I Fear I Have Stuff I Cannot Say Due To Digital Footprint

no

window pains | jason todd

Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.

A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."

It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column. 

You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound. 

That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask. 

Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh. 

But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt. 

Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it. 

"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"

"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"

You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham. 

"How'd they get you?" you ask. 

It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.

You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?

The last one, you always know the answer to. 

"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?" 

He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference. 

Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly. 

"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes. 

"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"

"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."

That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded. 

You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away. 

"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."

"You can put them on yourself." 

His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood. 

Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink. 

"Can I crash here?" 

"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.

You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him. 

"What're you doing?" you ask. 

"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."

"I didn't say that, I said—"

"I can read between the lines." 

"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say. 

"What situation?"

You turn your head. "Nothing."

Jason steps towards the window. You block him again. 

"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."

"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."

Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"

You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."

"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."

"Lie the fuck down, Todd."

His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."

Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common. 

Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love. 

Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain. 

"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say. 

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."

He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel. 

"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?" 

You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach. 

"Do you want a blanket?" you ask. 

He squints. "It's August."

"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold." 

"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead." 

You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light. 

"You're tired of me," he says. 

Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."  

"You are."

"I'm not tired of you, Jay."

You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't. 

You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit. 

You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.

You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm not tired of you," you say softly. 

"I'd be tired of me." 

"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"

Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.  

"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."

"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say. 

He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck. 

"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask. 

"I don't need 'em."

"You do. You need another on your forehead."

"It'll heal fine without it."

Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise. 

"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."

He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst. 

Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."

"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."

He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you. 

"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."

Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow. 

"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."

His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.

You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.

His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city. 

"I wanna try to use the door," he says. 

You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming. 

"Then I'll leave it unlocked." 

Tropical Storms and Soup - Jason Todd x Reader

Requested by Anon - Can we get a Jason Todd x reder where htey had a booty call relationship with each otehr? And the reader is focred to call Jason when they need a ride hmoe during a sotrm or something?? Please???

***

Keep reading

Petrichor [13]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb)

Words: 19,197

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, hurt/comfort (i know!!), manipulation (canon), gaslighting, jason being drugged against his will (canon), description of scars (jason has autopsy scars because i said so), mentions of the roof scene, mentions of gore?, mentions of death, mentions of withdrawal, self-deprecating thoughts (jason tried to walk off of a roof and titans never mentioned that again so we're going back to that mindset for him for just a second, there's no attempt or anything, just his thoughts), violence, blood, mentions of abuse, mentions of drug addiction (canon), drug use (canon)

Summary: ❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work. Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞

Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now.

A/N: I was writing the warnings and wow lmao poor Jason. I can't wait to write him a happy ending lol You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary  and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

Maybe going back to the manor would be in your best interest. You could go there and lock yourself in your room, throw your technology against a wall and call it all good enough. No temptation to turn back around, no temptation to pick up the phones and hit redial, and demand it’s a mistake and you take it all back. It would be easier to go to the manor and tell Gar what happened because maybe Gar would tell you it was the wrong decision and none of you can give up on Jason. But, none of this has been easy so you don’t go to the manor. Instead, you go back to the Excellent Gotham, going up to the roof through the back where the crime unit doesn’t see you.

You ditch your phone and your necklace on the roof, figuring all of it will be safe for an hour. You hide everything under the radiator unit before you head back down and back to your bike. Then you drive to the one person who will not be so understanding of this entire mess but deserves an answer. And deserves to know what’s going on, just in case.

“Hey.” Molly greets, standing in her doorway.

Her hand rests on the doorframe, blocking you from inside while she wears a sowl. You look to your feet and then back to Molly, knowing this is going to be difficult. You're thinking your own guilt might fall into the air and suffocate you like carbon monoxide poisoning. Maybe that’d be less painful.

“I need to talk to you.” You state softly, tugging your sleeves over your blood-stained hands.

Molly scoffs, shaking her head as she keeps her hand on the door. It’s unbelievable. She knows Jason dying was horrible. It’s worse that you had to be the one to find him mangled and bloody. But, Molly cleaned his blood out of your suit and off of your hands. She cleaned his blood off of the bathroom floor that night all by herself. It was Molly that got you into bed with tear-stained cheeks and the smell of iron radiating off of you. It was Molly that had to take care of you instead of grieving for her friend. Molly didn’t see what you did but she didn’t have to because the blood across the entire bathroom and your traumatized demeanor told her everything and it was fucking traumatizing for her, too. Molly still tried to be there for you and you do what you always do. You run away from everything that hurts. That left Molly alone to deal with the loss of one of her best friends. Alone.

“You’ve been ignoring me for a week and now you want to talk?” Molly spits back. “I lost—“

“It’s about Jason.” You cut her off because you know you've been a shitty friend. You know. Molly hesitates, her eyes narrowing as she shakes her head. “You can yell at me all you want and you can slam the door in my face but I bet you didn’t replace your locks so I can just break in anyway.”

“Seriously?” Molly asks, unamused.

You shrug softly, sucking in a deep breath. “It’s important. I know, alright?” You gesture your arms out. “Just…let me fucking--”

“Is that blood?” Molly asks, seeing your hands.

You look down, blood staining your hands yet again. Your hands are shaking and you didn’t even realize it. When did they start shaking? Have they been shaking the whole time? When did the blood dry anyway? It feels chalky on your hands and it makes you grimace, shaking your head quickly.

“Uh…yeah.” You nod and you see Molly’s face soften. You swear you don’t deserve sympathy. “It’s not mine. It is why I’m here though.” You say softly. “Not Jason's either, to clarify.”

Molly raises a brow at the last remark, knowing it can’t be Jason’s on account of him being dead. But, she’s watching you shift your weight on your heels and your hands shake at your sides. Molly might be mad but she is also intrigued with what this could have to do with Jason and at the end of the day, she is worried about you. She knows your body count is up to four but she knows you would say it’s five. And that’s always concerning. So, she lets out a sigh and moves her hand, stepping aside so you can enter the apartment.

“I’m mad at you. But, fine. Say whatever it is.” Molly crosses her arms over her chest as the two of you stand in her kitchen.

“I’m sorry, okay? You were looking out for me and I just….couldn’t deal with it. I’m sorry for yelling and being mean. I know, I know you lost him, too. And I’m sorry.” You swallow thickly. “I just…” You shrug in defeat. If you're going to get Molly to listen to you, you need to tell her why you did it. “I think I thought I didn’t deserve your help, okay? Maybe that’s what it was. Like…” You pause, looking up to the ceiling. “Uh, ya know? I, uh, I couldn’t look out for Jason when he really needed it so I didn’t fucking deserve it. I don’t know. But I’m fucking sorry because you didn’t deserve that.”

“I know.” Molly nods, softly as her brows furrow. As mad and as hurt as she is, she never wants you to feel like you don’t deserve help. No one should feel that way and it wasn’t even your fault. “Why would you think you don’t deserve help?”

You grit your teeth. “Oh, well, that’s part of what I get to tell you.” You roll your eyes. “He just…” You chew the inside of your cheek. “He has saved my life more than once and…I couldn’t fucking save him. And I should have seen it and I didn’t. I should have been there for him and I wasn’t…not in the way he clearly needed. He did….so much for me without ever knowing it, I think and I just…couldn’t repay him. So…I took it out on you and Gar and Dick and everyone. And I’m just really fucking sorry.” Your voice cracks.

There’s a fear creeping into the back of your head and for a reason you don’t quite understand, you think about the anti-fear drug. It would be easier to have this conversation if you had it. But you don’t. You have to suck it up and it sucks. It’s making you think you were too hard on Jason for making and taking the drug in the first place. You snapped and went after him and maybe you were too hard on him because he was suffering and he wanted a way out without taking a way out. He just wanted help and to be Robin. It’s all he ever wanted, to be fearless so he can do the one thing everyone thought he was best at. You think about the drug because all you want right now is to stop running from everything that hurts and that scares you so you can stop hurting other people. The people that care about you. Maybe you were too hard on Jason for it.

“And I’m sorry for ignoring you. I did what I always do. I know. And I’m sorry. And some shit fucking happened and it just…got so fucking messy and I’d have to lie to you and I couldn’t do that. But…” Your rambling pauses. “I have to tell you because it’s not fucking fair to you and uh…I’m just…scared and tired of keeping secrets. But you can’t tell anyone.”

Molly lets out a breath as she watches you tug your sleeves down over the ligature scars. They’re fading, slowly. But they are fading and it doesn’t excuse you for being a shitty friend but…this can’t be easy. Molly puts herself in your shoes. You're uprooted from the only thing you've ever known and then tortured and given powers. Molly knows you always hated the idea of having powers. It was always good for other people but no thanks for you. Now you're stuck with them and not even by accident or by your own doing but by your abuser. You're then thrown into being a vigilante. Something you never quite understood why someone would do. Why risk your life for other people who don’t give a fuck about you? And then Jason. It’s not right but… things haven’t been easy.

“Okay.” Molly nods softly. “But, you need to get help for your own shit, okay? It’s not fair to me, you’re right.”

You nod quickly. “Trust me, already thought about that.” You scoff. You should have followed in Jason’s shoes. You should have taken Bruce’s advice and just talked to Leslie.

“Okay so…what’s going on?” Molly asks as she uncrosses her arms, resting one hand on her hip.

“Jason’s alive.” You spit the words out so fast Molly nearly misses them.

“That’s not funny.” Molly shakes her head but her voice lacks any and all venom.

“Yeah.” You scoff. “That’s what I said but he is. Long story, not mine to tell. But he’s alive. He’s Red Hood.” You explain, keeping it short.

Molly nods her head once, realizing that’s why Red Hood dropped Deigo off. That’s how he even knew about the missing kids. It’s because Red Hood is Jason. That explains a lot while also explaining almost nothing.

You nod softly. “Yeah, he killed Pete Hawkins.” Sam states as if you could see Molly putting pieces together.

“And you knew?” Molly asks as you watch her eyes start to glass over.

“He asked me not to fucking tell anyone and I told him he had to tell you and Gar because you’d both hate me if you guys knew I knew and didn’t say anything.” You shake your head and while that’s true, that does not stop the guilt from turning your stomach. “But shit is hitting the fan and…I don't know when he plans to tell you and I’m tired of keeping his secrets.”

Molly’s brows furrow as she’s taken aback by everything. Jason is alive and comes back as a crime lord. That’s already weird but now you're standing here saying you're tired of keeping his secrets. You're nothing if not loyal to the people you love and Jason is very high up on that list of people.

“Okay, hold on.” Molly closes her eyes for a second as she tries to process everything. “So, he’s alive but he doesn’t want anyone to know? Instead, he decides to become Red Hood? And now you’re suddenly not on his side? What the hell is going on?”

You gesture your hands, waving them slightly with the roll of your eyes. “Mr. Drake was shot today, hit on Excellent Gotham.”

“Is he okay?” Molly rushes. “Why…wait. Jason…didn’t?”

“Uh….I don’t know. Tim’s gonna text me but uh, yeah it was Jason.” You suck in a breath and you decide you're just going to tell the story as quickly and as plainly as possible. It’s going a bit numb anyway. “Some sort of threat to Tim because Jason is working with Scarecrow to make an anti-fear drug. Jason left the formula and it was coded. I figured it out, Jason figured out that I had to go to Tim. I only even went to Tim thinking Jason wouldn’t think I would do that. But, of course he did because he knew I’d never be able to look you in the eye and not tell you he’s alive. So, yeah.”

Molly blinks a few times as the room falls silent. When you said it was about Jason, you really could have prepared her a little more for this. What the hell is going on and how is Molly supposed to just take all of this in? There’s a small part of her that wonders if this is just a fever dream.

“Can…can I wash my hands while you digest that?” You ask after a few seconds of silence.

“Yeah…” Molly points to the kitchen sink while you walk over. “Why the hell are you so calm?”

“Probably shock.” You mutter. “Oh, and let me give you a rundown of everything that’s happened, literally this week. Jason’s alive so Dick and me dug up his grave. Fun. All of the Titans got mad at me and basically turned on me for knowing he’s alive. Ya know whatever. Then I remade the drug, got high, me and Jason then fought each other cause I went to confront him. While I was there, he was putting a bomb in Hank’s chest. I failed, blah blah blah, we all failed. Hank blew up. Me and Dick kidnapped Crane, then fought Jason again. They almost shot me so I fought both of them, then Babs got Dick shot. Then Excellent Gotham got shot up while I was inside and I killed 3 more people because Jason gave them the drug.” You say casually, the water almost overcoming your voice.

“There’s so much to unpack there.” Molly mutters softly and decides maybe she should sit down. She needs to figure out which part of that she wants to dive into first.

“Oh, yeah, it’s been a very eventful week. At this point, I think this is just my life. You know that little stuff I’ve been telling you about what happened?” You ask.

You told Molly bits and pieces of what happened to you, specifically over the last couple of years. But, you've also been very careful to avoid anything that could ever out any of anyone's vigilante alter egos. You've been very careful not to give anything too detailed away about what happened to Jason in San Francisco. You always kept a lot of the details to yourself, partially to keep secrets about everyone but also to spare Molly horrifying details. But, in order for Molly to understand everything that's led Jason here, she has to know the whole story. In every detail.

“Neglecting every important detail that would make your stories make sense, yes.” Molly quips.

“Right, well, you know Deathstroke?” You question and Molly nods slowly, already hating where this is going. “Well, when we got hurt together, yeah, it’s because Deathstroke and Dr. Light kidnapped us and then tortured us. Some vendetta against Dick. And uh, you know Jason’s limp he has sometimes? Yeah, Deathstroke dug the tracker out of his leg. Dropped us from a skyscraper, Conner saved Jason when he fell. Dick pulled me in. So, ya know, oh, the powers! Jerry, abusive fuck, yeah that’s all him.” You say with the nod of your head.

“You were both kidnapped by Deathstroke?” Molly asks, earning another nod. "And Jerry gave you powers?"

"Well, experimented on to give me powers to give himself powers, yes." You nod your head, chewing the inside of your cheek. "Not really relevant right now, but I figured I'd throw that in there."

You suck in a deep breath before you explain the story of Deathstroke to Molly. And the events that followed, this time in excruciating detail. Everything between being hit and Jason being choked. The two of you trying to defend the other only for it to be useless. You explain everything that happened outside of the skyscraper and then your talk in the bathroom that, up until this moment, has been just between you and Jason. Then you tell her about Jason walking out to the roof. You tell Molly every detail.

“That explains a lot.” Molly nods. “I knew he was different. I knew something bad happened over there but…” Molly's heart aches and she really wishes Jason could have told her or talked to her about it. She isn't sure she could have helped, but she would have tried.

“Yeah…” You nod your head.

“Why are you telling me now?” Molly shakes her head in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know. I just…you asked why I’m so calm and I just think it’s my life now. And I think you should know. I think you need to know the whole story in order to understand any of it. It’s bigger than Bruce taking Robin away from him. You have to know the story and you’re the only one that doesn’t.” You shrug softly.

“Right, okay, yeah. That makes sense.” Molly nods her head before she decides to switch back to something else you said. Molly takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Wait, hold you, you made a fucking drug and then took it?!”

You glance at her as you shrug and then look back to the water. Everyone is so upset about that part of the story. “Yes. I’m fine. It was fine. Ya know, it wasn’t like…I didn’t die.”

“You’re an idiot.” Molly groans as she holds the bridge of her nose while you dry your hands.

“I’ve been told.” You nod your head as you lean against the counter, keeping the paper towels in your hands.

“I have so many questions.” Molly rests her elbow on the table. “Why is Jason working with Scarecrow? I mean, are you sure?” Molly isn’t sure why she asked. You and Dick literally kidnapped him, so you have to be sure but she just finds it so hard to believe.

“Oh, we are positive.” You let out a sigh. “Robin can’t be scared.” You grit your teeth, the anger bubbling back in your stomach like mixing pop rocks and pop. “It’s…Bruce made Jason feel like he was only ever good enough as Robin. And he made him and Dick sign a fucking contract about not being scared or something. I don’t even know. So, Jason gets fucking PTSD from Deathstroke because Dick got Deathstroke’s son fucking killed and Bruce sends him to therapy and then for some fucking reason, decides to just….take it away. Robin can’t be scared so Jason got immediate help, I fucking guess.” You sneer and you're still so mad at Bruce.

So much of this is on him and he just left. He left Gotham in the hands of the Titans as if they weren’t busy with their own shit. He leaves and Jason’s back but he wouldn’t know because he’s unreachable. His own son is back from the damn dead and he doesn’t even know. His other son is being hunted down and again, he doesn’t even know. Dick lost Jason, too but it was all about Bruice even though Bruce is the one who could have prevented this. He could have made Jason see he didn’t need to be Robin. He could have killed the Joker sooner. He could have just let him be Robin. There were options and Bruce always chose the worst one. You all let Jason down, but at least you and the other Titans are here unlike Bruce.

“Why…I mean…” Molly sucks in a breath, trying desperately to understand Jason. “So, he makes an anti-fear drug and I’m assuming it’s the opposite of the fear gas?” Molly asks while you nod. “So, he’s just…not scared.” Molly rolls her eyes. “He doesn’t feel anything else, does he? I mean…it’s why we can’t live without our adrenaline glands.”

You nod, walking over to the trash can to toss out the paper towels. “Yeah, it’s a little more complicated than that but yeah. It, uh, it’s like it gets rid of hesitance, ya know? And then you just….do whatever seems fun and it thrives off of anger. It doesn’t matter what you do either as long as you’re fighting. That’s how we fought. Neither of us really…tried. But, we did anyway and that’s why. So, uh, yeah. But, um….I think Crane is withholding it. It looked like he was going through withdrawal tonight.” You explain as you chew the inside of your cheek.

“He was actually there while Excellent Gotham was hit?” Hurt consumes Molly's voice as her brows raise.

“Yeah, outside. He didn’t know I was there. He didn’t see me, I guess but that doesn’t matter.”

Molly watches you carefully and as much as Molly wants to believe you're here out of the kindness of your heart to let her know about Jason, she also knows that is not the case. Everything is hitting the fan. You're friends with Tim and you both could have died. Jason is targeting the Titans. Gar is Jason’s friend, too. Jason knows you're always at Excellent Gotham. If he’s willing to target them, who else is he willing to target? You would not be standing here confessing everything if you weren’t scared and if something else didn’t happen.

Molly scolds your name as you walk over, taking a seat across from her. “Why are you really here? You didn’t come because I deserved to know. I know you.”

You shift in your seat. “If he shows up here, calls you, texts you, I need you to call me, Dick, and Gar, okay? Don’t let him in. I don’t think he’ll come after you because you’re his friend, too but…I also never imagined he’d ever target the Drakes.”

“He’ll know you came here.” Molly gestures a hand toward you, eyes darting to where the necklace normally sits.

“Ditched my phone and necklace.” You state. “I’m going back for everything when I’m done here and I don’t actually think that’s how he knew about Tim. I don’t think he’s tracking me or anything but yeah, I wasn’t taking that risk.”

“So, I just…call you guys?”

You nod. “Yeah, keep him here or on the phone until we show up. I’ll text you their numbers when I grab my phone. I just…want you to know. And uh, don’t…don’t go out of your way to contact him, please, okay? I really, really, want you left out of it. Crane is fucking insane. And I know he’s gotten into Jason’s head so Jason’s been trying to kill Dick. I think if Bruce were here he’d be going after him, too. I don’t know if the hit on Excellent Gotham was all Jason or Crane. I don’t know. The more people involved, the more people Crane can weaponize Jason against.”

