't have as a familiar aura approached. Thousands of little blimps scattering along and heading right towards your group.

“Pouf’s segments are here! We gotta get Komugi out of here now! As for the king, if you can't fight, find a place to hide! It's the only choice we have! I'll stall him as long as I can!” You did your best to control the situation.

“Are you crazy?!? No way in hell are you fighting the King alone!” Killua argued, grabbing your arm to make sure you listened.

“He's right! We're not gonna hide like a bunch of cowards while you're being killed!” Knuckle backed up.

You didn't have time for arguments. Pouf was getting closer. Every second standing around was a second the king was getting closer. Yet the resolve of those around you was strong. 

“Then we'll deal with him when he gets here! For now, we gotta get the girl out of here!”

Right as you said it, dozens of Poufs flew into the area. He set his sights on Komugi and flew towards her. You used your ren to give them some push back. 

“Scatter! The more of these things we destroy, the weaker he'll be!”

Killua reacted first, picking up Komugi and using his God Speed to get out of there. You would have cheered him on of the situation hadn't been so dire. Knuckle and Meleoron took off next. Last was Palm and Ikalgo, who decided to help the women still trapped underground.

You were confused to see Pouf's segments only go after Killua. Flying straight at him with the intent to kill. You rushed in front, much to the ant’s dismay.

“Remember me?”

All of the segments frowned, looking over your shoulder. The ones closest to you smashed to dust.

“I'll catch and destroy every part of you!” You threatened.

His expression became manic. The segments mumbling out curses. You could faintly pick up on the muttering of one.

“First that damn girl distracts the king. Then me and Pitou's project defects to the other side. Now I gotta find some way around this human to kill Komugi!”

Everything clicked for you in that moment. Eyes widening in realization. You were frozen on the spot as a few of Pouf’s segments went last you.

‘Me and Pitou's project.’

‘I was killed...They brought me back.’

Your body shook, standing in horror at the revelation. Unawares Pouf had once again changed his course upon being unable to beat Killua. The small assassin took notice of your shell-shocked state.

“Y/n!?! What's wrong!?!” He called out.

“I've gotta…I need to…” 

You willed your body to move. Head filled with a fuzzy static. If that was the case…

“Damn!” You shouted in frustration. 

You were sure it sounded like you were crazy. Hurriedly getting the words out in an attempt to express how dire the situation really was.

“They're abilities work in tandem with each other! Pitou fixes the external damage and Pouf brings them back! If we want to save Kite, we need Pouf's ability! But I can't just leave you to the king!”

Killua’s blood went cold. Realizing the same thing as you. When Pitou couldn't fix Kite by themselves, Gon would lose it completely.

“Yes you can! Gon needs you right now! You have to tell him before it's too late! We're screwed if he kills Pitou after we've figured it out!” He urged you to leave. 

“I can't leave you!” You doubled down.

You didn't want to lose another kid. But Killua wasn't going to budge. He couldn't knowing what was on the line.

“I won't die on you! I promise you I'll get out of here alive!”

Damn it all.

You took off in the direction Kite was being held. Pushing your legs the fastest they could go. Still it wasn't fast enough. Gliding through the terrain with ease and it still wasn't enough for you. You used as much energy as you could spare to summon your en. Sensing around for Gon and Pitou. 

You thought you found him when there was an explosion of nen. Dark. So incredibly dark and filled with everything negative. Hate, Sadness, Guilt, Resignation.

You pushed yourself that much faster, suffocating the deeper you got to the center of that aura. Time seemed to freeze.

DANGER

DANGER

DANGER

Who was that!?!

The source of the heinous aura made a lunge for Pitou. The attack very much familiar to you. You pushed yourself as hard as you could and tackled Pitou out of the way.

It felt like your back was on fire. The blast of nen missing you by a centimeter. Still its power overwhelmed you. You rolled with the cat ant a few times. Righting yourself up to see this new enemy.

No.

It can't be.

Your expression morphed into one of terror. Hand covering your mouth and willing the vile to go down. Your body heaving and shaking. 

“Gon?”

There were parts of his aura that were similar. His clothes were similar. But everything else made you want to cry. His eyes, the ones you always found a piece of her still in, had darkened to the point of unrecognition. His body was not his own. 

What did he do to himself?

What curse did he place on himself to physically age himself up?

This had to be a nightmare.

He stood looming in front of you. Like a predator zoning in on its prey. You extended your arms out in defense of Pitou. 

“You stopped me. Why did you stop me?”

