#I had never heard of this story before watching this

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

I have to agree with Otakuvampyre on this. Fact is I understand why the pictures had the effect they did. And I can explain in detail why. And it's not, "Men can't get women because they are terrible people with bad personalities", like suggested. It's because of the "Before and After" effect that a lot of people make the mistake of doing in pictures. Companies are especially guilty of this. Look the first picture look mellow and or sullen (this can also be accomplished with lighting failures)

So thoughts:

The first image has a large issue with it in general. The lighting on his face is actually brighter than that of the rest of his body, oddly making him look sickly.

The second image has a lot of "Other" types of issues. The lighting of this picture is well lit, but unbalanced. His hair looks more thin in this picture, and the outfit he chose to show off more of his gains, very much show off too much. Making the picture look awkward. This ignoring the MORE obvious bulge in this photo vs the first one.

Now. Let me explain this as I was raised by a family made of 80% women. And by no less than 3 generations of them. The first image is the "Teddy Bear" women like after they done fucking around and want a husband. Proof of this could be seen if you put both of the before and after into suits that fit them within reason. Version one looks like a youth pastor with love handles, version two looks like a lifer and an athlete. At least to people at face value. However, every single time I have watched a movie with women present, and a man takes off his shirt and is ripped, I've heard this inevitable, "Ugh he's so hot". Meanwhile in movies where some of these same men are less shredded, or alternatively one of the main characters is a parody of the "Hero" archetype, when he takes off his shirt, everyone laughs. No one serious, "Mhmm he's hot".

Men are pretty much trained to catch on to this stuff because every single time a shredded man comes on screen or a very LEAN character takes off their shirt, it's swoons across the board.

Long story short? The first picture is the type women "Settle for" the first is the type they fuck. Men see that. Men know that. And pretending it's not real because a few women are exceptions to this rule doesn't make it less true. Trends might well be changing, but if you were to ask most women (18-38) who is hotter between these guys, not much of a contest:

Just bodies alone, most women would simp over the first one. And let me make this very clear. The above ARE considered dad bods. What's more, actions and words speak drastically different.

Example: Woman and her husband, (my buddy) and me all go to the movies. I'm quite literally DRAGGED to this movie. This lad comes on the screen and like fucking clock work, from a lot of women in the theater I hear all the different sounds. Including from my buddies wife.

My buddy talked to me about it later and the one thing he said I remember well is that she always calls him handsome or cute, never hot. And it bothered him. Granted, I'll give a small pass to the post. Generally speaking, unless the face is very attractive, women don't prefer "SHREDDED" men. They prefer fit men. Similar to the look of soccer players:

I love hearing the whole, "Lived Experience" from people on this site who then pretend that men haven't lived their own lives and seen what women swoon over. I myself have only been called hot a handful of times by a handful of women. And those women very much did the same BS of, "Well I love you not them, I just think they are hot", To which my response is, "Ok, looks alone, what exactly is it that makes him hot that disallows me from being called such". A few of them were actually honest and said it was because I was less fit than the men on screen. Others just played if off like no big deal.

Men pay more attention than people think. And we see how rare it is in general for women to go for larger men, unless they are planning to settle. Which men take as, "You are attractive enough to be with, but not attractive enough to fuck for recreation". And realistically? That's not only how we take it. That's what it looks like to anyone not making excuses.

And for the record, before my own personal lunatics come post on this, I have for a long time had a similar body type to the last image I posted above. Prior to that I was muscularly skinny with not enough mass to show abs.

i think the reason a lot of men are screaming, puking, and crying about this is bc it forces them to acknowledge that the reason they can’t get women to like them is not actually bc of their physique but bc of their shitty personality

[anything-pov]

Since the person didn't answer i'll request

An Emily X Reader SOFT LAUNCH

where the BAU slowly finds out that Emily is in a relationship (w/a woman)

reader not apart of bau(maybe a chef??)

;))

Thanks for the request 🫦 Enjoy! 😉

The Soft Launch 🚀

For weeks, the BAU had been on alert. It started small, cute, funny little, cryptic Instagram stories from Emily.

A photo of her hand over another, fingers intertwined beside a wine glass and a plate of what looked like the most divine pasta any of them had ever seen.