Molly takes everything in and she’s starting to grow worried for Jason. If Jason is targeting the Titans, of all people, where is that going to leave him? Even if all of this is Crane and the drug, what’s going to happen to him? You're sitting here confessing everything to her which means, to some degree, you've lost hope in him. And that’s not something Molly ever imagined happening. Is there only one way for this to end?

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Molly asks quietly.

You shrug. “I don’t know.” Your eyes start to water. “I hope he uh, stops taking the drug entirely and uh…then he comes home but I don’t know.” You sniffle softly, biting down your own tears.

If Jason doesn’t stop taking the drug and he keeps working with Crane, that only leaves two options. Lock him up in Arkham or kill him. Not that anyone wants to do the second option, it’s just that Jason will force it. He won’t go out quietly or easily. It’ll be a fight to the death and you know that and you hate the idea of it. You think about everything you could possibly do to take the drug away. The only other thing is to try and kidnap him but, given your history, that just seems fucked up. You don’t want him kidnapped or in Arkham or dead. All you can do is hope he snaps out of it.

Molly nods softly before tilting her head to the right slightly. You're looking down at the table, tugging your sleeves over your hands. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head softly before looking up at Molly. “I, uh, I ended things tonight.” You state as you watch Molly’s frown grow deeper. “And, I don’t mean it, I think we can get him back but, uh…I told him I gave up on him and I…regret it.”

“I’m so sorry.” Molly says and she knows it’s bad for you to even say it. You're usually careful with your words when you're angry. “Have you tried everything else? To get him back?”

“Everything. I’ve tried talking to him and fighting him and yelling and we tried to trap him. I tried defending him and…yeah.” You nod, the lump growing in your throat once more. “But…I promised him I’d never be like everyone else and I stood there and I did it anyway. I don’t fucking mean it but I just…he could have gotten me and Tim killed. His dad might die. It’s not really Jason but it’s just…I just regret it. He’d never do that to me.” There’s a crack in your voice as your eyes start to burn and turn a haunting shade of red.

“We’re not kids anymore.” Molly says sternly. “You can’t keep every promise you make. Jason has always been bull-headed. I’ve known him for years. If Jason is good at something, it’s pushing people away.”

“Yeah, I know. His self-preservation is just self-destruction in disguise. But...”

“No, fuck that. You just said he blew up Hank. He’s trying to kill Dick and he could have killed you more than once. He died and instead of coming back home to you or even crashing here for some reason, he became Red Hood. And that’s fucked up. I love Jason but what he’s doing is wrong and maybe he needs to hit rock bottom alone for it to make sense to him. You defend him against everyone and everything no matter what he does. Did you ever stop to think that the Deathstroke situation was his fault? You and Gar went along with the plan but Jason wanted to prove himself so you agreed. It was his fault. Sure, Dick had a hand in it and so did Rose and the other Titans. But it was Jason who didn’t listen. It was Jason who thought he was better than a group of Titans. It was Jason that got you both dropped from a skyscraper. But, you come back and you take the blame for some reason. Why? Because you didn’t tell him no? So? I met Gar and I don’t think Gar would have told him no with or without you. So, if it’s your fault, it’s Gar’s fault but you won’t say it’s Gar’s fault. It’s Jason’s.”

Molly isn’t going to let you beat yourself up over this again. You telling Jason you're done and you're giving up, that’s a huge thing. And Molly knows it. Molly would love to believe there is another way. Jason doesn’t handle abandonment well but if you're doing it, there is no other option. Jason needs to understand, in some way, that he can’t just take a drug and make everything okay again. That’s not how it works and it hurts people. He’s hurting himself and he’s hurting everyone else who cares about him. Maybe Jason needs to feel alone to get it.

“Okay, yeah, maybe. But, I just…what if this is worse, Molly? What then?” You sniffle. “What if…ya know? I don’t want it to get him killed again.”

“He’s going to get himself killed again regardless and you’re going to blame yourself for it no matter what you do.” Molly says harshly. “You’ve tried everything else, try this. If it doesn’t work, then you tried.”

“That’s not good enough!” You stand up, slamming your hands on the table. “Just trying isn’t fucking good enough! It has to fucking work!” There's a squeak to your voice as if your vocal cords are finally giving out.

“No!” Molly yells back. “Sometimes, things just aren’t enough, no matter how hard we try. That’s just how it is.” Molly shakes her head. 

"Yeah, but it should still be enough. It just has to be. It has to be...worth it." Your voice grows desperate.

"It's always worth it. It's always worth it to try.  Do you think Jason regrets trying with Catherine? Do you blame Jason for Catherine dying?"

"What? No, of course not." You scoff.

"Exactly. Because he tried. He didn't let her overdose. He could have. He could have let her starve, too but he didn't. He loves his mom and she tried, too. But, you know how addiction is. Jason's trying wasn't enough to save her and she died. Catherine trying to be a parent wasn't enough and it lead Jason to the streets and shitty foster homes. But, that doesn't mean their effort wasn't worth it. Bruce tried, as much as you hate him, he tried and it got Jason killed and Dick a mess. I tried and you still took off." Molly shakes her head. "Dick has tried with all of you and you're killing people and losing your mind, Jason is a drug addict working for Scarecrow, Gar is trying to pick everyone off the floor, Hank blew up, Jericho got killed, Dawn is gone. That doesn't mean his effort was wasted or useless."

You let out a breath and maybe Molly makes a point. There is a point in trying. It might work but you would never know unless you try. Putting in the effort is worth it but it's really hard to swallow when you feel so guilty about it. And what if it's not enough this time? Where is that supposed to leave you and Jason? All you want is him to be home and happy and healthy and safe.

“What do we do when it’s not enough? How do people even come back from that though?”

"Then we try something else." Molly answers simply. "And we keep trying. You giving up might be enough because if you give up, I’ll side with you and he knows that. So, will Gar. So, will the Titans. He’ll be alone. You’re the last living person that would ever give up on him and you’re his last chance at climbing out of the hole he dug himself. Maybe it is enough but you’re never going to know if you pick up your phone and call him.”

You nod your head quickly. “I know. It’s just...I wish I would have just been enough to keep him...out of this. Like...that my validation was enough and love for him was. Or yours and Gar's. I just hope you're right and trying this way is enough. I don't--”

“No.” Molly protests. “And you are enough. Don’t let his bullshit make you ever think that you’re not. You are. And he fucking tried with you, too. I have never seen him try in a way that he did with you. So, it was always enough for him. But, sometimes, being enough isn’t the problem. It’s bigger than you and me and Gar. You’re enough. And he tried. And you tried. And I’m betting he’s still trying in his own Jason way because if not, you’d be dead. And we both know it. So, he’s still trying so you try this way. You tell him you give up and then you figure something else out. You have never known how to quit anything in your entire life. I mean, you would just ghost people because you can’t quit a damn relationship.”

“Okay, that went from inspiring to mean. Thanks.” You quip. "I didn't ghost people." You mutter through a huff.

Molly narrows her eyes, offering you an accusatory look. "Yeah, you did." Molly argues. "But, you didn't ghost him, you actually ended things tonight because you’re still trying.” Molly pleads with you. “That is you trying and that is what’s important. And you don’t mean it. So, what are you gonna do?”

“Wait, I guess.” You shrug. “Try to figure out what else they could have planned. Work on the inside.” You suck in a breath, Molly waiting for another idea. "Bruce has a cure for the fear gas on the Batcomputer, maybe we can work on a cure for this one. Or just destroy the batch Crane is making while also finding a way to just take him out. Take him out with the drug and Jason has no choice then." You ramble, just tossing out the first things that come to your head.

“Exactly. He thinks you’re giving up but you’re not. You’re trying to find another way to save him. Don’t beat yourself up for it. But, then if he calls me, I’m going to talk to him not because you told me to but because I don’t want him mixed up in this shit either.” Molly sucks in a breath. “The one thing that has always worked with Jason is just having someone who listens.”

“I know. Shit sucks.” You let out a deep sigh. "Hope it works."

“We’ll get him back. You’re not alone in this either.” Molly offers a soft smile. “Then, you two can sort your shit out and give each other a fair shot at this. It’ll all work out.”

“That’s really optimistic.”

“I believe in you and I believe in Jason.”

You offer a soft smile. “Thanks.” You sniffle softly. “You should talk to Gar, you two got this whole optimism thing going. Could be like motivational speakers or some shit.”

“You’re hilarious.” Sarcasm fills Molly's voice this time.

“I’m an idiot and hilarious. Mulit-facidet.”

“Right.” Molly rolls her eyes. “How was he though? I mean…after you told him?”

“He gave me this look once, uh, the day we got together and uh….he asked me what was so bad about him.” You shake your head. “I mean, I wanted to burst into tears with the look he gave me and the way he said it. It just….fuck Bruce, man.” You scoff. “And fuck me I guess because he gave me that same damn look tonight. You can be as optimistic as you want, but I don’t he’s going to forgive me for it.”

“I told him once that it was you.” Molly states. “You were it for him and he was it for you. It was just the two of you but you’re both stupid and stubborn. You guys were together the next day.” Molly’s eyes widen. “I still think that’s true.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the only one he told he was alive. He could have told me when he brought Diego back but he didn’t. He told you. He could have dragged you into the Crane stuff but he didn’t. I don’t think for a second, he did it to be an asshole or to push you away and I don’t think you believe he did that either. And that day, outside the house, he knew exactly what to do. Your hands were glowing and he didn’t even hesitate like he knew you’d never hurt him. Because Jason is forgiving. Stubborn and self-destructive, but forgiving.”

You remember your first night in Gotham and how casual he was but he seemed so happy and excited. You don't think you ever saw him smile so much before. And you think about how you almost kissed him that night because he was being Jason, annoying and yet somehow charming. You think he wanted to kiss you, too. You remember how you both were happy then. You both were happy before and you think about the day you blurted out that you loved him. It was the start and end of everything. You remember how he kissed you with everything in him that day as if he couldn't fathom being loved for just being Jason Todd. And you remember how happy he was. Happy and loved and safe. You wonder if there's a pit somewhere that can send you both back to those moments.

“Yeah, I hope you’re right.” You offer a sad smile. “Really miss him.”

“We’ll get him back.” Molly smiles softly.

“Thanks." You clear your throat. "Uh, I gotta head out but thank you. I’m still gonna keep my distance a bit just in case but if something happens, call me and same thing if anything with Jason happens.”

“Of course.” Molly offers a reassuring nod.

“I’m still sorry.” You scrunch your nose.

“I know.” Molly scoffs. “I forgive you. Just work on your shit after this is over.”

“You got it.” You roll your eyes before you head out.

You head back to Excellent Gotham to grab your things before you head back to the manor. Once back at the manor, you find Gar and the two of you sit down to discuss the night. You explain everything to him, what happened at Excellent Gotham, Mr. Drake, Tim, Molly, and Jason. You explain it all just trying to keep him informed and then you say you don’t want to be involved in the whole thing anymore. Maybe it’s safer for everyone if you aren’t involved. Dick is already painting a big enough target on everyone, you don’t want to contribute to that. So, the two of you talk back and forth well into the night, Gar just trying his best to be there for you but he tells you almost the same thing that Molly said. Besides agreeing with giving up. He knows you didn’t tell him that to give up literally, but he is worried it’ll send Jason further over the edge. He doesn’t say that but he doesn’t tell you it’s all going to be okay either. So, you both just sit and talk until you fall asleep.

The following day, everyone is gathered in the Batcave around the Batcomputer. Dick is explaining that Jason and Crane are putting the drug on the streets and last night was a just a trial. You broke the news to Dick when you woke up and right about now, you're regretting it, Dick says none of you can look at Red Hood as Jason anymore. Not when they're distributing the drug to innocent people on the streets.

"Is that really fair?" You ask as you cross your arms over your chest.

"Yes." Dick answers sternly. "You know what he's done and what he's doing. You took the drug. Do you want other people—"

"That's not what I'm saying." You sigh. "Look, it didn't turn me into a killer. Or some shit. And I'm not like.....normal. So, Jason has to be in there, off the drug. Like all of these people."

"But we can't view him like that. It'll cloud our judgment. Right now, he is Red Hood and him and Crane need to be stopped. If you don't want to be involved, I understand."

"I thought you were done anyway?" Gar asks, still a little bitter about the conversation from the night before.

He tries to be there for you but he really doesn't agree with you giving up and not wanting to help. They need you because you're the only one that has ever been able to get through to Jason. And without you, who's going to convince Dick not to kill him? Or Kory? They're both tired of this and Gar doesn't stand a chance arguing with them. You, on the other hand, will argue and fight to the death if that's what it takes.

"I am." You snip. "I'm just saying." You roll your shoulders. "I fucking told you, he was worried and scared last night. Crane is withholding it from him. So, maybe we give him a day or something to come around, let the drug flush itself out. I was fine the next day but Jason's been taking it, probably, nonstop for a week. Erasing who is, I don't think that's gonna help." You narrow your eyes. "Unless, you have other plans than bringing him home."

"He's had plenty of chances to come home." Kory says, putting a hand on her hip.

"I thought you were against innocent people getting hurt?" Dick questions.

"Alright, if you wanna argue about morals and shit, go find Bruce." You scoff. "Whatever." You put your hands up in defeat, knowing there's no changing their minds this time. You don't even know why you're here.

Dick continues to explain he's going to use an illegal computer while Kory and Blackfire have someone else to take care of, leaving you, Gar, and Conner to themselves.

"What are you going to do when we find Jason?" Gar asks as Conner excuses himself to grab food for him and Krypto.

"Well, I guess nothing, Gar." You shake your head, a snip in your voice as you spin slowly in your chair at the Batcomputer.

"He depends on us and you're just giving up." Gar protests.

"He almost fucking shot me and he almost killed Jack!" You yell as the guilt and regret continue to chew away at your bones. "He didn't pull the damn trigger but he already knew what they were gonna do."

"But it wasn't him." Gar's voice goes quiet but still holds the same annoyance.

"Yeah, but he's going to have to deal with his own consequences. He woke up one day and decided he didn't want to be scared anymore and went to fucking Crane. That was Jason Todd's decision. Before Red Hood. He needs to deal with it." You grit your teeth and it sucks.

It all just sucks and Gar is really making the whole thing worse. You don't expect him to side with you all the time, that's fine. But, it'd be really nice if he would just accept this. Molly did and Molly agrees. It is torture not picking up the phone and calling Jason. You just wish Gar could see that.

"He was desperate." Gar defends and you don't know why he's being so stubborn about it.

"So was I." You say softly. "But I didn't go to a psychopath for help. He has to deal with it." You say quietly. "Why are you so..." You wave your hands around slightly, raising a brow at him. "I don't know, defensive about it?"

"The whole team is just falling apart." Gar shrugs. "And Dick doesn't seem like he really wants to try to help Jason anymore."

"I know." You roll your chair over to Gar's before putting your hands on his shoulders. "It's hard but you keep your optimism. I'm not gonna let Dick or Kory kill him. I might not stand a chance but they'll have to go through me if that's what it's going to lead to. You know I don't even mean it. But I can't just take it back. You know I can't. I've tried everything else, Gar." You let out a sigh, dropping your hands from Gar's shoulders. "I'm gonna go to the hospital and check on Tim. I owe him that since I can't tell him anything else." You stand up and start to walk off. "Let me know if something happens though, please. I do care. I just....can't, Gar. It hurts."

"Can I come?" Gar asks with the scrunch of his nose, scratching the back of his head.

"Actually, yeah." You nod your head and offer him a soft smile. "That'd be really nice." You jerk your head towards the hallway. "Come on, I'll drive."

Jason shows up at the old ice cream factory where Crane's been having the anti-fear drug cooked. With the anti-fear drug making its way through Jason's system over the past few hours, he's still feeling a little confident as he walks in for another inhaler, even if it feels like there's a weight tugging at his chest. Technically, disturbing the drug worked which means he was right. He's just actively trying to forget about what happened after. He tries to focus solely on being the one in charge now. He is not replaceable or expendable and he's hoping Crane sees that now. He just destroyed the last good thing in his life for this plan and the second the drug wears off, he's consumed with regret and guilt. If that doesn't show dedication, what else does?

And Crane seems to be fine with it. He doesn't seem angry or upset. And that, for some reason, is making Jason feel uneasy. Bruce and Dick would be pissed and would be screaming at him, even if he were right. But, Crane is just saying he understands and he's not like Bruce. He forgives him for betraying him. Something seems off but Jason isn't going to push to find out what's going on. That just seems like pushing his luck. So, he plucks an inhaler from the table and hits it.

But, there's something wrong.

It burns. His throat feels like it's blistering from the inside out. His lungs feel like they're going to spasm right out of his chest. Jason starts coughing, asking Crane what's in the inhaler as his legs grow weak. It's hard to breathe and despite the drug he just took two hours ago, he's starting to panic. The last time it was hard to breathe like this, he died. He died. He died. He died and it was brutal and terrifying. He can't breathe and why can't he breathe? What did Crane give him? Why would Crane do this to him? Is Crane really going to kill him?

Jason's head spins as his limbs grow weak making him fall to the floor, trying to grip the table to stabilize himself. But, he falls anyway and his heart is beating so fast he thinks he might go into cardiac arrest. Everything spins and fades in and out of blurry and full focus. He can't fucking breathe and everything is heavy. It's heavy and his eyes are heavy and then it all goes black.

You and Gar make it to the hospital and spend a few hours hanging out with Tim who's grateful for the company. The good news is that his dad is going to be just fine and they're talking about releasing him as early as tomorrow. The bullet didn't hit anything major which is pure luck. But, he's thankful to have someone to talk to and keep him company anyway even if a part of him is still a little bitter about the whole ordeal, as he should be.

But, then Gar gets a text from Dick. They know where Jason and Crane are. They're getting together to shut them down and bring them in. Dick, specifically, doesn't want you there. Given everything that's happened, he doesn't want you involved anymore. Either you'll be a target or you're going to flip. If this ends poorly, you'll be a problem with bringing Jason and Crane in. It's in everyone's best interest if you stay out of it this time.

"Sorry, uh...I have to go." Gar says quietly.

You eye him and you know. "Dick?"

"Yeah." Gar nods his head. "He's gonna come get me so you can stay here."

"Ahh." You nod once, your heart sinking. You're staying out of it anyway but if Dick wants Gar back and is coming for him, that means maybe they found them. Some part of you still wants to be there just in case something happens. But, you can't very well go argue with Dick outside of a hospital entrance about going to fight Red Hood and Scarecrow, so you just suck in a breath. "Um...can...can you just...ya know?"

Gar hesitates and he thinks for a second. If it came down to picking between Dick, Kory, Conner, and Blackfire or Jason, who would he pick? The Titans are his family but so is Jason and he doesn't want to bury another friend. He doesn't want to bury him again. Gar thinks about it and he's thinking if it came to it, maybe he would stand in front of Jason just to make sure Dick didn't kill him because he would do the same for Dick. And Jason would do the same for him.

"I'll do everything I can and I'll call you." Gar says. "Promise."

"Thanks, Gar." You offer a sad smile.

"Of course." Gar smiles back before looking to Tim. "Nice meeting you, dude. Glad your dad is okay." Gar says with a smile.

"Thanks, yeah, you, too." Tim nods his head as the two of them say their goodbyes and Gar heads out. Your eyes linger on the exit, finding it hard to just sit here. What if you saying you're giving up gives the Titans some right of passage to kill him? What then? "What? You're not gonna go?"