You didn't even recognize his voice. You were scared of him. Frightened at what he might do.

“You keep defending them. Does their life really mean that much to you? More than I mean to you? After everything we've been through…” He hands clenched at his side. Unimaginable power coursing through his veins.

He was looking at you like you were less than nothing. But you couldn't back down.

“Gon, you have to trust me. You're not the only one who's hurting. You're not the only one who's angry.”

You loved Kite too. 

“And it would be so easy to kill Pitou, to get this over with and say it's justice. But it's not. If you kill them, it's a path you can't come back from. You don't want this blood on your hands!”

He took a step forward.

“Please, you have to listen to me. There's another way to bring him back. Just calm down.”

You thought you'd gotten through to him. But he truly was too far gone to listen to reason.

"You're in the way. Move or I'll kill you both."

You hadn't been this scared since Father. Since your entire clan turned on you. There was no deceit in his aura. He really meant it.

You flicked your hand to the side, commanding the puppet on your shoulder to move.

“GO! GET PITOU OUT OF HERE NOW!”

You used your other puppet to block Gon’s next attack.

Your ballerina marionette’s hand morphing into a blade against Pitou's neck.

“This way now.” It instructed.

Pitou owed you a favor for saving their life. For saving Komugi’s. They let the puppet guide them back into the safehouse.

Gon’s attention was fully on you. His rage was directed towards you. And he made it known.

“Show me rock!”

You barely had enough time to dodge. With both of your puppets summoned, you were at his complete mercy.

You made a dash for the trees, hiding yourself in the foliage. Everytime he punched though one, you'd substitute with Henry last second. You didn't know how to snap him out of this.

“I know what you're going through! I've been there before! Hell, I'm still there! I know you Gon! You're not like me!”

Your energy was draining fast, yet his seemed endless. Attacking you without restraint.

“COME OUT AND FIGHT ME INSTEAD OF RELYING ON CHEAP TRICKS!”

You were crying, pleading for this kid to hear you through his pain. But your pleas continued to fall on deaf ears.

“I know this is hard! I know you've been strong for too long! Everything you've been carrying on your shoulders! But you need to hold off! You have to be willing to let Pitou live!”

He sent a surge of energy through the treetops. You evaded down…Right into his trap. His jan-ken poised and ready to crack open your skull. 

You didn't have any time to substitute.

It was a miracle you slipped. The blow only barley missing your head. You were about to rebound up when a hand wrapped around your neck. You felt yourself hanging in the air.

Your lungs denied of the oxygen they desperately needed. He stared you down with unforgiving eyes. 

You thought of Kari. How you were in the same position she'd been in 13 years prior. Your vision was blanking out. Mind running a thousand thoughts a minute. He was going to kill you. 

He was here to kill you.

Your tears ran down your cheeks and onto his hand. The sensation miraculously catching Gon’s attention.

You were…crying?

He made you cry?

For a moment the fog cleared in his mind. He saw you. He realized what he was doing. His rageful expression at last softening. The grip around your neck went lax. He was about to let you go completely when a heavy body knocked onto his side.

You fell with a thud. A murky purple haze around your eyes. Your body curled into a defensive ball. 

It was your puppet. But it was different. It's entire being surged with power. Manic, ruthless power. Its body growing and expanding to fit. It smiled with jagged teeth. 

“New game: start!”

It lunged forward. Gon tried to dodge it, but it wasn't aiming for a direct hit. It made a faint slash to his side. Bouncing around with an agility that shouldn't be possible with its size to continue slashing around. 

He summoned his nen into his palm once more. Shooting off a successful blast of aura at the jester. It only puffed out its chest to disperse the energy. Rebounding forward once again to continue its onslaught.

He met it with a punch, finally making contact. The jester only tutted at him. He realized his mistake too late. It clung to his arm, flashing a smile full of nothing but deranged madness. Try as he may to pry his arm free, this thing wouldn't let him go.

“We'll start out way up top and slit you right on down the spine!”

It's hand morphing into a saw blade, circling around his arm and sawing through the flesh. He could feel the warmth of his blood leaving his body.

“And then I'll sink my little fingers in to help slough off that rind!”

Articulated hands digging into the cut it made and yanking off the limb from his body. This thing was gonna kill him. And maybe a part of him wanted it to. He'd broken his promise to Kite. He'd hurt you.

But the onslaught only grew more violent.

The puppet punched its own monstrous arm through the gushing stub, preventing Gon from being able to pull back. It took a familiar stance that had his eyes widening.