No caption. Just a timestamp and a playlist linked, “Melt into You, Slow Jazz Sundays.” Then came the lunches. Homemade. Artisan, even. JJ had noticed it first.

“Emily,” she murmured one afternoon, during their usual break between rough cases, "did you pack that yourself?" Emily's eyes cast down to the perfectly layered beetroot and goat cheese tart in a glass container, simply shrugging.

"Got lucky."

Morgan, of course, had smelled something fishy when a bouquet of rosemary, not flowers, rosemary, had shown up in Emily's office with a note attached, "Don't forget the salt this time, baby. -Y."

But no one had answers. Just assumptions.

Then came the night at Rossi's, a few weeks later.

The house was buzzing with laughter, expensive liquor and the warm hum of an early spring evening. Rossi was holding one of his infamous parties, the kind where the wine flowed like a river.

Strauss had gotten tipsy enough to sing Piano Man on the baby grand. Rossi had, apparently, spared no expense on the food this time. "Hired someone big," he said with a smirk to JJ as he poured her another.

"Almost impossible to book, but I pulled strings." Emily, nursing her scotch, froze, "Who?" Rossi grinned, holding his glass a little tighter with excitement.

"Y/N Y/L/N. Apparently she trained in Paris and Tokyo and is probably going to get her second Michelin star before thirty." Emily's glass paused at her lips.

"What?" Rossi looked her over, "You've heard of her?" Emily blinked once, swallowing her worry, "You could say that." And then, like fate tipping its might hat, Y/N walked into the room from the kitchen.

Carrying an amuse-bouche like it was a crown jewel. She had short, tousled hair tucked behind one ear, arms inked with delicate fine-line tattoos, a lavender sprig, a sunflower, a French knife, and a crescent moon.

She wore her pristine chef's jacket rolled at the sleeves, her apron tied snug around a frame that was compact but clearly muscular. She glowed. And when her eyes met Emily's dark irises...

Everything stopped.

The room, the noise, the laughter, every bit of it melted. Y/N lit up, face breaking into the warmest smile and she crossed the space in a few long strides before stopping just shy of Emily's side.

"...Babe," she whispered, "Didn't realise you were here."

Emily looked dazed, then chuckled, running a hand through her hair, "Neither did I." Y/N leaned in and kissed her temple, and the collective BAU jaw hit the floor in unison.

"Holy..." Garcia whispered from across the table, "That's the chef?"

"THAT'S the mystery girlfriend?" Morgan mouthed to the blonde. Y/N turned to the group, cheeks slightly pink but utterly composed. "Hi. I'm Y/N. Sorry for the surprise. I wasn't told who the event was for."

Her eyes flicked to Rossi, "Your assistant booked me under 'D. Rossi Enterprises.' Very sneaky." Y/N smiled to the older man. "You're the Y/N?" JJ blinked, "The pasta queen from Instagram?"

Y/N laughed, nodding her head gently, "Guilty."

And just like that, any awkwardness vanished. Y/N floated back to the kitchen like she was born there, commanding heat and flame and plating like it was an artwork.

Emily, never far from the archway between kitchen and dining room, watched with an expression none of them had ever seen on her. Not even during a case crack.

Admiration.

Adoration.

The soft kind of awe that made her cheeks flush and her lips curl even when she didn't know she was smiling.

At one point, music drifted from the speakers, and Y/N, mid-sear on scallops, turned with a grin and swayed her hips to the beat. She danced around the kitchen like it was a small stage, a pan in one hand and a plating tweezer in the other.

"Is she dancing?" Reid asked in a whisper, "While cooking?" He turned to Garcia, the blonde shrugging her colourful shoulders, "Gordon Ramsay would cry," She whispered back, "Happy tears."

Then came the food.

A roasted duck breast with blackberry glaze, served over parsnip puree and heirloom carrots that had somehow sculpted into tiny roses.

Pasta with lemon cream and shaved bottarga. Each plate was a piece of art, every bite more transcendent than the last. A moan escaping every FBI agent's lips.

As dessert was served, something chocolate and impossibly airy, Emily stood and joined Y/N in the kitchen, slipping an arm around her waist.

"Can I help?" Emily murmured against the shell of Y/N's ear, Y/N just smiled, still focused on plating. "You already are." And when Emily kissed her cheek in full view of the team, Y/N leaned into it without a second thought.