You shake your head. "No, I, uh, I thought I'd hang out with you a little longer. It's probably just some bullshit anyway." You shift in your seat with the roll of your eyes.

"Jason almost gets my dad killed and now you're not going to be involved?" Tim questions, a bit of hurt and anger in his voice.

"You're not gonna quit are you?" You question him with a slight grimace.

"Nope." Tim shakes his head.

"I broke up with him, not my business." You shake your head. "And that's if it's about Jason. Not sure why it would be but ya know." You roll your shoulders, almost giving up on keeping this whole thing a secret from Tim, too.

"Right." Tim scoffs.

"Look," You face him in defeat. "You want me to tell you things I don't know about," Your eyes widen, a hint for him to shut up about it. "But you also won't trust me. I'm just asking you to trust me, okay?"

"Will you ever tell me?" Tim asks carefully.

If you were being honest, you think you can trust Tim to keep it all a secret. He could be on forums and showing everything he has to news outlets about Bruce being Batman and Dick being Robin and Nightwing. If he wanted to tell everyone, he could and enough people would believe him. But, he keeps it to himself besides to you because you're a Titan. So, you think maybe you'll tell him at some point when everything calms down. It's all a little dangerous right now but maybe one day you will.

"Maybe." You shrug. "But, you have got to fucking trust me."

"Alright, fine." Tim gives you a soft but triumphant smile. He's won enough for now and you know it.

That seems to be enough for Tim to drop it for now as the two of you go back to talking about everything that's not vigilante-related for once.

Jason finally starts to come to, his head heavy and throbbing. His eyes are burning as if he has the worst cold he's ever had and his vision is blurry, coming into focus a little slower than usual. His wrists are duct taped to the arms of a chair and his limbs feel too weak to even fight. He tugs just once but it's useless. He's been trained for this. He escaped that time with Deathstroke easily because it was in the training and duct tape is easy to escape from. But, he can't and the real drug has worn off. Tears start to brim his eyes and he has never felt more alone than he does right now.

He thought he could trust Crane. Him and Crane are supposed to be in this together. He said they had the same view of the city. But then Crane poisoned him. Why would he do that to him? Jason trusted him and Crane poisoned him. He knows he went behind Crane's back but Jason never did anything to hurt Crane yet Jason's the one duct taped to a chair and drugged. Jason swallows the hard lump in his throat and he should have just stayed in line.

He did it again.

He fucked it all up. He just had to go off and do his own thing with targeting Excellent Gotham, giving the drug to those random guys behind Crane's back. It's the same story over and over again, he just can't help himself and Jason wonders what the fuck is so wrong with him that he can't just stay in line. People trust him and then he pushes them away and he betrays them and he goes off on his own. Why does he always do this? It's all his fault and he trusted Crane. He really did. And he feels so alone.

Crane was the last person Jason thought he had that he could trust. Jason burned every single bridge he had with the Titans. Kory is going to be pissed and is going to take Dick's side, especially after Hank. Dawn would never trust him after what he did. Conner doesn't know him well enough. Jason has tried to kill Dick. After what happened last night with you, Jason doesn't even think Gar would help him. He's all alone. He's alone and he hates being this alone. He has no one and his mind is clear for the first time in a week. He is fucking terrified and filled with shame and regret and remorse and everything is hitting him so hard he just wants to scream. He hates it.

You were right. He does regret it. He regrets all of it. He shouldn't have gone to Crane. He shouldn't have killed Hank. He shouldn't have targeted Dick. He never should have fought you or went after the Drake's. Everything he's done, he is regretting and there's nothing he can do about it. But he remembers you saying he can call Dick. Dick is his brother. He tried to kill him but maybe you're right. You would never tell him to call Dick if you didn't know for sure. Because even when you give up, Jason knows you wouldn't risk him getting killed. He has to get out of here but he's weak and tired.

"I pity you, Jason." Crane says, but his voice is foggy as if he were down a long and distant tunnel. "You were reckless and you were impatient last night. And you act out of fear, not out of strength. You see, you're still afraid of Dick Grayson. And I failed you. I failed you as a teacher. But here's today's lesson. You know how I broke Batman? It wasn't with fear, it was with patience. I'm going to show you that you don't need to go running around Gotham, trying to destroy the Titans, you can just sit back and watch as the Titans destroy themselves."

Jason remains silent, unsure how he's even supposed to argue or if he can. It was Crane's idea to destroy the Titans anyway. Jason has just been so mad at them and felt abandoned he thought Crane was right but now he's not so sure. He can't be sure anymore. It all feels like lies. He's sobering up and everything feels like it was a lie. Just to use him.

"That's how we're going to take care of that...unpleasant girl of yours." Crane puts his hands behind his back, standing as if he owns the entire world. Jason's jaw clenches, his eyes focusing on Crane. "Patience. You wouldn't do it but you don't have to." Crane offers a kind smile and it makes Jason's skin crawl. "You see, your little act last night I'm sure really bothered her, right? You could have gotten her killed and her little friend. She has nowhere to go now, besides to the Titans and as the Titans crumble, so will she."

"That's not part of the plan." Jason chokes out, finding the energy to argue this point. "You said we'd leave her out of it."

Crane promised him from the beginning they would keep you out of it as long as you didn't side with the Titans. And you technically, did not do that. You've only been on Jason's side, just using Dick as a way to try and help him. Crane promised they would leave you out of it and you could join their side if you wanted to. Jason's getting the idea that was just a lie, too just to get him to cooperate with whatever Crane wanted to do.

"Did I?" Crane asks. "I don't think I ever said that. But," Crane sucks in a breath, leaning down to be eye-to-eye with Jason. "She threatened to kill me. She even beat me up." Crane almost sounds pitiful and hurt. "I told you, Jason. She's not on your side and she never was. Now. You can sit back and watch her destroy herself." Crane leans up, walking to the window to watch the workers.

You already gave up on him. You and him are done. There is no coming back from last night. But the panic still floods Jason's system because he knows, despite everything his mind has ever conditioned him to think, it was the hardest thing you had to do. He knows you tried to do everything besides that and he loves you anyway. He loves you anyway and he dragged you into this. He put you right in the middle of him and your friends. Your family that you tried to have. He did that to you.

Last night you said all Jason has done since coming back is hurt you, and you're right. He never meant to. He never dreamed of it hurting you but he did and now he's terrified it just got that much worse for you. You deserve better and Jason has no idea how he's supposed to get out of this.

Crane has to let him go eventually. Crane will need Jason for something and he can warn you. You told him not to contact you or Gar but maybe this will be an exception because you have to know. And maybe he can take your advice for fucking once and just call Dick. Because Crane just drugged him and is holding him hostage. Maybe he never could trust him.

It's quiet on the way back to the Manor. It's as if no one really knows what to say or how to say it. Sure, the fight went just fine just like it usually does. They make a really good team and Blackfire is a good addition to the team. But, they didn't get Crane and they didn't get Jason. Instead, Crane and Jason are in the wind but Crane was also holding Jason hostage. Something happened that led Crane to do that and Gar is the one sitting here wondering what they're going to do about it and who the hell is going to be the one to break it to you. It was Dick's bright idea for you not to come along and maybe if you would have, you could have gotten Jason. Maybe if they had one more person it would have went differently. The team is divided and Gar hates it.

"Who's gonna tell her about Jason?" Gar asks and they walk through the Batcave.

The other Titans turn to look at him, glancing between each other before landing on Dick. It's not Conner or Blackfire's place to say anything, it's not their job. That's all Kory and Dick but Dick doesn't seem like he's going to be the one to say anything. You can say you're done all you want but Dick knows if they tell you, you'll go off the rails looking for Jason. It could get you killed, Jason killed, and you could kill Crane. Even if you do find them, what's to stop Crane from kidnapping you, too? Crane clearly has a way to do it if he can do it to Jason. And what if it's a trap? What if Jason isn't being held captive but it's a way to get the Titans to a different location? Telling you seems like it might just be a bad idea and in your best interest for your own safety.

"We don't have to tell her." Dick says.

Gar's eyes nearly bulge out of his head. "Seriously, dude?" Gar scoffs. "It's Jason. She's going to be pissed if she finds out and we didn't tell her."

"She decided she doesn't want any part of this anymore and I think that's for the best. If we tell her, we don't know what she'll do. We still need Crane." Dick argues, keeping it short.

"Screw that, man." Gar groans. "He took Jason and we know he did. There was proof of it back there. If something happens to him, she's gonna never forgive any of us. Let her decide if she wants back in."

"He's right, Gar. She's been a little bit of loose canon lately." Kory offers kindly.

Gar is also tired of the secrets. All keeping secrets from each other has done is get them hurt. That's all it's done and now they want to keep this huge thing from you? That's insane. You have every right to know and he doesn't understand why they would want to keep it from you. Maybe you'll explode but it's not like anyone else is going to go save Jason. What if he actually is in danger?

"Because of everything that's happened!" Gar defends, tossing his arms out to his sides. "If you guys were in her shoes, you'd probably be loose canons, too! I mean, Dick has been going off on his own most of the time. Bruce even snapped. And we just have to pretend like everything is normal?"

"I mean..." Conner chimes in. "She didn't tell us he was alive."

"Yeah, and that sucked but she was scared for his life. It sucks but at least I get it. And it was one day! What is keeping this from her going to do?"

Dick crosses his arms and he's really missing the days where the only problems he had were Jason and you pulling some dumb prank just to harass him. "Do you think she'll sit back and let us handle it or do you think she's going to take it into her own hands?"

Gar knows you will. It's Jason but Gar also knows that if it were him, you would do the same thing. The only reason you didn't come after him by yourself with CADMUS is because you didn't know how to and it was CADMUS not just one person. But, Gar also got the story about you being the driving force to make sure you all saved him, regardless of what was happening to Dick. Gar was the first priority. You're going to take this into your own hands but at this point, Gar is ready to jump right in with you. Jason came to save him.

"I know." Gar shrugs. "But what if she doesn't? What if she asks for help this time? We just don't even give her the option?"

"That could get her killed. It's for her own protection." Kory says.

"Well, that sucks." Gar snaps. "Keeping secrets from each other doesn't keep any of us safe." Gar scoffs as he goes to leave.

Now he knows how you feel. Arguing with them is exhausting. They won't even listen. It's either whatever they want to do or nothing. That's normally fine. Gar normally agrees and Dick and Kory usually do know better but not this time. This time it's wrong, for your own protection or not.

"Gar." Dick calls.

Gar turns around quickly, a look of defeat on his face. "If she asks, I'm not gonna lie." Gar shrugs his shoulders before he turns away and heads upstairs.

Gar finds you in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for food. He wonders if this is what it felt like when you knew Jason was alive. His stomach feels like it might fall right to his feet, heavy with guilt. He wonders if you were also mad at him for asking you to keep it a secret because Gar's mad at Dick and Kory. It really fucking sucks and Gar wonders how the hell you even manage to keep everything a secret. He's been standing here for just a few seconds and he already wants to snap and spill everything. Maybe that's why you've been a bit off, because this just sucks and it's heavy.

You pop your head out from behind the cabinet door, a granola bar sticking out of your mouth, feeling someone had entered the kitchen. "Hey." You greet as you pluck the bar from your mouth.

"What are you doing?" Gar questions.

"Looking for food. Hospital food sucks." You say softly. "I guess." You mutter quietly as you pluck a box of Mac and cheese from the cabinet, a displeased look on your face.

"Don't you like that?" Gar asks, entering further into the kitchen.

"Yeah," You sigh. "Just not feeling it but I don't wanna go through the effort of making anything else or looking." You look at the box and back to Gar. "Is there real milk in this?"

"Uh, yeah." Gar chuckles, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets. "Why?"

"Could have made it with the vegan butter and oat milk if you wanted some but never mind, I guess." You sigh, moving to the cabinet with the pots. But the room goes oddly silent, making you look back at Gar. He's just standing there, watching you. "What happened?" You ask as you turn around, leaning against the counter.

Gar shifts his weight on his feet. "What makes you think something happened?" Gar asks softly.

"You have a look and you're quiet. You didn't point out Bruce probably has vegan Mac and cheese somewhere or Dick probably pick some up for you." You explain. "I can always tell with you and Jason when something's wrong."

You watch as Gar looks to the ground and you're terrified what's going to come out of his mouth. Jason can't be dead again because Gar probably would be crying right now but he's not and his eyes aren't red which means he isn't sucking it up for your sake. The other Titans are probably fine because Gar wouldn't be so hesitant to tell you if something happened to them. So, you have to assume it has to do with Jason and there's a small part of you that thinks the Titans won this time and they sent Jason to Arkham instead of bringing him home. You swear you'll lose it if that's what happened.

"Um..." Gar scratches the back of his neck as he looks back to you. "Can you promise not to freak out?"

"I can't promise that." You shake your head as you brace for whatever bullshit Gar is gonna say next. "Jason, right? Something happened?"

Gar nods softly. "By the time we got to the office where Crane and Jason were, they were gone. But, we think Crane had Jason duct taped to a chair and took him with him."

You blink a few times and you swear you just forgot how to breathe. Not again. This cannot possibly be happening again.

"C-crane...you-I mean...you guys think C-Crane kidnapped him?" You sputter.

Gar nods. "Yeah."

Jason said you're the one with a habit of getting kidnapped but so far, you're both two to two here. And you hate it. Why the fuck would Crane need to kidnap him in the first place? If they're working together, then Crane has no reason to. Unless Jason is actually turning on him. In which case, it just got really dangerous to be Jason Todd.

"Do you know where they went?" You ask, trying to keep your voice level.

"No." Gar answers shamefully.

You offer a large nod as your appetite vanishes. You push from the counter, leaving the box and pot on the counter. "Thanks for telling me." You say as you walk up to Gar. "You guys aren't going to look for him, are you? And Dick said not to tell me, right?"

Gar nods once more, letting out a deep breath. "Dick thinks it could be a trap and yeah, he's worried what you'll do."

"Got it." You let out a scoff with a bitter chuckle.

All you can hear is Tim in the back of your head about how you're supposed to be a hero. Well, so is Dick. You think that word is starting to lose its fucking meaning because what kind of hero just lets a psychopath kidnap someone? You know it's more complicated than that but they're brothers and Jason was kidnapped. Again. It was fine the first time, but what? Round two and he's on his own? Is that how it is?

"You're gonna go, aren't you?" Gar asks.

"Yeah, and if Dick's gotta fucking problem with it, he'll have to go through me. I'm not letting Crane kidnap Jason and hold him fucking hostage. I don't care." You shake your head, venom shooting through your words.

There's a bit of relief that fills Gar's chest. Maybe Dick is right and it's a trap but what if it's not? Deathstroke and Dr. Light could have been a trap, it kind of was. But, Dick went anyway to save Jason and you. Trap or not, you all should be trying to find Jason and help him just in case it's not a trap.

"Can, uh, can I help?" Gar asks, making you do a double take.

Gar tends to do what Dick asks, especially since the whole Deathstroke thing and you both accidentally losing Conner for a day. You kind of figured he wouldn't try to really stop you because that would be useless but you thought maybe he'd offer some voice of reason. The last thing you ever expected was Gar to ask if he could help, despite Dick's wishes.

"Huh?" You hum, eyes wide. "What?"

"He's my friend, too." Gar shrugs. "And he came to save me. I wanna help find him." Gar lets out a breath, eyes hopeful you'll let him help.

"Yeah, uh...I mean...it could be a trap. I mean...are you sure? Dick is gonna be pissed." You furrow your brows, still eying him with confusion.

"I know." Gar nods. "But, I don't want you doing this alone either in case it is a trap or something happens like last time. I just wanna help. We can't let Crane hold him hostage."

You nod quickly, figuring maybe it would be nice to not do this completely alone. "Okay, but, can you stay here? I might have to do some stuff you don't like and if it is a trap, we might be fucked." You say and Gar is about to protest. "No, no, I have an idea. Follow me." You gesture for him to follow you as you walk past him.

You and Gar walk to Jason's room, you shutting and locking the door behind you. You go to one of Jason's hiding spots and grab the tablet. You always put it back, exactly where he kept it, just in case. You unlock the tablet and go to the software used to track your necklace. The tracking device is only synced with his tablet and his phone since you hated the idea of Bruce being able to track you. Jason was always fine.

"Here." You hand it over, showing a green blinking dot right on top of Wayne Manor. "You track me. My phone is synced to the Batcomputer. I'll text you every hour on the hour. If I miss, you call and if I don't call back in thirty seconds, get Dick. Something went wrong."

"Why do you know about this and just why?" Gar asks, confused as to what's even going on. "Why can't I go with?"

"Because Jason is a shithead who was lying to me before he died. I know where all of his hiding spots are and he knows where all of mine are. I, apparently, am the one with a habit of being kidnapped but I didn't want Bruce involved. Jason swore he'd always come find me." You shrug casually. "So, you track me and then we know where he is. And then maybe we tell Dick where they're hiding out. See, everyone wins. If you're with me and we both get kidnapped then Crane has all three of us and Dick and Kory won't know where to go. I need someone here, just in case." You explain quickly.

It's not a lie, it's true. You've put some thought into the vigilante life after all of this is sorted out, hoping things go back to some form of normal. It's dangerous to be out there as a team and alone. It's dangerous both ways and it's dangerous to have people know but, you think it might be worse for you to be alone out there and no one know where you are or what you're doing. Having someone be eyes and ears behind a screen seems like it might be helpful, especially if something goes wrong.

"Right, okay, yeah." Gar nods and this isn't really what he meant by helping but you have a point. At least this way, if something happens, it's not the three of you stuck in a bad situation with no one knowing where you are. At least they'll know where to find you and Jason. "You're gonna call if things start looking bad, right?" Gar asks as you remain silent, moving your eyes from the left to the right before landing back on Gar. "Dr. Light? Deathstroke?" Gar presses, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Fine." You nod your head quickly. "If it starts looking like it might go even a little south, I'll call you. But, I don't even know if I'll be able to find him."

"What're you gonna do?"

"I know a few people I can grab, try to get some intell on where Red Hood and Crane would go. Someone knows and they'll start talking."

Gar lets out a sigh, deciding it's best he doesn't know what you're going to do to them. Maybe him staying back is a good idea if you think that's the only way to find him. If anyone is gonna know how to work around Gothamites, it'll be you.

"They in Batcave?" You ask as you head for the door.

"Yeah."

"Great." You suck in a breath. "Okay, I'm going to get my suit and find him. If he asks, you can tell Dick you're helping but try not to show him, please. He'll come after me and probably fuck it up. If Crane has him hostage, I can get through to Jason."

"Are you going to bring him back?" Gar asks, a bit of hope in his eyes.

"Not if he doesn't ask." You shake your head. "If Crane had to duct tape him to a chair that means Jason isn't siding with him as much anymore. While I feel guilty and I hate myself for last night," You shake your head. "Maybe that does have something to do with it." You start the walk to the Batcave. "He has to make the decision on his own. As much as it fucking sucks." You scoff. "Okay, I'll be back later. Every hour." You nod once before you dart behind the grandfather clock.

You walk right over to the display with your suit, ripping the case open as you grab Dick's and Kory's attention. If they want to work this alone and not save him, fine. But that's not you and they're not stopping you.

"Where are you going?" Kory asks.

You spin around and you shrug your shoulders sadly. "To save Jason." You answer simply.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Kory asks and they really should have known Gar was going to tell you immediately.

"You're staying here. We don't--"

"I don't care." You roll your eyes as you cut Dick off. "Do you really want to tell me to just...let Crane kidnap him? Me? Of all people?" You ask.