“Jan-ken-rock!” It mimicked.

It was more concentrated than anything he'd ever been able to produce. Shattering every bone in his body, despite the aura protecting it.

You were a monster in every sense of the word. This was what you'd been holding back. This madness. Pure killer instinct to be the last one standing.

And still it wasn't done with him as he collapsed on the ground.

“You’re going to di-ie~ And then I'll wear your skin as a suit. It's a promise ~” It sang out.

Once again it charged up his ability, but there was less power this time.

“Nighty night little sun~”

It was toying with his body. Torturing him just enough to keep him alive. But he deserved it. He bet his life on saving Kite. It was only right he lost it for failing. At least it was you. If he had to be killed, he'd rather it be you that did it. 

Funny how the one supposed to be protecting him was his undoing. 

—---------------------------

Killua rushed through the forest as fast as he could. He had to warn you and Gon. Pitou could betray you two at any second. He had to get there. 

His ears picked up on a thudding sound. It came again. And again. Growing louder the closer he got. He didn't know what it was. He couldn't have predicted it either.

He got to a clearing. A surge of nen lighting up the area before it was released. He ran straight ahead, freezing in horror at the sight before him. 

On the ground, body broken to the point of being unrecognizable, was Gon.

On top of him was a bigger version of your puppet.

It charged up aura into its fist before slamming down. The cause of the repetitive noise.

And curled up under a tree was you.

“Y/N!” He screamed out your name.

Running towards you and shaking you. Begging you to stop. Feeling like he was in a horrible dream.

“Y/N! STOP! YOU'RE KILLING HIM!” He shrieked.

But at the feeling of something touching you, you broke out into a hysterically sob.

“NO!!!! DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T TOUCH ME!”

The last of your energy going into your cry. Body giving out completely. As soon as you'd gone comatose, the puppet disappeared. All traces of your nen did.

Killua ran over to Gon next, not bothering to hold back his cries. He was alive, but barely. His body was mangled beyond anything he'd ever seen.

What happened here?

What was he supposed to do?

The weight of his next move hung heavily on his shoulders.

Only one. 

He could only save one. 

He was sobbing hysterically at this point. How could you both put him in this position? How could you make him choose between you two? Who mattered more?

“...I'm so sorry Y/n. Please forgive me.” He picked up Gon, casting one last glance back.

He caught sight of a dark handprint across your neck. The indentations of fingers. 

“Please forgive me. I won't be able to go on if you don't.”

Gon needed more help right now. He'd send someone to get you as soon as possible. 

—------------------------

Pitou finished up the last of Kite's stitches, making sure the skin looked normal. When your puppet first led them here, they didn't understand what was wanted of them. Already having told Gon there was no use.

But your puppet was persistent. Gesturing towards the body and hissing out a ‘fix, you must fix.’

It wasn't until it said memory that Pitou understood. Fix the body so Pouf’s ability could take care of the rest. They did their best to get it done quickly. Giving out a sigh of relief when it was over.

“My job is finished here. I need to make my way back to the king.”

They took a few steps towards the exit, unable to process what happened as their vision turned upside down. The floor becoming closer and closer to their line of vision.

“We…are not merciful.” Your puppet said quietly. Little feet entering Pitou's line of sight.

“And you broke your promise…We were never going to let you live.”

It raised its foot up, completely stomping the cat ant’s head in. Putting an end to the creature that had caused so much pain.

It picked up Pitou's mangled skull, leaving it right beside the cocoon. 

“For you.”

Then it disappeared along with the rest of your nen. Never to return again.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Fun Fact: There are no Fun Facts for this one.

Tags: @fandomhoe101 @justxiao @bekataylorgriggs @zellwa @rainbowpr1sm @shun-nie @snake-in-a-flower-crown

MASTERLIST

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An: Oh boy. Oh no. Those are my comfort characters doomed to the narrative. So uhhhh, let's talk about the slap and how the cycle of abuse is a hard one to break. Let's talk about lashing out in fear the same way Y/n was hurt because it's the only way they know how to make it stop. The only way they were taught to enact discipline. Let's talk about Gon feeling so hurt and betrayed because Y/n said they'd never hit either of them. How he never thought they'd raise their hand at him.

Oh boy, let's talk about that fight. Ah yes, my biggest inspirations: Tangled the Series’ Nothing Left to Lose, Steven Universe’s Change, specifically this cover, and Puppet History’s Pieces of You.