Rossi raised a glass, "To Chief Emily Prentiss, and her not so secret anymore girlfriend." The team clinked glasses, JJ still wide eyed, Morgan nodding with impressed approval and Garcia already on her phone trying to find an open reservation.

- - -

Later, when the dishes were done and Y/N was tucked under Emily's arm on the porch with a glass of wine, Emily whispered, "Soft launch, huh?"

Y/N just turned to her and smiled, "Felt more like a firework finale..." Emily kissed her slow, like gratitude, like peace, like home. "Couldn't be prouder and more in love with you."

[vespidclan]

Mother’s Return

To be mended you must be condemned.

After many weeks of tinkering and drawing and editing, I did it! It’s finished!!! I’m so thrilled to finally see the finished outcome :)

The story and explanation will be under the cut

Way back then in Pineclan, Moththorn had a young kit, Snakekit, who she loved deeply. But around this time, horrible thoughts and visions festered in her head that put her down, so she’d often isolate herself from the clan. Snakekit spent the rest of her kithood with her mother absent and wondering why she no longer smiles at her or plays with her. Even in Vespidclan she wonders why her mom ‘left’ her family so abruptly… It is why Snakevalley decided to become the mother she wished for. She fostered an abandoned kit, Fallenkit. (now grown and named Fallenfox) And has now taken two more under her care, Vinekit and Stonekit.

Something terrible would happen to her sister, Heartflicker, the only Vespidclan healer, which left her injured and unable to work. In need of a cat to quickly take over her duties, Heartflicker picks Stonekit as her apprentice to take her role. This was fine, Stonekit had been taught about some herbs and remedies prior… but Stonekit was only 4 moons old. It made Snakevalley furious, and much more on the next moon, she’d have to see her young daughter become so stressed with her new duties. She tried to reason with Heartflicker. And she’d argue with the leader, Iciclestar, her other sister, to put a stop to it. But neither of them agreed to follow through. Snakevalley ran off in a fit of anger.

She was still crossed, but she realized that she can’t do anything to stop it. The only thing she can do was to be there for Stonepaw through and through. After all, she can’t abandon Stonepaw on this. Not like Moththorn did. Before she returned to camp, she heard a loud crash, coming from the thunderpath. A cat had been crushed by a monster, and he was still breathing! She rushed over to rescue him- and was stopped by some force. Suddenly, the world changed around her. Like she was in a completely different area.

And then she saw it. A strange, flat version of… herself. It didn’t move. It wasn’t alive. But it was definitely her. It felt like she shouldn’t have seen this, and she really shouldn’t have. But she made sure that she did. And she made sure that Snakevalley will not recover from the things she learned and saw from that experience.

Snakevalley awoke back in her clan… Broken. After everything she’s worked for, everything she’s put her faith in, doing what she can to have the best life she always wanted… It didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. She was just a flat object. All these thoughts made her go into isolation, and no one understood why. Even though they wanted to, it felt too awkward and tense for her family to check on her. They thought leaving her alone would give her some peace.

It gave her the exact opposite.

404 wanted her mentality to dwindle to no return, just like hers did. It wasn’t just because Snakevalley was an obstacle- Snakevalley had everything she wanted. She was blessed with kits. She was blessed with a clan who respected her. Blessed with love. It was everything she wanted to have. And seeing a cat so close to her have all of these things, seeing her dazzle and shine, it was a disgrace to everything she went through. It was indignation. She hated Snakevalley. It was hatred. And she was plagued by these malicious voices of hate, she gave into them. 404 made her decision and she was keen on fulfilling it.

And fulfilled it she did. 404 was relentless to her. She made sure the negative thoughts never ceased. And once the time arrived, when she saw that Snakevalley was at her most vulnerability… she gave Snakevalley death berries. She wanted her to eat them. But watching Snakevalley gaze upon her dark predicament made 404 feel… remorseful. A ‘human’ feeling, finally, after all this agony of anger. But not a good one. She saw herself in Snakevalley, yes. How she hated seeing that memory. But behind that reflection, from the cracked mirror, there was the daughter she left behind. The one who believed she hated her in kithood. The one who was put into the same anguish she experienced. In the same situation, as the two both held the same plant in their paw… But 404 made her decision and Snakevalley made hers.