"It could be a trap." Dick argues and he's also tired of this back and forth. He's never met anyone so hardheaded. Why can't you just listen? Just once?

"Yeah, maybe." You shrug softly. "And that's a risk I am willing to take because I give a fuck about him." You snip right back. It almost feels like you're arguing with your parents.

"You could get hurt or worse." Kory states. "For all we know, this is what Crane and Jason want."

"It's not safe." Dick says. "We can't risk it. You don't know what you'll be walking into."

"I don't fucking care if I get hurt!" Your voice cracks with frustration. "That's part of the job! Getting hurt to keep people, innocent strangers safe. You think I'm not gonna risk getting a little hurt to save someone I actually care about? I love him anyway and I'm going to save him." You let out a bitter scoff. "You know, Tim said something to me last night. I didn't tell him shit, don't worry. But, he said that I'm supposed to be a hero." You shake your head. "And he's fucking right, ya know? It's just complicated but look at you guys. We're supposed to be heroes! And you're all just gonna...sit back? Let whatever happens, happen? No, fuck that. I did that last time and we see what fucking happened."

"We aren't sitting back." Dick says sternly. "We've been trying to bring home this whole time but he clearly, doesn't want that. He dug his hole and he has to deal with it. He made his choice."

"I'm not going back and forth about it anymore. Just...what is it? I mean, Deathstroke, was it just that you felt you had our blood on your hands? So, you were obligated to do something? And now that Jason's kidnapping doesn't have shit to do with you, your hands are clean? Is that what this is? Why not try to fucking save him?! You know Crane. Crane could have snapped and then...what? That's just it. One less body to deal with."

"Hey!" Kory scolds. "You know that is not what this is. We all have given Jason a fair chance but Dick's right he made his choice. He knows how bad Crane can be."

"That doesn't make it okay." You say quietly. "I made a promise to him and I broke one of those. I'm not breaking another one tonight. He is not Robin anymore so if Crane wants to go after him, he gets to deal with me and if you have such a fucking problem with that, I guess you can try to stop me but I'm going." You turn back around, grabbing your suit before you slam the case closed. "I was wrong about what I said about trying. Sometimes, it isn't enough. But, at least I'm fucking trying. Unlike you guys."

Dick lets out an exasperated sigh. "You don't know when to quit do you?"

You shake your head, the corner of your mouth perking up. "Not when it comes to people I happen to like." You spin around, suit in hand and you head off to change and leave.

"You know, she handled that well actually." Kory says softly. "All things considered."

"Yeah." Dick scoffs. "That's the worrying part."

You head off on the bike once you're suited up. You get to Crime Alley figuring that might be your best bet for any type of answer. You use your phone to look into the men you killed last night and see what their ties could be to Red Hood and Scarecrow. Their files don't have too much but they are a few notes about people the three of them used to run with so you figure you can start there. Someone knows where Red Hood and Scarecrow would be. This is Gotham and they're in the drug trade.

You track one of the men down, following him carefully from the rooftops and waiting for the right moment to confront him. The whole rooftop thing might have actually been a good idea, you will give Bruce that one. You wait until an alley with almost no lighting comes up. So, you take your opportunity to get down from the rooftops and beat him to the alley. Just as he approaches, you yank him into the alleyway, slamming him against the wet brick as hard as you can.

"Where is Red Hood?" You seethe, your teeth grinding under your mask,

The man looks down at you as your arm is pressed against his throat. "How the fuck would I know?"

You pull back just enough to shove him against the wall, this time his head bangs against the wet bricks. "Bullshit. You know where he's hiding out. Him and Scarecrow, fucking spill."

"Fuck you." He spits.

You do not have time for this. You're done arguing and going back and forth with people. All he has to do is give up a name or a place. It's not that hard. So, you pull out a knife and hold it right to his jugular.

"Do you wanna end up like your friends? It's all pretty easy to make happen." You press the tip of the knife into his skin, just enough to break skin and blood starts leaking down his neck.

His eyes widen, filled with panic. "I don't know!"

"Bullshit!" You yell back, doing your best to refrain from pressing the knife further into his neck. "Red Hood was able to get your friends which means there has to be some sort of connection. Tell me where he is."

"I don't know!" The man's voice is panicked. "Jeremiah! Word is he has an in with Red Hood and Scarecrow for whatever they're cooking."

"And where the fuck would he be?" You almost mock him. A name is fine but come on.

"Robinson Park!" He yells back, the panic leaking from his pores. "He's been dealing there."

"Thank you." You pat the man's cheek. "Was that so fucking hard?" You scoff, dropping the man. "Seriously, get your shit together and do something more productive." You roll your eyes as you shoot the grappling hook to the rooftop, leaving the man alone in the alley.

You reach Robinson Park and give Gar a quick text to let him know everything is fine. Then, you make your way inside of the park to look for this Jeremiah guy. You were able to figure out what he looks like thanks to him and the guy you just grabbed having been busted for dealing just a few months ago.

It doesn't take you too long to find him near a bridge. That's where you sneak up behind him and grab him, slamming him against the cement just as you did with the previous guy. You're hoping he'll be willing to spill a little quick but you're also betting you're not going to get that lucky tonight.

"Red Hood. Where is he?" You ask with fire in your words.

Jeremiah laughs. "You think I'm gonna tell you? You're a fucking bat--"

You yank your fist back and punch him in the face. He spits blood out by your boots, looking back at you with fury. "I am not a fucking bat." You say through gritted teeth. "I will burn you alive limb by fucking limb until you spill where Red Hood is."

"Yeah? And uh, what makes you think I even know?" He gives you this grin that makes you want to scream.

"Word is you have an in for the drug him and Scarecrow are putting on the streets. I assume it was a test run last night. Unless, you're full of shit just trying to get some weird ass respect." You quip, tilting your head to the right.

"I'm not telling you shit." He scoffs.

"You know, Red Hood decapitated six men, right? Of some of Gotham's most notorious families in the business. Yeah, I can be worse. And I will start with you." You tug your glove off with your other hand, still keeping pressure on his neck. You show the neon green so bright it illuminates your face. Jeremiah watches you before you touch a finger to his face, he lets out a horrendous scream, echoing through the tunnel under the bridge. "Every limb but I won't kill you. I'll let infection set in and that can kill you. Tell me where the fuck he is!"

Jeremiah lets out a sigh, gritting his teeth. "There's that old ice cream factory. They were cooking there."

"They're not there. Titans showed up tonight. Where else would they go?"

"Aren't you a fucking Titan?" He sneers.

"Does it really seem like I'm a Titan?" You narrow your eyes at him.

"There's the old Wellington pump station. Heard they had a hookup there." Jeremiah says reluctantly. "I don't fucking know anything else."

"Thank you." You let go of him as he falls to the ground. "You know, you should also get your shit together. I know you deal to kids. Stop or I will actually kill you. Leave kids the out of it." You roll your eyes, earning yourself a confused look as you walk out of the tunnel.

Once you get back to your bike, you head right to the pump station. The drive feels like it takes an eternity when it only takes twenty minutes. You're growing more anxious as more time goes by. You don't know how long Crane has had him tied up for or what he's doing to even keep Jason tied up. Jason should be able to get out of duct tape. So, you worry as every minute passes by.

The closer you get to the building, the more you start to remember what it was like the night he died. The drive and how it was freezing but you didn't even notice because you were so panicked. You were going to save him but you were too late. Every second from the phone call to Molly until you passed out is embedded into the deepest parts of your mind, tattooed and stitched as cruel reminders of the world you live in sometimes. You can't forget but you're trying to save Jason again and it's like you're thrown back into that night all over again.

It can't end like that again.

It can't.

When you get to the pump station, you park far off in the old parking lot before making your way to the back of the building. You use your grappling hook to get to the roof where you find a skylight looking into the building. That's when you spot Jason, now tied to a chair. Crane is walking around, throwing his hands around dramatically but there seems to be a pep in his step, as if he's happy or excited about something. You roll your eyes. He's so fucking insane.

A part of you does question if this is a trap. Jason is faster and stronger than Crane. Jason should have been able to escape. He has all of the training and he can easily take Crane. It doesn't even look like Crane is armed but you know Jason is. It doesn't make a lot of sense but you're watching carefully and Jason doesn't even seem to be partaking in whatever nonsense Crane is on about. So, you brush the thought of it being a trap away and think maybe Crane drugged him. That would explain everything. Trap or not, you're getting into this building and you're grabbing Jason.

You try to look at everything surrounding them and the drum barrels on the catwalk. All you need to do is distract Crane long enough to get Jason free. That's the point. It's not so much a rescue mission as it is just getting him free. If you can get him free and he can walk, he can escape Crane if it comes to that. Then, you spot an alarm sitting far off on the back wall and you have an idea.

"Hey, you at the Batcomputer?" You whisper into the phone.

"Uh...yeah, yeah, why? What's up?" Gar wheels himself closer to the keyboard, looking at the screens.

"Crane has Jason tied up. I'm at a pump station but I can see an alarm of some sort, not a fire alarm. Is there any way to like...trigger it from where you are?" You ask.

"I can try, hold on." Gar says as he starts typing away.

"Or trigger anything to distract Crane so I can grab Jason."

"How long do you need?"

"Three minutes, tops." You keep watch as Jason's head nods softly as if he's trying to stay awake and failing miserably.

"Okay, yeah, there's an alarm system that's still active in the building. I can set it off but as soon as Crane disables it, that'll be it. So, you have to be quick." Gar explains, getting into the building's security system.

"Okay, yeah. Quick, got it." You nod your head. "Ready when you are."

"Hang up and I'll trigger it. Text me when you get somewhere safe."

"Of course, thank you." You say softly before you hang up.

You grab a knife from your belt and start working on the lock to the skylight. Luckily, this was a part of Jason's training. Lock-picking. Of course it was. As soon as you have the lock picked and the window ready to be opened, you hear the blaring of an alarm.

Jason and Crane both jump, looking around as the noise echoes and bounces off of the walls. Crane looks to grow more and more annoyed before he storms off and that's when you make your move. You open the window, using the grappling hook to lower yourself down as quickly as possible.

Once your feet touch solid ground, you yank the hook loose and run to Jason, immediately bending down to be face-to-face with him. His pupils are blown and he's barely awake but his eyes widen just a little, trying to make you out. It's blurry but he swears it's you. That can't be right. Why the hell would you come?

You swear you find yourself hating Crane more and more by the second. You shake your head and grab a knife, cutting Jason's hands free before you come to his face again.

"Jay? Can you walk?" You ask quietly, just loud enough so he can hear you above the alarm. But all Jason does is stare at you and he just can't believe you're really in front of him right now. Maybe he's hallucinating. "Jay?" You place your hands on his cheeks. "Hey, can you walk?"

It's you. You came.

Jason nods weakly and he thinks he might burst at the seams. He thought he was alone.

"Come on." You help him up.

Jason's arm rests over your shoulders as the two of you head to the exit, opposite the way Crane went. Jason's footing is a little unsteady but he tries his best while you keep him stable, one arm wrapped around him and the other holding his arm around your shoulders.

The entire walk to your bike has Jason's head spinning, both from the high and the confusion of you showing up in the first place. You broke up with him and you gave up on him. His head might be foggy and he might be out of it right now, but he knows that happened. And yet you're here anyway. Not Dick or Kory or Gar. It's you who showed up. Maybe you shouldn't have but you did. And even in this state, Jason thinks maybe it was still a hard decision, given what happened last night...and the last time you found him. But, you showed up anyway and he does not deserve that.

Every part of you wants to explode like a volcano. It wasn't fucking a trap. Crane drugged him and tied him up so he couldn't fucking leave. That's what happened. Dick and Kory, they were wrong. They were fine letting Jason suffer over a what if situation. You just grabbed him without any damn problems. All you needed was a little help from Gar. it was fine. It went fine but who knows what Crane's plan for the rest of the night was. This could have gone so much worse for him and Dick and Kory just didn't care. They didn't care enough to try.

And then there's Crane. It just drives you insane. Jason got himself wrapped up in this but he doesn't deserve to be drugged and held hostage. You swear people in general don't really don't deserve it. But, now it's happened to Jason and you think maybe you shouldn't leave him again. Every part of you doesn't want to leave him again.

"Can you hold on?" You ask as you reach your bike.

"Uh..." Jason sucks in a breath before he nods. "Yeah, got it." He mutters, his words slurring together slightly.

"Where do you wanna go?" You ask, biting down your own hope that he'll say the manor.

Jason's heart rate spikes for a quick second with the question and for that split second, he almost spits out manor. But, that second is just that, a second. He can't go back. Not like this. Not now. If they want to turn him in, he can't run or defend himself and he's not putting you in that position anymore. So, he tells you another hideout he has and you just nod, all hopes of bringing him back fading away.

"I'll go slow." You say softly as you get on the bike first, Jason wobbly getting on behind you.

You bend uncomfortably around, popping the spare helmet on his head. You slide the face shield down before turning back around and grabbing his arms to wrap around you. Once your own helmet is on, you take off, leaving the pump station in the rearview mirrors.

When you reach the hideout, you help Jason inside and upstairs with his directions. You reach the room that contains a mattress, an old broken dresser, and a few lamps scattered about the floor. You help Jason over to the bed and help him to sit down.

Jason sits with his knees bent, feet planted on the floor and his eyes locked on you. He just can't believe this is real. He still thinks he might be hallucinating or maybe he's just having a really vivid dream.

"Are you okay?" You ask as you kneel in front of him, resting your hands on his knees but Jason's head sways. "Jay?"

Everything hurts and it's spinning. And his chest hurts, the lump in his throat hurts. Every piece of his body is aching and burning and heavy, exhausted. But, you're here, right in front of him. You broke up with him last night and you gave up but you're right in front of him and he is so thankful. Why are you here? He doesn't deserve it.

Jason reaches forward, tugging your mask off of your face as if just to make sure it's you. "You came." His brows pull together as if he's in pain.

Your heart breaks at the surprise and tenderness of his voice. He really thought you wouldn't? You know what you said but...does he think it's that easy?

"I'll always come to save you." You whisper, your eyes watering as they scan over his face.

Jason can feel his bottom lip start to quiver. He really fucked it all up and he's high and it's the worst high of his life. It all sucks and you're here and he doesn't know why. He wants to take it all back. He wants to turn back time and take everything back. He wants to go back to that day in your room when you were the one that told him loving him is the easiest thing you'd ever done because he knows that isn't true anymore. And it is breaking him.

"But you..." Jason chokes on his own words. "You said you were fucking done and--"

"Doesn't matter." You shake your head, cutting him off. You search his face until his eyes meet yours. Jason thinks you've never looked sadder. "If someone's going to hurt you or kidnap you, they're gonna have to deal with me." Your voice is candid but there's a weight of heartbreak etched in every syllable.

He doesn't deserve it and Crane betrayed him and hurt him. Another person he trusted hurt him and yeah, he went behind Crane's back first but did he deserve this? And you're the one still offering him kindness through everything. He could have gotten you killed, twice, and you're sitting in front of him with sad but kind eyes and Jason hates who he's becoming.

Jason sucks in a shaky breath and there's a part of him that can't do it anymore. He can't deal with the heaviness or the way his chest feels like it's going to collapse in on itself. He can't deal with the spinning or the numbness or any of it. His head bows forward slowly until his forehead lands on your shoulder. Tears start to fall from his eyes and everything around him is fucked up and a mess and it's all his fault. Why did he do this? What has he become? Was he better off dead?

Maybe he was better off dead.

Your teeth grit together as you hear him sniffle and feel him shake. Hitting rock bottom shouldn't be like this because it's him. If only he knew that he always deserved better and believed it. Maybe if he was treated better from the beginning. Maybe if trying would have just been enough the first time around.

"Jay." You whisper, hearing a soft cry come from Jason's throat. "It's okay." You say softly, moving away just enough to get him to pick his head up. You shake your head at him, brows knitted together. "It's okay." You say again but this time you move closer and pull him into a hug and that's when Jason finally breaks entirely.

He's hurt so many people. And for what? He can feel the itch of withdrawal and the migraine kicking in. He wants to peel his skin off of his bones but his chest hurts and he doesn't think he can breathe. He sucks in a breath but all that comes from it is a cough and a cry. He wraps his arms around you and he feels you hug him tighter. Why are you doing this? He doesn't deserve it. Why did you even save him? Maybe he shouldn't be saved. Maybe Joker had it right the first time. Hank would be alive. Tim's dad would be okay. You wouldn't be mixed up in this. Dick wouldn't have been shot. Maybe it would be better if he had just stayed dead.

It feels that way anyway.

It's like a pull he can feel in the marrow of his bones, The betrayal to fate. He has no business being alive and he can feel it. Maybe that's how it should be. He was never very good at being good anyway and if he's no good, what's the point? He's more fucked up than he ever was before. Why does he bother trying? He should just be alone, it's what he deserves.

But, there's this voice in the back of his head that says maybe it's just the high this time. Whatever Crane has him on maybe it's messing with his head, maybe it's that and the betrayal of the night. Maybe it's the withdrawal. Maybe it's just a mix of everything.

So, he pulls away and your hands come to his face and it's like an instinct. There's no effort in you showing up and caring about him because you just do. And it's right now with your thumbs, rubbing the warm tears away that Jason starts to wonder if this is unconditional. There were always conditions to people loving him and he thought maybe yours was just that he was three for you, or maybe Crane was right about you using him. Maybe it was just that you felt obligated to him because of Deathstroke. But, he almost got you killed and you fought and he killed Hank and you're sitting in front of him, helping him as if it is the easiest thing you've ever done. You just do it and maybe that's unconditional, even when someone says they give up.

Jason's breath is shallow and ragged and he just can't breathe. He wants to remember what it feels like to breathe again. To breathe effortlessly.

"Hard to breathe." Jason mutters, tears slowly falling down his cheeks.

You nod your head before you rest your forehead against his. Your eyes close and you just sit like that. Jason's eyes close a few seconds later and he always wonders how you know what to do and say. No one ever did. Not like this. But, you do this and the act of you being there, in this moment, without even saying a word, gets Jason to suck in a full breath for the first time tonight. His tears start to slow down and the brutal thoughts about himself start to grow quiet. The only sound he can hear is his own breathing and the cars passing outside. He never thought silence could be so comforting.

You aren't sure if this night changes anything. Maybe he'll go right back to Crane but maybe he won't. Maybe tonight and last night stacked on top of each other is enough to get Jason back on solid ground. Maybe he's tired of drowning. You're hoping he's tired of it. And even if not, for tonight, you're going to let yourself believe he is. Because he was the one kidnapped and held hostage and betrayed. He was the one left alone and the only people willing to help him were you and Gar. Maybe letting him hit rock bottom was a good enough idea, but maybe you aren't willing to follow through with it. Not if it leads him here. There has to be another way.

There is always another way.

You pull away once Jason's breathing seems to be back to normal. "You okay?" You whisper, Jason seeing your own eyes turning a light shade of pink.

"I'm so fucking sorry." Jason coughs out. "For fucking everything."

"I know." You nod your head quickly, brows pulling together.

"No," Jason spits and he hates how his mouth feels like he's tried to swallow thirty cotton balls. "You don't fucking deserve it. None of you do. I'm so sorry." Jason's voice is pleading and begging and you wish you could take out of your own heart and replace it with his just to ease some of his pain.

"Jay, you're high. We can talk about it later, okay?" You nod your head. "Come on, let's get you to bed, okay? You gotta sleep it off. I don't know what he gave you." Your hands slide off of his face and back to his knees.