Let's talk about how utterly traumatizing it was for Killua to have to pick between the two people he loves the most. Let's talk him watching Y/n about to kill his best friend. Let's talk about him seeing their crushed wind wipe and knowing Gon tried to kill them too. 

Let's talk about the consequences of our actions ladies and gentlemen. Let's theorize the aftermath and how things are about to get worse before they can get better.

[sweetonsin]

- where he found me -

A DBF! Joel Miller x f!reader oc fanfic. NO OUTBREAK AU!

CW: SMUT, PARENT LOSS, ALCOHOL USE, MILD LANGUAGE.

WC: 3.1k

note: two chapters because the last was super short :,) love u!

CHAPTER EIGHT: ALL OF YOU

The silence stretched longer than you expected.

Days passed.

Joel didn’t text. Didn’t call. Didn’t come around.

You told yourself you were grateful for it—that maybe he was finally getting the hint. That maybe distance would make everything easier. Simpler.

But it didn’t feel like relief.

It felt like something dying slowly inside your chest.

You sat in the kitchen with your dad most mornings, picking at toast and sipping bitter coffee you didn’t finish. He still mentioned Joel here and there—casual, like always.

“Think he’s been working a lot. Said Sarah’s got some school stuff going on.”

You’d nod like it didn’t hurt. Like you hadn’t been checking your phone at night just to see if he was thinking of you.

You tried to move forward. Tried to go out again, force yourself into clothes that didn’t feel like armor and paint your face with something close to confidence. There was a guy at the bar who bought you a drink. Asked if you wanted to talk.

You left halfway through his sentence.

The emptiness inside you has teeth now. It gnaws at your ribs, sharp and constant.

That night, lying awake at three a.m., you scrolled through old texts like an idiot. Staring at the thread between you and Joel. The way he used to say your name. The way he used to say goodnight.

You hated yourself for missing it.

You told yourself you were the one who ended it. That you’d made the right choice.

But when you drove by his house—just once, just to see—the right choice didn’t feel right at all.

There was a woman there.

Outside with Sarah, laughing, groceries in her arms, like she belonged. Like she was part of that little world you were never supposed to be part of in the first place.

You parked two streets down and stared at your steering wheel until your throat burned.

He moved on.

You told him to.

You asked him to.

So why did it feel like drowning?

You drank that night. Harder than you meant to. Alone this time.

You put on one of your mom’s old records.

The first verse played and you started crying before the chorus hit.

Not soft tears. Not romantic, tragic movie tears.

You broke open.

All of it came out—the grief you’d swallowed for months, the shame, the guilt, the bone-deep ache of wanting someone who wasn’t yours. Who was never supposed to be yours.

You cried so hard you forgot what started it.

Joel?

Your mom?

Yourself?

When the sobs finally eased, your throat was raw and your eyes felt carved out.

You stared at the ceiling, tears drying into salt.

The house is still.

Quiet in that way that makes your ears ring.

You’re curled on your side, phone buzzing weakly in your palm. Your head’s foggy from the half bottle of wine you didn’t mean to finish. You know you should sleep. You know you shouldn’t do this.

But your fingers move anyway.

You tap his name.

That same thread of messages from weeks ago.

The one you swore you’d never touch again.

You stare at the blinking cursor like it might stop you. Like it might be a sign.

It isn’t.

You start typing.

Is she your girlfriend?

Backspace.

That woman. At your house.

Backspace again.

You inhale shakily, the alcohol buzzing beneath your skin, your stomach tight.

Then—

Is she why you don’t come around anymore?

Send.

Your heart stutters.

No response.

You stare.

And stare.

And then:

I saw her with Sarah. She looked… happy.

Pause.

Then you add:

You did too.

Still no answer.

Your vision is swimming now. You close your eyes. The shame will come later. Right now, all you want is the truth. Or maybe you want him to say something that will make you feel again—anything but this numb, twisted ache in your chest.

So you type again. One last message:

You can fuck me up all you want, Joel. But don’t lie to me. Please.

You’re half-asleep when your phone buzzes again—loud in the silence. Your eyes snap open, heart lurching in your chest.

You fumble for it, your screen too bright, your fingers too clumsy.

Incoming call: Joel

You blink at it.

Stare.

He’s calling you.

Not texting. Not ignoring. Not pretending nothing happened.

Calling.

You hesitate.

Then swipe to answer.

“…Hello?”

Your voice is barely a whisper, thick with vodka and sleep and regret.

There’s a pause on the other end. Just breath.

Then his voice—rough and low. Tight.

“You drunk?”

You blink again, swallowing. “Maybe.”

He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding it in. “Jesus, Delilah.”

You sit up in bed, clutching the phone tighter. “Sorry,” you murmur. “I shouldn’t have texted. Just—forget it.”

“No.” His voice cuts through fast, firmer now. “You don’t get to send me shit like that and then tell me to forget it.”

Your stomach flips. “I just… I saw her. With Sarah. And I thought…”

“What? That I replaced you?” He lets out a dry, bitter sound—half laugh, half something else. “She’s my cousin, Delilah. She came by to drop off groceries. Sarah hadn’t seen her in months.”

Your lips part. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he snaps. “Oh.”

Silence.

Your head spins. Guilt and heat curl low in your chest.

“I thought you were happy,” you whisper.

Joel doesn’t answer for a moment.

Then quietly, like he’s admitting something to himself more than to you:

“I haven’t been happy since you stopped looking at me like I meant something.”

Your breath catches.

“Joel…”

“I shouldn’t be calling you. Your dad’s asleep down the hall. You’re drunk. I know this ain’t smart.” He pauses. “But I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t hurt.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“I know. But I mean it.”

Another beat of silence.

“I know you do,” he murmurs. “That’s the fucked up part.”

You press the phone tighter to your ear, wishing he were here. Wishing everything was simpler. Wishing you weren’t the one who broke everything and still wanted him like this.

“I miss you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t say it back.

But he doesn’t hang up either.

He just breathes. Quiet. Heavy.

And stays on the line.

You don’t speak for a while.

Just lie there with the phone pressed to your cheek, letting his silence hold you like it always does—strong, steady, warm enough to make your throat ache.

When he finally speaks, his voice is different.

Not angry.

Not soft.

Just… tired.

“Delilah,” he says, slow, careful, “you gotta decide what you want.”

The words settle heavy in your chest.

“I can’t keep getting ripped outta your life every time you get scared.”

You close your eyes, shame crawling across your skin. “I know.”

“I mean it,” he goes on, and you can tell this isn’t rehearsed. It’s just pouring out. “I ain’t mad at you, baby. Not for the drunk texts. Not for showin’ up yellin’ on my porch. Hell, I deserved half of it. But this—” he sighs, low and deep, “—this halfway shit’s killin’ me.”

Your breath catches at the pet name. At the truth in his voice.

“I need to know,” he says, quieter now, like he’s afraid of the answer. “If you want me. If you want this. I won’t ask again.”

The vodka in your bloodstream makes everything slow, a little too raw. You swallow hard.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“I know,” he replies. “So am I.”

Your lip trembles. “Joel…”

“I’m not doin’ this over the phone, Lila..,” he says. “Not when you’re drunk and I can’t look you in the eyes.”

You nod like he can see you.

“I wanna see you. Tomorrow.” His voice lowers, softer but no less firm. “Clear-headed. Just us. No sneakin’, no lies. You say the word, I’ll be there.”

You don’t answer right away.

Your stomach’s in knots. Your brain foggy.

But your heart—your stupid, traitorous heart—knows exactly what it wants.

“I’ll text you,” you whisper.

Joel is quiet for a moment. Then—

“I hope you do.”

And he hangs up.

You’re left in the dark, phone still warm in your palm, heart beating so loud it drowns everything else out.

You don’t sleep much after that.

———

The sun is too bright.

It slices across your face like a punishment, and for a moment you’re sure your skull has cracked right down the middle.

You groan, turning your head into the pillow, breath shallow and sour. Every part of you aches. And not from the wine.

Memories flash in fragments—your fingers fumbling over your phone, Joel’s voice in your ear, that low and steady “You gotta decide what you want.”

You sit up slowly, blinking at the daylight like it’s an accusation.

The bottle of alcohol is still on your floor. Half-drained. Your phone, face-down on the nightstand, stares back at you like a silent dare.

You stretch, muscles stiff, then drag yourself to the bathroom and run the coldest water you can manage.

You splash your face. Twice. Three times.

Then you lean over the sink, gripping the sides like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“I have to stop doing this,” you whisper.

To yourself. To the ghost of him. To the ache still blooming in your chest.

You take two Advil with a gulp of tap water, then go back to your room and sit on the edge of your bed, phone in hand. The screen feels heavier than it should.

You open the messages.

You scroll past last night’s drunken confessions and shaky words.

And then, heart pounding in your throat, you type:

I’m sorry. I want to see you.

Send.

Simple. Bare.