You would love to discuss this now but you're not sure how much of this he'll even remember when the high wears off. If you're going to talk, you want him to be sober. This isn't actually his fault this time but you still want him to be sober.

Jason nods his head, feeling more defeated than he already was. He's thinking you really mean it. You really are done and you really are giving up on him. You were just there so Crane didn't go too far and kill him. And he wants to take it all back.

"Hey, I promise, okay?" You nod your head softly, seeing the deflated look on his face. "We can talk tomorrow if you still want to, promise." You offer a subtle but reassuring smile and that seems to do the trick.

Jason nods softly again and accepts it. He's exhausted anyway and maybe him spuing apology after apology like this isn't going to get either of you anymore. Maybe you're right. He just hopes you mean it.

"Want help?" You ask.

Jason shakes his head, tugging his jacket off sloppily before telling you his spare clothes are in the broken dresser in the corner. You grab him a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie from the drawer before moving back over to him. Jason struggles more and more trying to get the hoodie off, his limbs failing him as he grows defeated and exhausted. The breaking really used up all of his remaining energy.

"Lemme help." You rest the clothes beside him before you tug the hoodie off gently.

You help him take the armor off next, leaving him in a black tank top. And that's when you see two scars peaking out of the very edges of the tank top on his chest. Your heart plummets remembering exactly what he looked like after the autopsy. His face was mangled and pale, blood long cleaned off of his body and the stitches trailing from his chest down his abdomen. You wonder why those didn't heal but the marks on his face did. But, your heart breaks because now he's permanently marked with what happened to him. He'll never be able to forget it anyway, but now he has a physical reminder and that's just not fair. At least he can probably dye his hair if he wants but there's nothing to do about the scars.

Why did it have to happen to him?

You glance to his face, his eyes drooping and then you look at the white streak of hair. Jason said he thinks it's lame and you wonder what he thinks of the scars. You think he probably hates those, too. Another reminder. And you want to say something but what the hell are you supposed to say? Yeah, sorry Bruce had an autopsy performed? Didn't think you'd come back from the dead? That's ridiculous. But, you also can feel his stare falling back on you and he starts to shift. Not saying anything, that's always an option with him. You don't have to.

So, you don't. Instead, you just trace over them because that's what you always do to his scars. And Jason thinks he might cry again. He hates those fucking scars. The white streak he can deal with, but those scars? Why did Bruce even have it done? Was it not fucking obvious what the cause of death was? He was brutally murdered by a crowbar to the face, something he'll never forget, and now he has fucking autopsy scars. Those are a little hard to explain. At least if he had crowbar scars, they could be explained by a mugging. The white streak is just a choice. Autopsy scars? There's no normal explanation for those. But, then you run your thumbs over the scars anyway as if they're any other scar and Jason wants to combust. He thinks he might burst into flames right under your fingertips.

You offer a small but kind smile before you help him take his boots off. And something about him not refusing your help this time is kind of reassuring for once. Usually, Jason would be telling you he can do it himself and he's fine but now he's just quiet. A part of that is concerning but him letting you help without protest is nice and maybe he's coming around. Maybe he is off the drug.

Once Jason is out of his Red Hood gear, you help him get the other hoodie and pants on before Jason finally lays down. His head spins but his back starts to cramp in just the right way that starts to feel good. And all he wants to do is sleep this whole thing off.

You offer him a sad smile, resting your hand on his cheek. "Okay, I'm gonna head out. Call Dick if you change your mind and you wanna come home." You whisper before you go to stand up.

You don't really intend to leave. You figure you'll just go downstairs until he wakes up and then you can go from there. You don't want to overstep by staying here with him if he's not going to ask. At the end of the day, he's out of it and it's not really your place right now. Even if the very thought of leaving him alone makes you want to burst into tears.

Jason doesn't even think before he grabs your hand as you pull it away from his cheek. You haven't even gotten up. Your other hand is on your knee to help yourself up and you're looking at Jason, one brow raised and waiting. He doesn't want to be alone. Not this time. Just for tonight, he can't be alone.

"Can you stay...please?" Jason lets go of your hand, eyes looking up you, sad and pitiful.

It's like a knife is shoved through your ribs and right into your heart. How the hell could you ever say no to that? Jason Todd rarely asks people to stay and you already left him once. You're not doing it again. There will be another way because this? This isn't it. This is torture for him and for you and there is another way. You're not leaving him alone so you nod.

"Okay." You nod your head and Jason moves over. You sit down, moving the pillow up against the wall so you can lean against the wall comfortably. "You can lay down." You say softly, gesturing to your lap. "I can play with your hair until you fall asleep."

Jason eyes up you, barely keeping his eyes open but there's a warmth that consumes his chest this time. "Thanks for everything." He has no idea how he'll ever be able to repay you. But, he is so thankful you're here and that he's not alone. 

"You and me." You say right back as Jason lays his head down in your lap.

Tears prick his eyes as they close because it's still you and him. Somehow, against all odds, it's the two you. He does not deserve it but he's thankful and he loves you. His head is pounding and throbbing, dizzy and foggy but he finds himself thinking maybe he's done with Crane. After everything tonight and having you still show up, maybe you're right. You've tried to save him this whole time but all he's done is push. You stayed for him, at the very least, maybe he can try to stay for you and then himself. Even if it's too late to salvage anything between you.

Your fingers tangle through the white streak of hair, lightly rubbing his scalp and you think this feels normal. Some part of this feels normal and maybe you're starting to hope it can go back to normal if he comes back to the manor. Maybe he can forgive you. You forgive him. You forgave him the second you saw the look of withdrawal on his face. You forgave him for everything else the second your own high wore off. Maybe if he calls Dick, if he's really off of the drug, maybe it can go to normal and maybe Molly's right. Maybe you can find a way back.

You plead for you and Jason to be able to find your way back.

It doesn't take long for the exhaustion to take over and send Jason into a deep sleep. You can always tell when he really falls asleep because his leg twitches and then his entire body relaxes as if it's the only time he can really breathe. It's as if being awake is just too hard sometimes so when sleep does take over, his entire body just collapses on itself. You desperately wish it weren't so hard for him. It's not really your job anymore, but if there were a way to make it easier for him, you'd do it in a heartbeat.

"Hey." You whisper into the phone, your hand still running through Jason's hair.

"Is everything okay?" Gar asks quickly.

"We've been worried." Kory adds in and you figure you're on speaker and you wonder when Gar decided to loop them in.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Crane drugged him. He's asleep now." You watch the white fall over your fingers and then through them. His arm is draped lazily over your legs but keeping you in place and you wonder if it still feels safe like this for him. It does for you.

"He's asleep?" Dick questions and you think there might even be a softness to his voice.

"Yes." You answer back. "Whatever Crane drugged him with was enough to subdue him and now he's tired. So, he's asleep."

"Is that what he told you?" Dick asks and you just roll your eyes.

"No, but I could tell given he was tied to a chair and I had to help him walk. He was drugged." You mutter sternly, trying to keep your voice down.

"Is he okay?" Kory asks and you can hear the worry in her voice.

You keep your eyes on him and it's the same answer. It's always the same answer and you really, really hope one day it'll change.

"No." You answer. "He's not. But I got him."

Gar can hear the bitterness mixing with heartbreak in your tone. He's relieved you were able to get Jason and setting off the alarms works. He's a little surprised it worked since the three of you together don't seem to have the best of luck. But, you have Jason now and he knows you fought with Dick and Kory before leaving, about them not helping. Gar isn't sure you're going to be so willing to come back, especially if you're getting through to Jason.

"You're not coming back, are you?" Gar asks.

You swallow thickly. "No, I gotta stay. I can't leave him like this. But, I'll be back tomorrow."

"Did he tell you anything before he passed out?" Dick asks.

"He said he was really sorry but he, uh, he was really upset and drugged so I said we'd talk later. Then, he asked if I could stay. Um...I think maybe, he'll come around when he wakes up so if he calls you, Dick, you better answer and let him come home, okay?" Your words should be stern but instead, they're desperate and aching.

"Okay." Dick agrees simply, not willing to go back and forth this time. "Did you kill anyone tonight?"

"No, " You scoff. "I let them off with a warning for helping me."

Dick gains a soft smile. He didn't want you to go. He was really concerned for your safety, for all of the Titans' safety. But, you didn't kill anyone and you were right about Jason. You got him free and brought him somewhere safe, with just a little help from Gar. You had a plan of some sort and a backup just in case it was a trap. Dick hopes Jason realizes one day how lucky he is to have someone who's willing to learn from past mistakes and forgive and forget so easily. Not many people are willing to do that. And Dick is proud.

"Good work." Dick says. "Both of you." You can't see it but he offers Gar a simple nod.

You're still a little mad but it is nice to hear you did good for once. Bruce wasn't very much of a positive reinforcement kind of person. Jason always said you were doing a good job but it was different and that's when you finally get it.

Molly and Gar were right. It was never about you being enough for him because it's different. Your validation is important but you weren't the one who gave him the suit. You weren't the one that took him in. Jason always knew you were doing good and you're good at being a vigilante but hearing it from Dick, means something different.

It's like you expect Jason to think you're good because he loves you and that's the thing. Of course, you always believed in him because you love him. That was never the issue. Dick's been doing this for over ten years. Bruce even longer. And Dick was the one who said you could be a Titan. It was Dick that introduced you to it. Like Bruce introducing Jason to it. It's different hearing it from the person who believed in you. It never had anything to do with you.

"Thank you." You say softly, a soft smile on your lips. "I'm gonna go. Thanks for letting me do this and not following me." You say. "I'll be back tomorrow." You sigh before you hang up, resting your phone on the floor beside the mattress before you rest your head against the wall, closing your eyes. 

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THE FINN WOLFHARD HYPE IS COMING BACK AND OH EM GEE YALL DONT KNOW THE HOLD THAT MAN HAS ON ME HES BEEN MY OBSESSION SINCE 2016 I LOVE HIM SO MUCH 😭😭😭😭😭

i wanna write a tom riddle story so bad, but i know that i won’t ever finish my jason fic if i do, or maybe i will, who knows

This was life changing

genius. [akaashi keiji x f!reader] chapter three.

>>You struggle to pay rent on your limited graduate student salary, and your worst enemy agrees to help you out.

or

You realize you need to find a partner for your faceless porn account, and Akaashi Keiji is the only man who meets all your requirements.<<

series status: [ongoing]

previous. || masterlist. || next.

a/n: so much to say and so little time to say it

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

When you come to, you’re completely slumped over Akaashi, your head buried in the crook of his neck and his arms hanging loosely around you. He’s breathing hard, jostling you where you lie flat on top of him.

“Shit,” he breathes, lifting one hand to his hair and curling his fingers into the locks. You make a small noise, one that’s neither awake nor asleep, and he taps his other hand on your back lightly. “You good?”

You nod groggily and try to lift onto your hands. Your arms shake, so you adjust, but the motion has you both flinching, because Akaashi’s still inside of you. “Fuck,” you whisper to yourself, oversensitive, and he drops both hands to your hips, breathing out shakily while he lifts you off of him. You start to fall sideways onto the bed, but he catches you, throwing his body toward yours and catching you so that you don’t hit the mattress too hard.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he says, a furrow in his brow when you glance up at him. “I put you through a lot.”

“Yeah, you tend to,” you joke weakly, your head lolling to the side as he sits up. You both sigh hard, Akaashi barely managing to crawl to the end of the bed for your phone and both sets of underwear before he returns to his spot. “Thanks,” you mumble when he hands everything to you, and, as you’re sliding your panties on (and ditching the bra, because you can’t be bothered right now), you look down at the sheets. “The bed’s dirty.”

“Don’t care. Need a nap.” He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, groaning. You curl up on your side next to him, your eyes heavy and your muscles aching. A nap sounds glorious.

Before you can drift off, however, his words are ringing through your head.

‘You know me better than that.’

Your eyes crack open, and you stare at the side of his face. His head is bobbing slightly as he starts to fall asleep, eyes flickering open and shut, and you feel distantly bad for interrupting.

“You’re really not doing it on purpose? Any of it?” you whisper, half-hoping it doesn’t wake him at all.

His eyelids flutter, and he turns his head groggily to meet your gaze. When he sees you looking, he turns onto his side, achingly slow, until he’s facing you, too. And then he shakes his head, the exhaustion clear in his every move.

“Not at all,” he whispers back, surprisingly open with you in his tired state. “Are you?”

You frown slightly, confused. “What could I be doing on purpose?”

His eyes slide shut for a moment. “Everything.” 

You get the feeling that what he’s just admitted is bigger than what you have the space to process right now. So you just shake your head, too, and echo his words back. “Not at all.” 

“Okay,” he breathes, after a pause that’s so long that you’d wondered if he’d fallen asleep. “That’s settled, then.”

“I don’t think anything’s settled.” You could probably stop whispering, but the world outside is starting to grow dark, taking this room with it, and the only light in the house comes from the kitchen, so far away from the space between you and Akaashi. And his pinky is brushing up against yours, twitching as he falls asleep, but he’s reaching sleepily for it anyway, hooking your fingers together just before his breath evens out. You’re not sure that he realizes he’s done it.

You want to let him sleep – you want to sleep. But you need his answer. So you squeeze your pinky against his once, and his brows twitch as he wakes again. He hums softly, marking his attention.

“What do we do?” you ask, your words as vague and unclear as your head feels. He swallows, unknowingly shifting marginally closer to you. 

“Told you,” he breathes, a little slurred. “Not doing it on purpose. Jus’ happens.” He lets out a tired sigh and shifts again. “Everything jus’ happens…” 

“So, what d’we do?” you say again, eyes flitting all over his face for an answer.

“Nothin’,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Nothin’ to do but let it happen.”

You stare at him so long that he falls asleep again, his head tilted toward yours. You wonder if you can do that – just let it happen. Whatever that means – whatever it is. You wonder if you can just give in to Akaashi Keiji like that.

‘You know me better than that.’

You suppose that’s alright. Because he’s giving in, too.

When you finally drift off to sleep, it’s with your forehead pressed against his and his finger curled around yours.

–

Keiji flies up in a tangle of limbs and a gasp that wakes you. 

“Shit-” His eyes fly to the window, seeing that dawn’s well past come. You groan, still curled up on your side, and his head whips around to the bedside table, his phone snatched up in an instant. 

It’s almost 7am.

“Fucking shit-” He rolls out of bed, missing his footing and tumbling right off of it. He hits the floor in a pile of his own body, groaning and shaking it off as best as he can, and you sit up quickly, caught off guard by his crash landing.

“Akaashi-”

“Shit, fuck-” He trips over his own feet, still half-asleep, and tries to locate his clothes. “It’s almost 7. I have to get home and shower and get my shit. I have to teach at 9.” He snatches his shirt off the floor and pulls it on, letting out a frustrated groan when he realizes it’s on backwards.

“Take an Uber. I’ll pay for it,” you try, but he just shakes his head, rushing to twist the shirt around.

“Need my bike later–wait.” He looks at you, in his boxers and his half-on shirt and his crooked glasses. You stare back, in your underwear and your bedhead and a pillow pressed to your chest in order to hide your body from him in this new daylight. “We only filmed one thing.”

Your eyes go wide, and you’re breathing ‘fuck’ as you stare up at him. He looks around the room, blinking hard. “What do we do?” he asks, still standing there like an idiot.

“I’m free tonight if you want to come back,” you offer. He nods – he thinks he’s free, too.

“Yeah, that works.”

“Okay, then take an Uber home, since you’re just coming back,” you push again. “And leave your shit here.”

“Okay,” he sighs, searching for his jeans. “That’s fine.”

He finds them on the other side of the bed, entirely unsure how they’d gotten there, and starts to hop into them. There’s a moment of silence, one where he goes through the mental list of his things – wallet, keys, phone – before you’re speaking.

“Akaashi.”

“Hm?” he hums, taking one last hop to get his jeans up to where they need to be before he’s wrestling with the zipper.

“You said last night that there’s nothing we can do except let things happen.” Keiji pauses with his fingers on his zipper, back turned to you and eyes flicking down at nothing while he thinks. Had he said that? “Did you mean that?” you ask quietly.

He tugs his zipper up and does the button, blinking rapidly. His ears start to warm with some unknown embarrassment. “I suppose I did.”

“So… are we just gonna…” You don’t finish the question, but he hears it, anyway, and his heart flips in his chest. 

Are we just gonna keep doing this? Whatever we want?

He glances over his shoulder at you, turning slightly while he tightens his belt around his hips. “What is it, huh?” he asks, a soft smirk lifting on his lips. “You attracted to me, Freak?”

You scowl, but he sees the interest in your eyes. It’s the same interest that plucks at his nerves now, as he’s doing up his belt and staring down at you where you sit, naked in the bed that he’s fucked you in twice this week.

“I think you know the answer to that,” you bite, but it’s lacking its usual edge. You’re nervous. 

He doesn’t have it in him right now to fuck with you, because he’s nervous, too. “Yeah. I do.” He scoops up his phone and runs his fingers through his hair. “Okay, I have all my shit, I think.”

You tap quickly on your phone with an uncertain nod. “Okay,” you say after a moment. “Uber will be here in two minutes.”

He nods, rushing to the door. “Thanks,” he breathes, and then he stops himself with a hand on the door frame. He shouldn’t leave like this. 

Backing slowly into the room again and eyeing you where you sit, he sighs. “Freak.”

You look up from your phone, frowning. “Is that just gonna be your new name for me-”

“I’m attracted to you, too.”

Your mouth drops open, and his splits in a smug grin that hides how terrifying it had been to admit that. 

“But you probably figured that out, didn’t you?” he asks quietly. When you just swallow and nod shallowly, he nods back. “So, yes. We’re ‘just gonna’.” He quotes your unfinished question and offers no ending. The rest of it sits between you, the silence empty and full at the same time.

You let out a long breath after a moment. “Okay,” you whisper. 

The sound of it – of your agreement to the unsaid proposal he’d just made – makes his fingertips go numb.

“Okay,” he breathes back. “I’m gonna go.”

“Okay.”

As he sits in the back of the Uber, Keiji tries to remember what he’s in such a rush for.

–

The time between October 25th and November 11th passes in a blur.

You and Akaashi find a flow, one that’s surprisingly easy. He comes over twice a week, as planned, and the world around you – outside of you – reduces to nothing but the things that happen inside the walls of your apartment. You both leave everything behind and enter into the suspended disbelief that carries you through this arrangement. 

He bends you over every surface in the spare bedroom and forces you to forget who you are, not that that’s hard with the way he handles you. You talk back as often as you can, because the way his eyes light up when you do tells you he likes the challenge. That no one challenges him quite like you. You bump heads throughout the day, over and over again, only to fall into each other at night in a way that’s wonderfully in sync – two pieces of different puzzles that fit together as though they’d been made that way. 

You start to think after a while that every argument you find yourself in with Akaashi Keiji only serves to make this thing between you stronger when you’re alone. Because on the days that your tension is particularly bad, you find it that much easier to give in to him. On the days when you’re particularly combative, he’s that much more eager to mold you into what he wants. Easy, like putty under his fingertips, you give for him – and he gives right back, just like he’d promised.

He still won’t let you touch him, not in the way that you want. After two weeks, he still won’t let you show him how to get out of his own head. He spanks you, ties you up, bends you in ways no one ever has before and makes you do things that would be completely humiliating if not for the fact that it’s him making you do them. You know that – you’re aware enough to know that it’s because it’s him.

That it’s always been because it’s him.