But maybe that’s what this needs now.

The text bubbles disappear.

Seconds later, your phone buzzes.

Joel:

You free in an hour?

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering.

Yeah. I’ll come to you.

He replies instantly:

Okay.

That’s it.

 No teasing. No pressure.

Just okay.

You toss the phone on the bed and head to your closet.

You try to make yourself look like you slept. Like you didn’t spend the whole night staring at the ceiling with tears drying on your cheeks. You brush your hair. Apply a little mascara to hide the tired around your eyes. Pull on a sundress—neutral, soft, something that makes you feel almost normal.

You stare at your reflection a moment too long.

Then you grab your phone and head out the door.

You take the long way.

Just a few extra steps down the drive, past the hydrangeas your dad refuses to trim and the cracks in the sidewalk like the ones you used to trip over as a kid back in Georgia. Your sandals make soft noises against the concrete, heartbeat louder in your ears than anything else.

The air is warm already, thick with the promise of another too-hot day in Austin. But there’s a breeze that catches your dress and reminds you—this isn’t the end of the world. Just a porch. Just a man.

Just Joel.

He’s already there when you round the corner—

Sitting in a chair on the porch with a mug in his hand, flannel sleeves rolled to the elbows even in the heat. His hair’s a mess. The kind of mess you know from fingers tugging, not sleep.

He looks up when he hears your footsteps.

Doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

Your stomach flips.

It’s a normal morning. He looks like a man just enjoying the quiet before the day starts. But you know better. That stillness in his shoulders, that tension in his jaw—it’s for you.

“Coffee?” he offers.

You shake your head. “No. I—” Your voice cracks, and you clear your throat. “I’m okay.”

He nods, sets the mug down beside him. Then gestures with his chin. “Come sit.”

You do.

Slowly. Carefully. Like if you move too fast, you’ll unravel.

You sit next to him but not too close. Not yet.

For a few moments, there’s only the sound of cicadas and wind. And the quiet ache between you.

For a few moments, there’s only the sound of cicadas and wind. And the quiet ache between you.

“I didn’t mean to text you last night,” you say softly. “I just… I don’t know what I was trying to prove.”

Joel shakes his head once. “You were hurt. And drunk. I wasn’t mad.”

You glance over at him. “I meant what I said, though.”

“I know,” he says, eyes still fixed on the street ahead. “But I need you to figure it out, Delilah. ‘Cause if you don’t… I can’t keep doing this halfway.”

You nod slowly. “That’s fair.”

Joel’s quiet for a long time. Then, so softly it almost disappears in the breeze:

“I’m not askin’ you to be sure about everything. But be sure about me.”

You swallow hard, breath caught in your throat.

“I’m trying,” you whisper.

Joel turns his head, eyes meeting yours.

And it’s not anger there. Or even hurt.

It’s hope.

Quiet. Barely there. But it’s enough.

He gives the smallest nod, and that’s all either of you needs—for now.

“C’mon,” Joel says, pushing himself up from the porch with a soft grunt. “Let’s go inside.”

You hesitate, but he’s already holding the door open for you.

You cross the threshold slowly, the familiar creak under your sandals making your chest tighten. You’ve been here before—but not like this. 

The air is cool inside. Smells like old wood and coffee grounds and something distinctly him—cedar and warmth, the kind of scent that lingers in bedsheets and shirts long after he’s gone.

He leaves the door cracked, walking toward the kitchen, giving you space. “You want water? Somethin’ to eat?”

“No, I’m okay,” you murmur, eyes already drifting across the room.

It’s quiet. Lived-in. A little messy, but not in a bad way. Shoes kicked off by the back door. A flannel tossed over the arm of the couch. And the mantle—lined with things you never noticed before.

You step closer.

There’s a picture of him and a young girl—Sarah, you assume—smiling wide with two ice cream cones in their hands. Her hair’s pulled back in a braid, Joel’s got a sunburn across his nose. It’s the kind of photo that aches just to look at. Happy. Real.

Next to it, an older photograph—two younger men, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. Joel and another guy. A brother, maybe? The resemblance is strong. There’s laughter frozen in the frame, even if their smiles look tired.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring. Something presses heavy behind your ribs.

You didn’t see this house when he pulled you into his lap in the truck that night. Didn’t notice the photographs on the walls when he had your back arched off his sheets.

This is his life.

He’s lived a whole one.

You feel him before you hear him, the soft thud of boots on the rug behind you. He stops a few feet away, not touching, just watching.