So even if he won’t let you do the one thing you keep asking for – tears in your eyes, a pout on your lips, anything that might make him give in to you – you can’t find it in you to be too upset. Because a deal is a deal, and Akaashi Keiji’s good for his word. And in return for giving him what he wants, he fucks you in your favorite position, once and then twice more in the same night, because you’re just that good at listening.

You listen to him, no matter the request, and he makes it worth your while without fail.

It bleeds into your everyday life without either of you realizing it. 

Not the sex – never the sex. But things are different now. That suspended disbelief reaches, aching and stretching, into the corners of your days, touching the tension between you and then slipping away before you have a chance to recognize that things are changing.

Akaashi sits in the back of the LEM meetings now, where no one can see him. He lets other people take the round table, slipping in at the last second and taking a seat against the wall instead of coming five minutes early like he always does. He does it on purpose – you know he does, because he makes two choices. 

The first is that – on days when you don’t present – he sits right behind you and taps his foot ever so lightly on one of your chair legs, just to remind you he’s there. And when you inevitably inch forward, he’s quick to adjust, because the universe had cursed him with long legs and he’s more than willing to use them. If you grow annoyed enough to turn and glare at him, you’re always unlucky enough to catch the smirk tugging at his lips and the heated look in his eye, because he gets off on you snapping at him. 

You both know that now, and he’s not ashamed to admit it, anymore. Not to you.

The second – much, much worse – comes on the days that you do present. Because you’re forced to speak to a group of your peers and advisor for twenty minutes straight. Twenty minutes where Akaashi Keiji sits in the back of the room and undresses you with his eyes. His long, dark eyelashes flutter as his gaze travels across your body, and his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth without hesitation. His head tilts this way and that, giving him the angles he needs to ogle you. 

A few seconds on the hem of your skirt, giving way to thighs that, when pressed together like that, hide the marks he’d left only the night before. A few seconds on your throat, because, if he strains his eyes enough, he can see the traces of himself there, purple and slathered in concealer. A few seconds on the buttons of your blouse, the same buttons you’d had to sew back into your shirt because he’d accidentally ripped them off in his rush to undress you last week. 

But maybe that’s your fault for wearing one of your roleplay blouses to campus that day. Maybe you’d done it on purpose. Maybe, over the last two weeks, you’d come to anticipate the shiver of nerves that would run down your spine when your day to present would come back around. Maybe you’d started to look forward to the way he would inevitably grill you with questions after spending twenty minutes flustering you, because – as you’d come to learn – Akaashi Keiji’s preferred form of foreplay had always been psychological.

Maybe that’s what you get for choosing him.

Maybe that’s why you’d choose him again in a heartbeat.

It takes too long to notice that other people are starting to see it, too. That, when Bokuto digs through your fridge and holds up a container of kung pao chicken in confusion, your stuttered excuse of having Akaashi over to grade exams together hadn’t passed over with Kuroo as well as you’d hoped. That, when Akaashi beckons you away from lunch to go to Syntax lecture together, Tsukishima’s eyes follow you out of the dining hall, watching you two walk closer together than usual. That, at Bokuto’s parties, Yachi had started to realize that Akaashi was careful with her personal space on that couch, but not yours.

It takes too long to notice those things, for both of you. Because you’re both too busy noticing each other.

At night, Akaashi doesn’t text you anymore. He just logs on to xxxvids .com and pings you, no matter how many times you tell him to stop being weird. He pings you there and takes up most of the time you could be spending responding to other messages, talking about absurdly normal things like grading and dissertation progress. It adds to the suspended disbelief, and you think that maybe you both know it. He always drops a five-star review at the end, and, after a week of it, he starts gifting you the in-chat badges and stickers that cost money. He sends them without hesitation, the money adding up so quickly that you start to threaten to block him. 

‘You won’t block me,’ he always messages back. ‘You like my attention too much.’

You hate how well he knows you.

So you start to text him your solo videos before you post them. Because you know him, too. Because you know that all you have to do is attach a cheeky message – ‘since you liked it so much the first time ;)’ – before he comes running, your phone ringing angrily every time.

‘You better cut it out,’ he always says. 

‘What’re you gonna do, punish me?’, you say. Because you know that he will.

You know that Akaashi will always give you what you want, no matter how far you push his limits outside of the bedroom. Because as long as you give him what he needs when it matters, he’ll do just the same.

That understanding becomes real in ways you hadn’t predicted, much too soon.

–

Keiji tugs on the collar of his turtleneck in annoyance, the fabric rubbing against his skin in a way that irritates him. He passes through the mass of people in the dining hall, grimacing when his shirt sticks to his skin, the heat a bit unbearable.

It’s still too warm out to be wearing something so clearly meant for winter, but he’d been in a rush this morning, and he hadn’t had time to cover up the hickies you’d left on him two nights ago. He’d cursed you and your family line when he’d spotted the marks in the mirror, because he certainly did not have time to cover them up with the concealer you’d bought him. He’d picked out the first high-neck item he could find in his closet, which just so happened to be this awful wool sweater that’s heavenly in the cold and absolute hell any other time.

You’re already at the table with Bokuto when he finds you, and he sees your eyes drop to his neck. Your eyebrows go up with interest, and you’re hiding a smirk, because you know exactly why he would ever have chosen such a bad outfit for today’s weather. He sits with a sigh, his loudly clattering tray one of the many micro-decisions he’s making to let out his irritation today.

“Hi, Bokuto,” he says quietly, only acknowledging you with a nod of his head. You nod back, seeing when he rolls his eyes subtly at you. It makes you smile, so you turn it on Bokuto, because that’s more natural than smiling at Keiji.

“Kou, have you heard back from the Expo?” you ask, giving the larger man all your attention. Keiji’s eye twitches slightly, and he digs into his lunch, trying not to let you see. But he knows you have, because you always do. 

Sometime in the last two weeks, you’d picked up on the way his shoulders tense when you talk to Bokuto, on the way his jaw clenches and unclenches when you touch him. On the way he’s just that much meaner in bed afterward.

He’s not stupid enough to believe he’s not a little bit possessive. He’d felt it enough times over the last few days. 

It always starts with an annoyance that strums in his veins when his best friend hugs you – because there’s a heat map on your body that only Keiji can see, one that shows him all the places he’d put his hands the last time he’d fucked you. And he has to sit there and watch Bokuto’s hands cover it all up. 

It’s worse when Bokuto lingers, friendly and unassuming, in your personal space, because Keiji knows you won’t smell like you afterward. He always tenses when it’s not your perfume in his nose when you pass him by. His mind goes blank when it’s Bokuto’s cologne instead, stronger than his own and not at all suited to your skin.

It always leaves him feeling like a fucking dog, overcome with some strange urge to pull you close – in public or otherwise – and drown you in things that smell like him. His cologne, his shirts, his coat, he doesn’t fucking care. It irritates him. And you’d noticed.

Of course you’d noticed – because you’re annoying like that. You’re annoying enough to feed into it, giving Bokuto extra smiles and extra sweetness when Keiji’s around, because you know that, the next time you’re alone with him, Keiji will make you cry and beg for forgiveness.

And it doesn’t matter how many times he reminds himself that it’s not his business to be jealous. It’s not his business to be possessive, because there’s nothing for him to be possessive about. You’re not his. 

But you lean into it. So he does, too.

You lean into it now, touching your fingers down on Bokuto’s arm when you ask him about the conference. It starts on Friday, and the results still aren’t out yet. It’s concerning, enough that it’s made everyone more high-strung than usual – conference results coming out with less than a week for speakers to prepare is unheard of.

But Keiji’s not thinking about that. He’s thinking about the fingers you have on Bokuto’s wrist, wondering if you remember that, two nights ago, you had those fingers wrapped around his-

“No, I haven’t!” Bokuto exclaims, snapping Keiji out of his growing frustration. “It’s so weird and annoying! Have you?”

You shake your head, pouting slightly, and Keiji’s rice spoon shakes in his clenched fist. He’s really not in the space to do this today.

“We haven’t, no. Our advisor’s starting to get a little pissed,” you say in faux contemplation. You press one fingertip to your bottom lip and tap thoughtfully a few times. Keiji wonders if it’d be okay for him to throw himself across this table and tackle you.

When your eyes slide to his, catty and challenging, he loses his mind.

Dropping his spoon in the metal bowl with a jarring clang, he leans back, sighing performatively. “God, I think I chose the wrong outfit for today.”

Bokuto looks him over, nodding enthusiastically, but Keiji keeps his eyes locked on yours. You know to be wary of him, at least – your eyes narrow, and his even out, your challenge accepted.

“Yeah, dude, you really did. It’s way too hot to-” Bokuto goes quiet, staring. His eyes are locked on the place where Keiji has a finger hooked into his collar and is tugging it down, presumably to air out his warm neck.

His warm neck, where there are some rather you-shaped love bites marking his skin.

Your face drops, mouth hanging open and eyes wide as you stare at him. Keiji doesn’t react, because Bokuto’s looking at him, not you, but he does turn his gaze on his friend and tug on the collar a few more times with a relieved sigh.

“So hot in here. I made a mistake.”

“Dude.” Bokuto stares, open-mouthed, and then reaches for him, yanking the collar all the way down and exposing Keiji’s hickies completely. “Have you been sleeping with someone?!”

Keiji stares you dead in the eyes when he says–

“Just someone from my department.” He watches your gaze turn deadly, and he smiles politely at the glare you shoot him, turning back to his friend. “I don’t think you’d know her. It’s really casual.”

Bokuto immediately turns to you, and you fix your expression with impressive speed.

“Do you know who it is?” he asks excitedly, practically vibrating in his seat. “Y/n, please tell me you know who it is. Please, please, please-”

“Uh-” you stutter, laughing nervously and shaking your head. “Our department’s pretty big, Kou. And I’m not really in the habit of getting in Akaashi’s business.” 

It’s a solid save, Keiji will give you that. But he can’t help but smirk, because he can tell you’re not going to be letting this one go any time soon.

“Um, but-” He plasters an embarrassed grin on his face, nudging Bokuto in a way that’s meant to be sheepish. “We’re keeping it kinda quiet, okay? So don’t tell anyone?”

The man’s eyes go wide, and he’s nodding very solemnly. “Yeah, I totally get it. I won’t say anything!”

Your chair screeches when you push it back, standing to full height. Keiji watches you with disinterest.

“I just remembered,” you say through gritted teeth. “We were supposed to go over that handout before lecture. Should we go?”

Keiji just lifts his brows and looks down at his lunch. “I’m still eating.”

Your nostrils flare, and a rush of excitement flies down his spine. Picking up your bag, you smile sweetly down at Bokuto. “Sorry, Kou. Let’s get dinner tonight?”

Keiji can’t wait to get you alone.

He and Bokuto watch you go, Bokuto waving and yelling ‘see you tonight!’ across the crowded room. Keiji eats his meal silently, watching when Kuroo, Tsukishima, and Yachi break through the mass of bodies and make their way over to the table. The two men are stealing glances at each other as they walk, but Keiji’s learned that if he minds his own business, then Tsukishima tends to do the same.

And it’s important to him that Tsukishima does the same.

“Was that Y/n we just saw?” Kuroo asks as he sets his tray down. Bokuto nods bouncily.

“She said something about a handout that she and Akaashi need to go over.” He looks down at Keiji, who’s stuffing his mouth full of food at record speed. “Shouldn’t you go with her?”

Keiji nods, cheeks stretched to their limits as he tries to swallow it all. “Mhm,” he says, grimacing as the food goes down and then shoveling more in. He picks up his bag as he’s still eating, swinging it over his shoulder and snatching his tray up. “Gotta go-” He chokes a bit, barely recovering as he’s waving goodbye over his shoulder. He feels Tsukishima’s eyes on him for only a moment before the sensation passes, and he’s grateful he and the blond have come to a silent agreement.

He makes a beeline for the door, all but bursting out in a run as soon as he hits the sidewalk. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he yanks it out, heart pounding at the thought that it’s you.

[2:38PM]

Bokuto: DONT WORRY AKAAAASHI!!! 

Bokuto: I WONT TELL ANYONE ABOUT YOUR SECRET SITUATIONSHIP!!!

Keiji laughs to himself, pocketing the phone again as he heads straight for the Linguistics building. 

He only makes it to the corner before he’s being dragged around the side of the dining hall and slammed against the brick wall.

“You asshole-”

He closes his eyes and laughs, your voice washing over him in a giddy wave. “This doesn’t look much like a Syntax handout-” 

“You told him.” You lean in close, and he meets your eyes with ease, the grin tugging at his lips satisfied.

“No, I didn’t,” he says. “I told him I’m fucking a girl in my department. It could be anyone.”

“He’s gonna figure out it’s me-”

Keiji takes your face in his hand, squeezing tight and pulling you close, not unlike the way he’d done it in the stairwell two weeks ago. There’s something about the way you’d said it – like you really don’t want Bokuto Koutarou to find out you’re hooking up with him – that makes him angry. Irrationally so, because it’s not his place to be angry at all. But still, he grabs you. He grabs you, and then he turns you around, pushing you up against the wall with his body.

“You wanna play with me, Freak?” he mumbles, his voice cold as he stares down at you. “You wanna flirt and touch and smile at him like that when I’m around?” Your eyes are heated, so different from his own, and he wonders if you realize that it turns him on when you look at him like this. He leans down, close enough that he watches your eyes drop to his lips in a slight panic, because every breath you let out passes through his lungs next. 

He hopes you feel it in yours when he whispers, “Then I’m gonna play with you, too.”

Your gaze hardens on his, but he’d felt the shiver of anticipation that had just wracked your body. It eggs him on, makes him want to do worse.

“If you wanted to fuck Bokuto, you should have asked him instead,” he says, his voice hard. “But you asked me. Not him.”

Your eyes flick between his, and then your gaze clears of its anger. Keiji’s brow furrows.

“You’re jealous,” you whisper, amazement coating your words and sticking to him like honey. He scoffs, shaking his head. 

“I’m not fucking jealous-”

“You’re so fucking jealous, Akaashi-”

“Y/n,” he growls, pushing you up harder against the wall, but you just stare up at him, a wild look in your eye that makes him completely and utterly nervous. “I’m not jealous.”

“Well, you’re something,” you breathe, the smile on your face unable to be stopped, even with the way he’s squeezing your cheeks together. “What’s wrong, huh? Worried I might not just be yours to play with?”

His veins run cold, and there’s a terrifyingly significant part of him that wants to take you right here, just to prove a point. To make you scream right here, in public, so close to the dining hall where anyone – maybe even someone in particular – might pass by and discover you. It makes him crazy.

You make him crazy.

“If you fuck anyone else–” he whispers, cold and hard and laced with a threat. “–then this is over. You hear me, Y/n?”

He thinks you’re going to be angry. He’s saying something completely irrational. He’s being possessive and gross and terrible, and you should be angry with him. It’s not his place – none of this is his place. You can fuck whoever you want to. It was unspoken that there would be no one else, but it was never part of the rules. You should be kicking and screaming and fighting him with everything you’ve got.

But you don’t. 

“I hear you, Akaashi,” you just breathe, staring up at him with wide, twinkling eyes. You look excited, like you’d been waiting to bring this out of him. Like you’d wanted this from him, because there wouldn’t be any other reason that you would–

Keiji blinks, realization filling him. “You… aren’t attracted to Bokuto, are you?”

You grin wide, evil and wicked as you search his eyes. “God, you’re possessive.”

He wants to crawl into a hole and die.

–

You don’t see Akaashi again until Tuesday morning. He’d sat through Syntax lecture the day before with his head in his hand, ears burning and phone buzzing uselessly in his pocket with the teasing texts that you were sending him. He hadn’t checked his phone once, because he could see you typing and, based on the shit-eating grin on your face, they weren’t texts that he was safe to check in public. He’d booked it from the lecture hall the moment your advisor had stepped away from the podium, and he hadn’t answered any of your calls. At some point he’d just turned his phone off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be worried about it, because, like clockwork, he’d pinged you online.

[9:07 PM]

tokyohandsome: i hate you.

tokyohandsome: youre the worst thing thats ever happened to me.

You’d just sent him another text to his phone, a voice note of you laughing and asking if he would still give you five stars even if you don’t message him back. He does exactly that, and then he texts you back –  a middle finger emoji.

You look forward to seeing him on Tuesday, but every thought of Akaashi Keiji leaves you when you check your email in the morning.

[06:22 AM] Notification of Conference Acceptance – Poster Presentation

You stare at the email, a mix of excitement and dread swirling in your gut. You’d gotten in. You’d gotten into the conference. A poster presentation isn’t as much of an achievement as a full talk – you’d have to stand around in the poster session for an hour just talking to whoever would be willing to drop by and listen for a few minutes, instead of having the attention of a dedicated audience for twenty minutes plus a Q&A session – but an acceptance is an acceptance. It’s an accomplishment and a point of pride to be accepted to conferences, especially to one like Ling Expo.

Ling Expo, which starts in three days.

Three days to make a poster, with teaching responsibilities, pilot data to analyze, and a dissertation chapter due to your advisor tomorrow afternoon.

Right. Okay, then. Time to get to it.

–

You don’t think you’ve ever had a day quite this bad before. It’s barely 11am, the LEM meeting something that you’d consider a break right now, and you feel like you’ve been put through hell. You’d spent the morning analyzing data and trying not to cry when your code for the analysis had returned an error message for the sixteenth time. You’d gone through your advisor’s comments on your last chapter draft, trying not to cry again when you’d seen the major revisions he’d left in the margins for the section you haven’t done yet. And then you’d taught your Semantics class, trying not to cry again when someone had asked a question that you’d just answered four minutes prior.

By the time you flop down at the round table in the lab room, your head is screaming and you’re about one minor inconvenience from sobbing in front of everyone. 

When Akaashi silently sets a steaming hot latte down in front of you, you think you might start sobbing anyway.

You look up at him, eyes wide and bloodshot. You don’t see that everyone else is looking at him too, the whole room falling silent as they watch him act out of character. “Why?”

He doesn’t look much better than you. “Poster or talk?”

You blink. You hadn’t told him you’d been accepted. “Poster.”

He smiles, not like he’s proud of you but like he’s satisfied that he’d been right. “I got a talk.”

The room relaxes – he’s just gloating. Your advisor laughs low next to you, almost like he’s relieved that the universe isn’t turning on an odd new axis. But you keep your eyes on Akaashi’s, because you can see he’d meant it for what it really is.

He’s checking on you.

He takes the seat on the other side of your advisor, and you hear him breathe a sigh of relief when he sips from his coffee. You try yours, feeling your life come back to you just a little bit. 

Your advisor casts a look around the room, clearing his throat as he surveys you all.

“Based on the varying states of despair I’m seeing, we got a few acceptances to Ling Expo.”

The group of you laugh, and you feel that interesting wave of camaraderie fall over you that always comes around the time of this conference. That reminder that, even if you’re all different people working on different research, you’re just a group of twenty-somethings who landed in the same school, in the same department, working for the same advisor at the same time.

At the finish line, you’ll be vying for the same jobs – the same research positions, the same professorships, the same industry careers. But for now – for one weekend a year – the ten of you in this room represent the man at the head of the table, and, as brutal and unrelenting as he can be, there’s a reason it’s his lab group that gets invited to the biggest conference in Japan every year.

There’s a piece of you that’s glad that things between you and Akaashi had smoothed out this year – that, even if you still wage an academic war with him every chance you get, things between you will be different this weekend. Because, of the ten of you, there are exactly two PhD candidates in the room. Only two who will be watched above the rest, because only two are on the job market at this very moment, their competence on display in front of the brightest linguists in the country.

Two, who sit on either side of the head of the table at this very moment.