“I didn’t think you’d ever really look,” he says quietly.

You turn a little, eyes flicking to his. “I didn’t let myself.”

Joel nods once, jaw flexing like he’s biting down a dozen things he wants to say. “You weren’t part of all that,” he murmurs. “Not then.”

Your fingers twitch at your side.

“But you’re here now.”

The words hang heavy. Real.

You blink. “Joel…”

He steps forward just enough to close the gap, his voice low, soft like the morning sun bleeding through the blinds. “You don’t gotta say anything yet. I just wanted you to see it. All of it. Not just the parts I show you in the dark.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until his fingers gently brush a tear from your cheek.

You don’t flinch.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself look at him fully.

This man. This house. This life you keep pretending you can walk away from.

It’s all right here.

And it’s waiting.

You sit down on the worn edge of his couch, hands clenched in your lap like you’re bracing for something—though you couldn’t say what. Joel stands near the kitchen, arms crossed, watching you like he’s not sure whether to move closer or give you space to breathe.

The silence stretches.

You break it.

“I’m not… good at this,” you say finally, voice hoarse. “At—” your hands flutter, vague and uncertain “—feeling things. Letting people see the real stuff. Letting myself feel it.”

Joel doesn’t interrupt.

“I thought I’d be okay by now. It’s been almost a year since my Mom…” You pause, throat catching. “And I thought moving here, being with my Dad, starting fresh—whatever the hell that means—was gonna help me get over it. Over her. Over the guilt.”

He still doesn’t move.

“I’m confusing,” you admit, bitter, quiet. “I make bad choices. I hurt people. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, Joel, and when you—when we—started… I didn’t think it was anything. I didn’t let myself think.”

You finally look up.

He’s closer now. Not touching. Just near enough that his warmth feels like a question.

“But then it was something,” you whisper. “You became the only thing that made me feel like I wasn’t falling apart. Like there was solid ground under me again.”

Joel’s brow furrows, but he says nothing.

And so you go on.

“I know I’ve been selfish. I know I’ve sent mixed signals and pushed you away and ran straight into things just to prove I didn’t care.” You shake your head, eyes stinging. “But I do. I do care. I want to stop pretending like I don’t.”

He watches you, gaze unreadable. Something flickering behind his eyes like fire behind glass.

“I want this,” you say finally. “Whatever this is. I want to know you. Not just the parts that come out in the dark, not just the way you touch me. I want to know about Sarah. Your brother. What you were like at my age. What scares you. What makes you laugh. I want all of it, Joel.”

Your voice cracks. “I want you.”

The silence that follows is thick, electric.

He takes one slow step forward. Then another.

Then he crouches in front of you.

“You sure?” he asks quietly.

You nod, eyes glassy. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Joel exhales through his nose like he’s been holding that breath for days.

He doesn’t kiss you.

He just sits there a moment longer, studying your face like it’s the first time he’s been allowed to. Then finally—

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Then let’s take it slow this time.”

[sugarskies]

sunrises

summary: john wakes up early. bob couldn't sleep. word count: 1,266

John was always the first one up.

He’d established his habit of early rising during his time in the military. In many ways, going for a run before the sun came up felt more like a necessity than just a routine.

Most days, he got out of bed, went for a run, showered, made himself breakfast, and enjoyed the sunrise before anyone else even woke up.

So, the alarm bells went off in his head when he got home from his run and found Bob seated in the common area. His hair was tied back but heavily tangled like he’d tossed and turned all night. He rocked back and forth just enough to notice, staring at a tablet on the carpet in front of his crossed legs.

He opened his mouth to ask Bob what he was doing but stopped himself short. John’s curiosity did not matter. Between Bob’s disheveled appearance and intense fidgeting, his mental state was very clear, and that meant John had one job:

Redirect.

“Hey, Bob.” Bob didn’t look up, his gaze fixed on the tablet in front of him as he twisted and pulled at his fingers. John repeated himself louder and Bob snapped his head up. “Come here for a minute.”

Bob jumped to his feet and walked over to John, barefoot and still wearing his sleep pants and one of his oldest sweatshirts. John nodded for Bob to follow him as he tossed his towel around his neck. They only made it halfway to the kitchen before Bob stopped.

“Can I ask you something weird?”

John nodded once. “Go for it.”

“Can I touch you?”

“Touch me where?”

“Anywhere. I just— I want to— I— I can’t tell if—”

His words came out fast but disjointed, like he was feeling something he couldn’t articulate. John reached out, squeezed Bob’s shoulder. Bob lifted his arm just enough to grab John’s elbow and dig his fingers into his skin without regard for John’s post-run sheen. “Better?”

“Yeah,” said Bob, his tone uneven. “Thanks.”

They disconnected and finished the short trek to the kitchen. There, John grabbed two glasses from the cabinet while Bob paced on the opposite side of the island. The signs had been there for a few days. He seemed restless, complained of a headache. It was inevitable that it would escalate.

John filled both glasses with water and set them on the counter, then turned his attention to the fridge. It was his plan to eat yogurt for breakfast, and it would be good for Bob too. It took a few scattered days of Bob accidentally starving himself for the team to figure out what was best to offer him. The simpler, the better.

“Come on, let’s go watch the sunrise.”

John didn’t wait for an answer from Bob; he knew that he would follow. John carried both glasses and yogurts by himself. He’d also learned enough to know that Bob would stress over the simple task of carrying his glass—his hands shook enough that he’d worry about dropping it, but he couldn’t admit that without feeling like he was back in the psychiatric ward, being babied and banned from touching glass at all. John just taking them made it easier for them both.

On the balcony, there were a few lounge chairs and small outdoor tables they’d added since moving in. John sat down in one of them and gestured for Bob to sit in the one beside him. The table between them was the perfect size to hold their breakfast.

“It’s cold out here,” said Bob, and John almost pointed out that Bob runs warm and then realized Bob was not talking about himself. “You’re just wearing a t-shirt. And you’re sweaty. Aren’t you cold? The wind is like—”

“It’s fine,” John told him. “It feels nice after working out.”

The emerging sunlight gave him as much warmth as he needed, inside and out. His love for sunrises developed while he was in the army. It was a love he passed on to Olivia; a love he intended to but may never share with his son.

“Right, I guess that makes sense. I wasn’t thinking about—”

A strong gust of wind blew the balcony door shut and Bob whipped around. John set a hand on Bob’s forearm when his eyes flashed, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stared at the now-shut door. John assumed he hadn’t slept and now, based on the level of anxiety Bob displayed, he was sure of it.

John gently tugged Bob’s attention away from the door, away from whatever he was seeing or hearing. Once Bob faced forward again, he pulled his feet into the chair and set his hands in his lap. He tugged at loose strings on the hem of his ancient sweatshirt.

“Did you sleep at all, Bobby?” asked John, unable to stop himself. Bob nodded. “For how long?”

“I don’t know,” Bob answered, and maybe it was just because his gaze wouldn’t settle in one place, but it sounded like a lie. “An hour, maybe. I’m not tired.”

“What are you feeling?”

Asking Bob what he was feeling rather than how he was feeling was yet another lesson that eventually became habit. For some reason, the slight change in phrasing made a big difference in how he interpreted it.

“My head hurts,” said Bob. He set his left fingers on his temple, finally focusing on what his body needed. “It feels like it’s on fire.”

“Eat some yogurt, drink some water.” John leaned back in his chair, turned his attention to the sun as it climbed the horizon. Showing his concern would only make things worse. “You’ll never have a better breakfast view than this.”

Partially because he was hungry after his run and partially because he knew it would encourage Bob, John popped open his yogurt and started to eat as he watched the sunrise. Bob followed suit shortly after, his own hand trembling as he lifted his spoon.

John didn’t know what the rest of the day would bring. From what he could tell, Bob was still somewhat on the edge of mania. It was not only possible but likely that before the sun set, his delusions would get the better of him and he’d end up insulting John for the very same actions that brought him comfort in that moment.

“The sunrise is really nice this time of year, isn’t it?” John mused.

Bob nodded, the wind in his tangled hair, his spoon still in his hand, a tiny yogurt mustache on his top lip. John made himself memorize Bob in that moment.

He would get worse before he got better. That was how it worked. But John wouldn’t hold that against him. He would remember the Bob who sat with him and watched the sunrise, who complained about the berries in his yogurt, who rambled on about whatever rabbit hole had fascinated him on his tablet.

He would make sure that Bob had a safe home to wake up in when the euphoria passed and he felt unworthy of the team’s kindness.

“Do you do this every morning?” asked Bob.

“Weather permitting,” said John. “I like to watch the sunrise. It’s one of the few guarantees in the world. It always rises and it always sets.”

The logic must have struck something in Bob. The next several mornings, he was already outside when John got back. It was bittersweet when he regained his ability to sleep, leaving John with his usual company of a glass of water and a spoon.