The stress comes down on your chest harder than before.

“I know it’s really short-notice,” your advisor says, shaking his head and staring down over his bifocals at his laptop screen. “The organizers have been a little scattered this year, but I guess it happens to the best of us.” And then he claps loudly, you and Akaashi flinching at the noise. “That said, they didn’t book enough rooms for everyone, so we’ll have to do some sharing.”

You nod emptily, too caught up in your mental to-do list for the rest of the day to really register what he’s said. It’s happened before, anyway – the larger, interdisciplinary conference always ends up drawing massive attendance records across all departments. You’d had to share a room two years ago, with a girl who works for one of the top three translation companies in the world now.

If you manage not to fuck up this weekend from the sheer lack of preparation, you might impress someone long enough to land a similar job.

Your mind lingers on that for the next few minutes, the pressure to represent your advisor well weighing down heavy on your shoulders. You should start your poster after this meeting – if you skip lunch, you might be able to finish it before the Syntax lecture. And – if you aren’t stopped for questions by students on the way out – you might be able to troubleshoot the data code for the rest of the day. You could probably afford to order takeout for dinner. That way you don’t have to waste time cooking, and you can even take a break afterward by hauling your stuff down to the coffee shop by your apartment and working there on the dissertation draft until morning. Oh, but there’s grading that needs to get done by Thursday night, and you won’t have time tomorrow-

“-eiji and Y/n. And I think that’s it.”

You blink, turning to your advisor. He’s already looking back at you, eyebrows raised.

“That is fine, right?” he says, smiling innocently. You hear the scattered snickers of your lab-mates, and you can only look over the man’s head at Akaashi. He’s staring back, eyes guarded and ears tinted pink.

Sharing a hotel room with Akaashi?

“What?” you say dumbly. “Sorry. I was doing damage control in my head for my workload.”

It eases Akaashi’s tension, his shoulders relaxing as he laughs with the rest of the room. Your advisor nudges you good-naturedly. 

“You and Keiji are together for room placements,” he repeats. “I know it’s not ideal, but we’ve got an odd number of guys and girls, so we need one co-ed room.” He looks between you lazily, as though his logic had been obvious. “And you two know each other best, so…”

Somehow, Akaashi looks more guarded now.

You’re not sure you’re in a place mentally to unpack everything this man’s just said. So you just nod along, ignoring the look of surprise Akaashi gives you when you only mumble ‘yeah, that makes sense’. 

“Great!” you advisor beams at you, returning to the rest of the group. “Now, about the presentation schedule-”

You tune out for the rest of the meeting, certain you must have fallen asleep with your eyes open, because Akaashi’s nudging your shoulder as he passes behind you on the way out. You blink, seeing that it’s already noon.

You rush to your office, barely hearing when there’s a knock at your door two hours later. A dark head pokes past, but you just keep your eyes locked on your double monitor setup, your fingers flying across the keyboard of your laptop as you fill in the text boxes of your poster.

“Y/n.” You just hum at the call of your name, watching the screen fill up with the literature review you’d boiled down to just a few bullet points. The dark head becomes a whole body, tall in the doorway of your office. “Y/n, it’s time for lunch.”

You blink, only pulling your eyes away from the screen because you’d filled in the whole section and could afford the break in your concentration. Akaashi’s at the door, staring down at you expectantly. When you don’t move to join him for lunch, his eyebrows go up.

“You have to eat.”

“Oh,” you say, shaking your head and going back to your screens. “I’m good. Too busy.”

“To eat?”

“To eat.”

He sighs hard. “Are you going to lecture after?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Have to. ‘s my job.”

“And you’re not going to eat?”

“Akaashi,” you say with a distressed laugh, turning to him again. “Please. You’re killing my concentration.” You gesture generally to the door. “If you don’t go eat soon, you’ll be late to lecture.”

He only steps further into the room, glancing out into the hall before shutting the door behind him. When he rounds your desk, it’s to examine what you’re working on. You recognize that, only weeks ago, you would never have let Akaashi Keiji see the state of your workspace.

But now, you just let his eyes fly across your laptop and monitor, too tired to do much more than lean back in your chair with a sigh. You’ve got the poster template up on your big monitor, zoomed in to the 300% mark so you can fill out the boxes. Your laptop screen is split in two, one side filled with a previous version of your talk slides and the other taken up by your dissertation chapter, the glaring red strikethroughs and lengthy comments left by your advisor popping out against the text.

He doesn’t comment on the state of your draft — on the mistakes and lack of understanding, on your flaws as a researcher, your places of improvement. He doesn’t comment on all the ways you don’t match up to him, even though the difference between your poster presentation and his talk presentation speak loud enough for both of you.

He doesn’t comment on your shortcomings or the state of your stress, loud and angry and visible in everything about you. He just sighs and crosses his arms and says —

“Do you want to cancel tonight?”

Your blood runs cold. 

You forgot he’s supposed to come over tonight. You didn’t count him in your schedule.

Still, the idea of not seeing him makes you feel weird.

You don’t look up from your screen. “Only if you’ve got too much going on.”

You leave it up to him. You want him to say he’s free, that he doesn’t want to cancel. You don’t want to cancel, even though the extra five hours would probably save you from drowning just a little bit. But you don’t want to tell him that — you don’t want to tell him that the thought of him cancelling makes your stomach hurt and your chest twinge with disappointment. You don’t want to show him that you’d rather throw yourself into worse stress tomorrow rather than giving yourself more time tonight.

 You don’t want him to see how badly you want to see him tonight.

“I’ve got time tonight,” he says quietly, and you don’t turn to look at him, even though you really want to. Even though you can hear that there’s more in his voice than the words he’d said. Because you know he doesn’t have time, either.

“Okay,” you say, nodding once and then sitting up to return to your poster. “If you don’t go eat now, you’ll be late to Syntax.” 

He leaves without another word.

When you join him in lecture, he drops a banana and a protein shake in your lap. You eat silently, swallowing over the lump in your throat.

–

Something’s not right.

By all counts, everything is fine. Everything’s as it should be. Akaashi has one hand planted firmly on your bare waist, the other locked tight around both your wrists as he keeps them pressed to your stomach. It feels good, the way he’s pushing his hips into yours – it always feels good. Never once has sex with Akaashi not felt good.

But now – even as your back is arching against the mattress and your legs are spreading further to let him in, the silence filled with the sound of your breathless pants mixing with his – something’s not right. 

It’s not him that’s not right. 

But it is. 

It’s the way he’s staring down at you, cyan eyes cold and detached. It’s not new, and normally it works wonders for you. Normally, it plucks at a strand of pleasurable desperation in your soul, one that wants to please him and give him anything he wants, even when he doesn’t tell you what it is. 

Tonight, that strand is plucked over and over, harder and faster until it’s wound tight. Tight enough to snap, because the way Akaashi Keiji’s disinterest is pulling at you is starting to hurt.

“What’s with you, huh?” he mumbles, half-distracted as his eyes roam your body and linger on how your breasts bounce when he thrusts hard into you. “You’re not so bratty tonight. You losing interest?” 

You shake your head, the string pulling at your spine. “No, it’s not-”

“If you’re losing interest-” he starts, cyan eyes snapping to yours. Filling with looming disappointment, like you’re not doing enough for him tonight. Like you’re not doing enough to keep him here. “-then I’ll lose interest, too.”

You’re not enough.

You feel your face twist before you can stop it, brows pinching together hard and eyes squeezing shut. Your mouth drags down in a deep frown, and your chest stutters as you try to keep a sob in, your eyes burning with tears all at once.

“‘m sorry,” you gasp, wanting to hide behind your hands but finding them trapped in Akaashi’s grasp. “I’ll try harder, I promise-” You cut off, body jerking as you sob, tears hot and angry as they fall down your cheeks. Your nerves are frayed, shocking and sparking at your skin and forcing every new sob to the surface. Your breath comes short, and you can’t find more no matter how hard you look for it.

You notice too late that Akaashi’s stopped moving.

You want to play it off, want to feed into his dacryphilia, if only to save face. “I can do better, baby-” you try, but it comes out weak and pathetic. Covered in the kind of tears that couldn’t possibly do much for him. “Just tell me what to do-”

“Y/n.”

You gasp, not expecting the hard edge of his voice or the sound of your name. Your eyes fly open, vision blurry and eyes stinging. He’s staring down at you, his own gaze full of alarm. “What’s your color right now?”

Your chest caves in.

“Yellow,” you cry, shaking your head and tugging at the restraint on your wrists. He lets you go, and you slap your hands down over your face, crying hard. “Yellow, it’s yellow-”

It’s red.

But you don’t want him to think it’s because of him – it’s not because of him, and you know that. You know, even in your anguish, that it’s because of how stressed you are. You can feel it in the cruel voice that taunts you, whispering that you’re not enough. Not enough for this program, not enough for your advisor, not enough for your dissertation or the field or anything else that you absolutely need to be enough for.

You’re not enough for Akaashi, either, but that’s not his fault. He hasn’t done a single thing wrong.

So you tell him your color is yellow.

But he hears it for what it is. 

Hears you for what you mean, even when you don’t say it.

You sob when he pulls out of you, because you don’t feel like you’re enough to keep him here, but you don’t try to convince him to stay. You just cry into your hands, your frayed edges made more jagged by the wail of your own voice, viciously loud and echoing off the walls as you curl up in place and let the sobs wrack your body.

You hear him moving around the room, hear him swear under his breath, hear your phone hit the bedside table. And then the mattress moves, shifting with his weight as he clambers back over you.

“Hey.” His hands find your biceps, palms steady and warm on you. He pulls you up, and you let him move your body however he wants. You just cry, embarrassed and hurting and wanting so desperately for this whole thing to be over. “Come here-” He lifts you into his lap, maneuvering you until you’re sitting chest to chest with him, legs wrapped around his waist. 

You throw your arms around his neck and press your body to his, crying loudly into the crook of his neck. His chest is warm against yours, and you can feel the fabric of his boxers sliding against your thighs. And his arms are strong and anchoring, belting around your waist and pulling you as close to him as you can physically be.

Akaashi Keiji feels safe, and you so very badly want him to stay.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, face hidden in his neck. “I’m so sorry - you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he says, and you feel him speak more than anything else, his voice low and vibrating in his chest and in yours. He’s pulling the comforter around you both, and you’re safer still, wrapped up in this little bubble with him. “It’s okay. I was too mean tonight-”

“No, you weren’t!” you argue, angry with yourself for making him doubt this. “You weren’t too mean – everything was fine-”

“Y/n, you’re crying in my arms right now,” he jokes, but his hold on you never falters. He only pulls you closer. 

“But it wasn’t you,” you say, shaking your head against him. His throat is warm, and you can feel his heartbeat on your cheek. It pulses hard with anxiety, and you hate that you’ve done that to him. “It was everything else, I’m just-” Your tears are still flowing, but your chest doesn’t hurt so much. Your breath is easier to find. “I’m just not in a good place tonight.”

“I know,” he mutters. You feel his lips pass over your shoulder. “I know you’re not, but I still wasn’t nice enough. I should have been nicer.” His mouth is warm as it pushes gently against your skin. “I should have read you better,” he whispers.

“That’s not your responsibility,” you protest weakly. But his fingers are drawing warm shapes in your back, and you’re coming down from your peak of stress-crying, and all you feel now is extreme exhaustion.

“Yes, it is,” he breathes with finality. His lips are against your ear now, and his breath is sending waves of shivers down your spine – it usually sets you on edge, but in this moment it calms you, the feeling of him pressed against you completely as he whispers in your ear. “I have to know how to read you – how to know what you need from me.”

Your brain, worn and frayed, likes the sound of that.

“Okay.”

He stays quiet for a moment – mere seconds where he sits completely still with you in his arms. Where your chest presses firmly against his, your heartbeat slowing to match his, and then both of them slowing together, back to normal. Where your face presses to his skin, and his face presses to yours, the two of you breathing in time.

The thing that had slid into place and locked tight all those weeks ago – when you looked into Akaashi Keiji’s eyes the first time you’d slept together, the first time you’d gone over the edge with cyan in your mind – rattles now, chains jangling against your spine and pushing hard behind your ribcage. In the spot where your soul sits.

“Okay,” he says.

And then he stands, taking you with him. He wraps you up in the comforter and takes you, completely naked and wrapped around him like that’s all you know how to do, out of the room and into the living room. He pads through the room with you obstructing him in every way, and he does it with ease, pushing his way into your pantry and snatching the box of pop-tarts off the middle shelf.

He drops the box haphazardly on the coffee table and takes a seat on the couch, careful not to hurt you but still rough – certain and final – about the way he turns you in his lap. You sit with your back against his chest, swaddled and a little confused but otherwise allowing him to do as he pleases in any way he pleases. Your mind is too hazy to make any decisions, too cloudy to question his. Your brain is too hot, the jagged edges of your judgment too muddled and eroded away for you to do anything except trust him.

You leave your life and your body in Akaashi Keiji’s hands, because it’s Akaashi Keiji who knows what to do with them.

When he turns on the nature channel silently and comments ‘series about whales today’ with a half-interested hum, you start to cry in your hands again. He lets you, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin the only indication that he’s got his attention wholly on you.

He takes one hand off of you after a moment, only to hand you a pack of strawberry pop-tarts. And then to pick up his phone, previously discarded on the cushion. You watch through strawberry pop-tart and blurry vision as he orders Chinese food – wonton soup and two orders of dumplings.

Comfort food.

You cry harder, one hand clasped over your mouth as you listen to the narrator talk about whale migration. When Akaashi’s done ordering, he tosses his phone down and pulls you close again, letting you turn halfway so you can bury your face in his neck.

“Ready to talk?” he mumbles, soft and coaxing. You’ve never heard him speak to you like that before.

“Just stressed,” you whisper weakly, unable to give him more. Too tired to say more. 

His thumb pushes warmly against your hip on its path around the circle. “Ling Expo?”

You nod. “Dissertation, too.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding once. “I saw his comments on your draft. Er–” He laughs lamely. “The size of the comments, rather.”

You don’t respond. You know he’s further along in his dissertation than you are – he’s probably past the point of major foundational issues. It feels like you’ll never get there.

“Just feels like nothing I do is good enough.”

You don’t question why you tell him that. You just recognize that you’re comfortable enough to.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just nodding and keeping his eyes on the TV while he runs his thumb across your skin.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” he finally says. You keep quiet, curled up against him and wondering where this is going. “I feel like you know that,” he adds. “But I just… thought I should make it clear.” His fingers find your hair, tangling tight and pulling you away with a firm hand so he can look at you. His nose brushes yours while he flicks his eyes between yours, searching you. Reading you. And then he shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean what I said. About losing interest.”

You’re enough for me.

Your throat tightens and your eyes well up, and his mouth is tugging into the ghost of a smile. “Don’t cry again,” he whispers.

“I’m gonna cry again,” is all you say.

He’s kind enough to let you hide your face from him again before you do.

When he has to go downstairs to get the food, there’s a hole gnawing at the center of your chest. 

That’s new.

You sit in silence, wrapped up in blankets and staring emptily at the TV. Thinking about the anxious knot in your stomach – about the angry tug of emotion in your throat, threatening to force tears into your eyes again.

When Akaashi slips back through your front door, the knot eases and the emotion mellows out.

That’s definitely new.

You eat in silence while staring at the TV – you in your swaddle and Akaashi in the jeans and hoodie he’d been wearing earlier – and then you stare at the TV some more, your mind turning over and over on itself as you try to figure out where this feeling had come from. The one that needs him.

After an hour, he says something quietly about getting home. You just apologize for cutting the filming short, and he offers to come over tomorrow. Your chest pulses with unplaced emotion. 

He leaves. 

You sit on your couch and stare at nothing, the TV off now. 

The knot is tight and making you nauseous. The emotion is rolling up into a painful lump in your throat. Your eyes burn with tears that won’t fall.

–

Keiji sighs and pulls his fingers through his hair, tugging tight and searching the shelves of the convenience store. 

He doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. There’s nothing in this store that will make you feel better. He keeps picking random shit up – cookies, chips, snacks that he thinks you might like – and putting them back, uselessly trying to find something to ease your stress just a little bit. The clerk at the front is starting to stare at him, a bored teenager with judgmental eyes watching him be indecisive in the middle of the store.

He feels like throwing up. His head is hot and there’s an irritated pull in his gut, like he’s forgotten something. He keeps closing his eyes, willing it to go away, but every stupid snack he picks up and puts back down – a claw-machine stuck on repeat – makes the feeling worse. 

He picks up a can of coffee. Stares down at the label. Puts it back.

You only drink almond milk.

He needs to get home and shower, to use the rest of the night to work on the slide deck for his Ling Expo talk.

He walks one aisle over and surveys the sweets again. Picks up a package of cookies. Stares down at the label. Puts it back.

You like oatmeal, not oatmeal raisin.

He needs to grade and work on his dissertation chapter. 

Over to the far wall, the last shelf before the freezers. Picks up a bag of chips. Stares down at the label. Puts it back.

You don’t like this brand of shrimp chips.

There are a million things he needs to do.

His eyes drift slightly to the right, to the pints of ice cream lined up behind the lightly frosted freezer door.

You do like cookies and cream.

He stares at it, at the label that stares back at him, and the tug in his gut yanks hard at his nausea. 

He’s not going to get anything done like this.

Reaching over with an irritated sigh, he rips the door open and plucks the offending pint of ice cream off the shelf. He takes it to the clerk, too embarrassed to make eye contact.

“Girlfriend upset about somethin’?” the teenager asks.

Keiji doesn’t answer him, glaring down at the counter while he pays.

–

There’s a knock at your door thirty minutes after Akaashi leaves.

You’re curled up in the middle of your bed in oversized clothes when it comes, stomach turning as you try to sleep. Disappointment seeping through your skin, because you feel like something’s missing.

When the knock sounds, you turn in bed, surprised. You climb out slowly, padding through the apartment to the front door and peeking through the peephole.

Your heart sends a pulse of electricity through your whole body. You pull the door open, eyes wide.

“Akaashi?”

He stares down at you, lips pursed with frustration and ears tinted pink. He thrusts a hand out, a plastic bag dangling from his fingers.

“Here.” 

You take it, peering inside. “Ice cream?”

“Yeah.”

You blink up at him. “Thank you?”

He just nods. You wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He just lingers, staring down at nothing.

And then he takes a step toward you, and his eyes meet yours.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You let him in wordlessly. He sets his shoes neatly in your foyer before moving to his spot at the couch and dropping his bag right where it was half an hour ago. He turns to look at you, scratching awkwardly at the side of his head.

You almost miss the way his eyes flick toward your bedroom curiously and then down at your pajamas.

Your bedroom. Not the spare room.

Your eyes well up when you realize that he means to stay the night. 

He exhales in disbelief, but you just cross the room in three strides and throw your body against his, arms wound around his neck and face lost in the collar of his hoodie.

He scoffs, even as his arms snake around your waist. “You’re such a crybaby,” he mutters, but any mockery he makes of you is overshadowed by the way he lifts you off your feet, pulling you closer. The bag falls from your hand, hitting the ground, and you wrap your thighs around him and lock your ankles behind his back.

He takes it as permission and carries you to your room without another word.

When he drops you to your mattress, it’s followed up by the shedding of his jeans and hoodie and the press of his body to yours, warm and safe and terribly confusing – because your body is used to this in a different room, in a different context. Not in your own bed, and not for any purpose that allows you to keep your clothes on.

But Akaashi just clambers toward you, hands rough on your body as he pulls you toward him. You hug him close, heartrate picking up when he throws himself between your thighs and wraps his arms tight around you, his face burning when he presses it to the crook of your neck.

You hold him like that, crying into his hair and feeling shivers race down your spine when he presses one kiss to your throat, and then another.

“Just go to sleep,” he whispers. “Everything’s fine. Just go to sleep.”

It takes you almost an hour to drift off, because your heart won’t calm down, but neither will his. It’s loud against your torso, and you can only imagine how annoying your own must be in his ears. You can only imagine how embarrassing your body’s being right now, because every brush of his lips against your skin makes your pulse beat just a little bit harder, and you know he can feel it.

You know he can feel it, but he keeps kissing you, anyway. 

His heart skips against your body, too. But he keeps kissing you, anyway.

You’re asleep before you can piece together that the aching nausea and the disappointment under your skin have faded away.

–

You wake up on Wednesday morning without an alarm.

It’s weird, because you always need an alarm. You always set an alarm.

But there’s a shift in the mattress beside you, so you don’t need one today.

You turn, peeling one eye open and staring up at the man leaning against your headboard. 

He hasn’t noticed you yet, because there’s a paper in his hand. A paper covered in sticky notes and highlighter and handwritten comments.

Your handwritten comments.

You watch him for a moment, watching the way he squints down at your comments and turns the pages this way and that so he can read the sideways ones better. His glasses sit on the end of his nose, and his hair is askew from sleep, pillow creases on his face and neck. The sunlight filters in through your sheer curtains in a way that makes his skin glow, but he sits in an otherwise dim room, not a single light in sight as he reads your thoughts on his work.

You blink groggily, and a thought crosses your mind – distant and strange – that it might be nice just to stay here like this. You, curled up in your comforter, watching Akaashi Keiji read quietly in the early morning light in your bed, shirtless and disheveled and entirely at peace with you.

You wonder if it would be too much to ask.

Akaashi sighs quietly and shakes his head at something you’d commented, and you can’t help but alert him that you’re awake.

“Somethin’ you don’t like?” you ask, watching him blink and turn to look down at you. 

He sighs again, shaking the paper in his hand with slight frustration. “Why don’t you say any of this shit in LEM?” When you don’t answer, he shuffles through some previous sheets, searching the margins and then pointing. “Like this. Why didn’t you tell me that these counter-examples exist? This is important data.”

You smile to yourself, too sleepy to argue with him. “I was worried that you’d thought of it already and just hadn’t written it there. I didn’t want to look stupid bringing it up to you.”

He cuts you a glance. “I’ve never thought you looked stupid.”

“No?” you say, smiling when he rolls his eyes. “You talk to me like you think I might be.”

“I don’t,” he sighs. And then he gestures to something you’d scratched into the edges with massive red question marks. “I think you’re the only one in that room who could think of this.”

“You really think I’m smart?” 

It’s a remnant of last night, that insecurity. You tell yourself that it has to be, that you wouldn’t be asking him something so vulnerable otherwise. It’s too personal, asking him to evaluate your intelligence when it’s the one thing you’re measured most critically on.

“Yeah,” he says plainly. Answering you plainly, like he’d never thought twice about it. “I do. And it pisses me off when you don’t.” He sighs again and then shuffles to the edge of the bed, waving the paper at you again. “I’m keeping this. I need it.”

The thought that he could ever need something from you makes your heart lodge uncomfortably in your throat. “Okay.”

“It’s 6:30,” he adds, standing and stretching his arms high above his head. You watch him, eyes lingering on his chest and the way his boxers slip under his hip bones when he lengthens his body like that. You tamper down the urge to put your mouth on those two spots, to press kisses there that taste like comfort and early morning. “Just so you know.”

“Okay,” you say again simply, wishing so dearly that you could just stay here. Knowing you could never ask him to stay here with you. “What time do you teach?”

“Nine.” He eyes you a moment, long enough for you to wonder if he’d seen you watching him wistfully. “I don’t have clothes here.”

“Oh.” The thought of him leaving makes your chest hurt. You recognize the feeling from last night. “Do you need to go back to your place?”

“Yeah.”

Oh.

You swallow, pushing away the odd, aching panic that’s rising in your chest. You don’t want him to leave. 

Akaashi chews on his lip. You reach for your phone slowly, like you want him to stop you. “Do you want me to call you an Uber?” you ask.

“Sure.” He swallows, watching you a moment. “Do you-” You lift your eyes. He looks away. “Do you want to go with me?”

Your nerves sizzle and snap, but the anxiety is washed away instantly.

You don’t know what to do with these feelings.

“Okay,” you whisper, staring up at him with wide eyes. His eyes flick to yours nervously, and then his lashes flutter as he looks away.

“Okay. Get dressed.”

You listen, that strand of desperation plucking away at you in ways that it really shouldn’t. 

Neither of you says anything about the pint of melted ice cream in your living room.

–

When Keiji shoulders his door open, it’s with a panicked glance around his apartment. He’s normally tidy, but this week has been especially difficult, and he doesn’t need you seeing the extent of his stress in the way he stops taking care of his space.

You stand awkwardly in the foyer, glancing around and then back at him. He’d noticed on the ride here that your face is more flushed than usual, that your eyes linger on him more than usual. He wonders if you feel the same strange need to be near him, or if there’s something else going on.

Because his eyes keep lingering on you, too.

He feels an itch under his skin, one that prickles and irritates him until he’s with you. He’d felt it this morning, when the threat of leaving your apartment without you had been on the edge of your conversation.

It had started last night, in that stupid convenience store.

Even now, as he ushers you into the room and gestures for you to sit on the couch, he feels weird about leaving the room. He’s only going to shower, for fuck’s sake. He needs to shower, because it’s already 7:15 and he still needs to prep for his class. But he lingers, rushing into the kitchen to make coffee in order to buy more time.

“You can raid my pantry if you want,” he calls from the coffee machine, hurriedly scooping coffee grounds into the basket. “You can eat whatever you want – it won’t take me long to get ready.”

“Okay,” you say, much closer than he’d expected. He turns, surprised, and finds you lingering at the entryway. Glancing at him and then away, flushing with embarrassment as you hover for no reason.

The thought that you hadn’t even wanted to be a room away from him makes Keiji’s skin burn with desire.

Something’s off. Something’s new, and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

You drift past him into the room, opening cabinets at random and peering inside with blank curiosity. Peering inside this little piece of his life, not necessarily searching for anything in particular but curious all the same. Keiji’s chest swells with emotion – a need to be nearer to you, closer to you than this.

He feels insane.

He shouldn’t need you the way he does.

You open the pantry door, leaning halfway inside as you poke around. “‘s really neat in here. Only you would be this neat.”

He’s got his hands on your waist before he can process that he’d crossed the room.

You gasp, eyes wide as he spins you around. “What-”

He shuts the door to the pantry by pinning you against it. Your breathing picks up when he presses flush to you, but your fingers are in his hair regardless. Your body opens up for him regardless, welcoming and familiar and trusting.

He wants to ruin you for anyone who’s not him.

Keiji drops his mouth to your throat, pushing his lips hard to the pulse point and breathing you in. You shiver, your head dropping back against the door. He tugs your hips against his to make a point – a point he probably shouldn’t make.

“‘Kaashi-” you gasp, and his entire body lights up with dangerously frayed nerves, the knot in his chest sparking and hissing with the threat of worse.

He doesn’t feel close enough to you. He wants more. 

Your fingers tug through his hair hard, and he groans quietly against your neck. He feels when your skin warms, feels when your fingers start to tremble. He’s making you nervous, nervous enough to shake in his arms. 

It’s a dangerous realization, the fact that he can make you feel this way. 

He knows that once you figure him out, too – because you will – he’ll be done for.

“Akaashi, we can’t,” you whisper.

He hadn’t considered fucking you in his apartment, but the fact that you had makes him want to cancel his class and keep you here all day.

“I know,” he breathes, his head spinning and his face radiating heat against your skin. “I know, I just-” He sighs hard. “Fuck.” 

There’s a low noise that climbs up your throat, one that he feels more than hears, and a part of him – the irrational part that wants to fuck you against this pantry door right now – wants to ask if you want to shower with him.

God, he doesn’t want to be apart from you, not even for that.

“You have to shower,” you mumble quietly, like you’re reading his mind and coaxing him gently away from the thought. He hopes that you’re coaxing yourself away, too.

“Okay,” he says, swallowing hard. He doesn’t want to let go – especially since you’re not letting go, either. “Okay. I should go.”

“You should go.”

He’s not convinced.

“I should go,” he says again, a little stronger. Stronger, because his hands are slipping under the hem of your shirt and pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

“You should go, Akaashi,” you say, too, but it’s weaker this time. You’re weak to him – weak for him.

He’s so fucked. 

“Y/n,” he breathes, a warning inlaid and his pleas embarrassingly audible. Begging you to be strong with him, because he can’t do it on his own.

Your fingers slip out of his hair and clamp down on his shoulders, and you manage to peel him off of you. “Akaashi,” you say, your tone wavering but sharper than before. You’re trying. “You have to shower. We’re gonna be late.”

He meets your eyes and regrets it instantly, that swimming feeling filling his head and his face burning that uncomfortable, sticky hot again. 

“Yeah,” he whispers shakily, swallowing hard. “You’re right. I have to go.”

Your eyes drop to his lips, filling with a yearning that’s painfully clear for him to see.

Fuck.

He pushes off of you, backing away quickly and scrubbing at his brow. “Yeah. You’re right,” he repeats, louder this time. It doesn’t help, the thought of kissing you slamming into him hard enough to make him dizzy. “You’re right.” He turns away, padding quickly out of the kitchen and leaving you in the kitchen. “I’ll be back.”

The time away from you doesn’t help clear his head.

He just spends it thinking about kissing you.

–

Akaashi’s acting as weird as you feel.

The walk to campus happens in silence. When you walk into your usual coffee shop together and immediately run straight into Yachi, he flushes hard and mutters something about ordering first before making a beeline for the counter. You know there’s nothing you could say to save that moment – not with Hitoka staring knowingly into your soul – so all you’re able to do is smile weakly and chat with her in line, three customers behind Akaashi. She doesn’t pry, and you wonder briefly if all of your friends can see what you and Akaashi are trying so hard to hide.

He keeps it up throughout the day. But so do you.

So do you, because the way he’d acted in his apartment – taking up your space like it’s his own, like he’s unable to do otherwise despite trying – makes you think it’s okay to feel this way. To feel like you need more, even if you’ve already taken too much.

In your office, finalizing your dissertation draft and sending it off to your advisor, your mind is muddled, drifting often to the office just across the hall and the man sitting just inside. Your head is staticky, fuzzy, and you have to fight not to go over there. You have to fight, because half of you feels like you’ll be able to concentrate better on your work if he’s around, but the other half of you knows there’s no chance in hell of getting anything done if he’s in the same room.

It turns out there’s no need to fight, because he makes a decision for you.

A knock comes to your door an hour before lunch, the silhouette on the other side of the frosted glass all too familiar. 

The way he drags his eyes over your form when he walks in and then glances back into the hall with his bottom lip caught between his teeth makes you shiver visibly. He sees it – you know he does, because his eyes fly right back to you, heated and examining. Like he’s looking for something. 

When he mumbles ‘change of scenery’ under his breath and then crosses the room to fold into the chair on the other side of your desk with his laptop, you know he’s found it. The two of you don’t speak, but you can feel him watching you while you work, and you’re moving with a slight wobble in your step by the time you head to the dining hall.

At lunch, he sits right across from you, in Bokuto’s usual spot. You don’t say anything about it, not wanting to draw attention. Not wanting him to know how much you notice him.

You don’t say anything about the way he presses his knee between your legs, either. It shakes you to your core, that gentle nudge of his knee against the inside of yours. Your body sparks with nerves, but you don’t say anything, because he’s still talking to Tsukishima about jobs as if he hasn’t just rattled you of your ability to act normal at lunch. 

You say nothing, just letting his body heat nestle between your knees and trying your best not to burn at the feeling. His eyes flick to yours just briefly enough to mean nothing to everyone else – but it means everything to you, because he drops his gaze to your mouth before he looks away, and suddenly you’re back in his apartment, pushed against his pantry door with his mouth less than a breath’s distance from yours.

He swallows hard and returns to the discussion Tsukishima’s having with Yachi, Bokuto and Kuroo caught in their own conversation about the conference this weekend. You breathe deep and try to respond to Kuroo’s comment about the group meeting up at the hotel bar in everyone’s free time, but then Akaashi’s shifting across from you. He stretches his leg out under the table and takes up your personal space with purpose, and your words are lost in your throat.

It’s a reminder that Akaashi Keiji is possessive.

You wonder if he realizes how much you like when he’s like this.

You make it through lunch, somehow, and then walk in silence beside him to the Syntax lecture. You make uncomfortable eye contact with your advisor when you enter the lecture hall – uncomfortable, because he’s flicking his eyes between you and Akaashi and then smiling to himself as he turns away. 

You promise yourself that you’ll make it through lecture without incident, but that goes out the window the second Akaashi shifts and bumps his thigh against yours, halfway through the class.

Your breath catches in your throat sharply. He bumps your leg again and then leaves it there, thigh pressed firmly to yours. Only a moment passes – a moment where you trick yourself into thinking it means nothing, for your own sake – before his hand is sliding across your thigh, heat searing through your jeans.

You stiffen, scanning the room nervously. But you always sit in the very back of the hall, so no one’s able to see what’s happening. No one’s going to catch anything Akaashi does, which you’re confident he’s already calculated. Still, you don’t want to risk anyone glancing back, so you don’t speak to him.

You just wrap your fingers around his wrist, squeezing tight in warning.

He just slips his hand between your clenched thighs, curling warmly around the curve of your thigh and digging his fingertips into the plush give of your body. Your skin erupts in goosebumps, and you become needy almost instantly. The way he rubs circles into your jeans with his thumb makes you needy. The way he handles your body with ownership – the way you’d let him handle you last night, like you belong to him – makes you want him much more than you should. Makes you want him physically, but also in ways that you never had before. Not before last night.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. And then you shiver, because you realize that he’s hard in his slacks.

Oh.

He meets your eyes when your body reacts to him, and that gnawing, yearning feeling in your chest worsens.

His eyes are glazed over, distracted and hot. Distracted by the same terrible neediness that’s plaguing you.

Oh.

He looks away, squeezing your thigh again before moving his hand away and tugging his cardigan down over his tented pants subtly. Your chest swims with disappointment for the moment it takes him to extract his phone from his pocket, and then it fills with hope. 

Your own phone buzzes in your bag a second later.

[3:44 PM]

Akaashi: am i still coming over tonight?

Oh, dear god.

–

“That’s it, princess.”

Your mind fogs over with the feeling of him – of Akaashi’s voice in your ear, of every whisper that heats your brain that much more. Of the tingles that had started plaguing your every nerve the moment he’d started this – this praise – and simply don’t seem to be anywhere near easing up.

You rock your hips back where you sit in his lap on the couch of your spare room, arching your chest forward into his and breathing roughly when his arm curls tighter around your waist. You’ve got both hands on his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him like it’s your only link to sanity, and he’s using the hand he doesn’t have wrapped around you to push and pull at your hips, guiding you against him whenever you’re unable to do it yourself.

You feel full of him, warm and safe and muddling every thought that crosses through your mind while he fucks you. He fucks you slow, slow enough to trick you into thinking that it’s you who’s leading here. He fucks you slow and whispers that cursed praise in your ear and against your throat, knowing without ever having asked that it’s what you need from him tonight.

“Just like that, baby,” he breathes, his cock twitching against your walls when you moan to yourself, genuine and quiet and just for him. “You’re doing so good, fucking me so good.” You whimper into his hair, struggling to remember that there’s a camera and that you have a job to do. That your sounds can’t just be for him. That your pleasure can’t only be his.

But you want it to be, even just this once. You want to be his, just this once.

“‘m close,” you whisper, feeling that familiar, welcome tug under your navel.

“Come for me,” he breathes back, his lips brushing against your cheek. “Give it to me. You can do it.” 

You can’t help it. It’s entirely out of your control, spurred on by this entire week and the way he’s treated you. The way he’s handled you, in ways only he can. By the need you’ve been feeling, acknowledged and echoed tenfold in him, too. You really can’t help it.

And, looking back later, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

“‘Kaashi,” you whisper against his temple, your pleasure washing over you in waves that are so close to what you need.

Akaashi stops moving his hips before you can get there.

Your heart stops at the same time.

He lifts his head, leaning back just enough to look you in the eye. Your breath cuts short, and you let him search your face – eyes flicking between yours before they fly across your other features. You let him search you, because you can’t bring yourself to hide anything.

“What did you say?” he whispers, alarm in his expression but not in the way you’d expected. Alarm that checks you, alarm that betrays a lingering anticipation in eyes that you can only see because you’ve spent so long learning him.

You purse your lips together, too scared to say it again.

He doesn’t need you to.

He just drops his gaze to your mouth, shoving you right back into that moment in his apartment, and all you can do is part your lips in surprise. All he needs to do is lift his head, just a few more centimeters.

He tastes like quiet desperation, the kind that’s been building for far too long.

He curls his fingers into your hair and swallows audibly, his lips still on yours even as he tugs you closer. You’re more than happy to follow his lead, breath stuttering nervously against his mouth. 

Each push of his lips against yours is more heated than the last. Until his grip on the back of your head stings a little, until the pass of his tongue over the seam of your lips makes your stomach flip and your limbs go a little more numb. Until he’s angling his head against yours and pulling you close, his grip tightening and his body shifting under you.

You don’t realize he’s putting you on your back until your skin meets the soft sheet on the couch, until he’s hooking a hand under your knee and keeping your legs spread while he pushes his hips against yours, his lips warm and urgent. 

You flush nervously, your head going hotter than before and your thoughts scrambling without warning. You can’t take it – the feeling of his mouth on yours while he fucks you, the feeling of his moans traveling down your throat whenever your walls clamp down around him, the most turned on you’ve ever been.

That familiar tug comes back stronger than before, rushing you to the edge with each push of his lips and each pass of his tongue against yours.

And when he murmurs your name into your own mouth, quiet and soft and tinged with warning, your fingers and toes go numb.

“Say my name again,” he breathes, angling his hips in a way that has you seeing stars. “Please. I’m really close.”

You pull your lips from his and wrap your arms around his neck, pushing your mouth close to his ear and moaning quietly when his thrust has your head bumping gently against the arm of the couch.

“Come for me, baby,” you whisper, your own orgasm following close behind when you hear how he moans in your ear, quiet and just for you. “Please, ‘Kaashi – I need it. I need you.” 

He groans into your skin, and you bask in the warmth that he fills you with, his hips stuttering and your name pressed into your throat. You fall quietly over the edge with him, different from before. It washes over you this time instead of hitting you hard, in waves that feel like comfort and sun on your skin. In waves that make you all the more aware of his hands on your body and his breath fanning over the crook of your neck, of the way he whispers your name on the last push of his hips against yours. Of the way you whisper ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’ against his shoulder absentmindedly when you come.

It’s hazy, the way you fall with him. And you realize, with your heart pounding and your head swarming sleepily with gratitude, that it’s just what you needed to put all your broken pieces back together.

That Akaashi Keiji puts all the pieces back together.

im also such a slut for mean guys like i HAVE a complex and idk what its called but every MEAN like tsukishima kinda mean guy i meet warms up to me and i looove being the only one theyre not mean to or if they are knowing they dont actually mean it so i everytime i see a mean guy i jst😍

please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please

guys vote for my king pls

Crying