Neither can undo what’s been done.

Snakevalley believed that her family hated her. She thought that she didn’t deserve to live alongside them, knowing what their true existence is. Snakevalley… believed that she was better off dying with this knowledge. She didn’t want to die. And yet, 404’s influence had done enough.

Snakevalley ate the death berries. 404 hoped that perhaps a part of Snakevalley recognized her during her final moments… That was wishful thinking. Nonetheless, Snakevalley died. Her plan worked. And she would have to join her in Out Of Bounds just like the others.

…But this time, 404 has other intentions for her.

She needed to fix her.

And 404 remembered… why mercy was not worth pursuing.

The corruption festers.

I had such a blast working on this. I’m very happy to draw my beloved Snakevalley again. Maybe I could do something like this again in the future, but for now I’ll resume the comics! Once again I hope you all liked what the video offered and the thorough explanation I gave for the events :’)

[sentryluvs]

storms we cant resist

As the newest addition to the Thunderbolts* New Avengers, you and Sentry clash at every turn-until the sparks between you ignite a storm neither of you can resist. Enemies on the battlefield and rivals in every mission, you discover that sometimes the fiercest storms hide the deepest desires.

robert reynolds “sentry” x superhero! reader

tags: supergirl! reader, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, cocky sentry, power play, swearing, sentry wants you bad, sizing up, pining, teasing, reader gets riled up easily, may be canon divergent, sentry focus, slight ooc, comedy moments, domestic! thunderbolts* yelena belova is reader’s best friend.

IN PROGRESS🚧

a.n: first 6 chapters uploaded, stay tune for the rest!

request a story here

_____________________________________________

01. Lightning strikes twice

Madripoor, 10:47 PM

Rain sheeted down the neon-soaked streets as the Avengers jet touched down. You adjusted your suit, solar energy humming beneath your skin, ignoring the way Sentry’s gaze burned into your back from across the cabin.

Yelena Belova elbowed you, her black suit gleaming. “Try not to vaporize him before the mission starts, дорогая . Unfortunately, we need him”

dear, the nickname she had just for you.

“No promises, милая” you muttered.

darling, the nickname you had just for her.

You eyed the golden glow radiating from Sentry’s clenched fists. It involuntarily sent a shiver down your spine. You should never admit it, but behind that cockyness, you felt something, darker was beyond.

John Walker clapped to get everyone’s attention

“Listen up! The target’s a vibranium pulse cannon in the Highrise District. No collateral damage.” His glare landed on Sentry.

“That means you, Superman. Keep it down, I think we have the government shoved up our asses enough”

Sentry smirked, stretching lazily, the suit hugged him in all the right places, making you flush, fortunately the jet was dark enough to conceal it. Or so you thought

“Relax, Walker. I’ll save the fireworks for the afterparty.” His eyes flicked to you. “Unless the newbie wants to show off her… what’s your deal again? Sparkly Kryptonian cosplay?”

The team froze. Not good.

You calmly stepped into his space, as you walked solar flares crackling at your fingertips. “How about I show you after I save your ass out there?”

He stood up, letting a small, low laugh. Sentry towered over you, preying on you. He leaned down untin his breah ghosted your ears.

“Can’t wait to see that, Supergirl”

“My name is Solara” Your eyes held fire, anger boiling your veins. None of you backed down, for a moment it seemed like the world stopped. You heard someone clearing their throat from behind.

“If you’re done eye-fucking can we please move on to the mission please?��� James Barnes, ex-Winter Soldier, said while finishing setting up his rifle.

“One second Mr Barnes-“ Another voice interrupted. The Red Guardian, Alexei Shohstakov “I can’t get this- ughh. Lena! come help your papa put belt on, I cannot reach” Yelena groaned in the background, going to help her father.

“We were not- ugh, let’s just get this over with, I wanna go home” You said while stepping away holding your ground. You were thankful for the interruptions because the way he looked at you was definetly doing something to you.

“Mood” you hear Ava Starr say in the background as she spralled on the seats twirling her gun.

Before Sentry could say anything else, Walker slammed his shield to the floor making everyone jump.

“Move your asses, now”

The Mission

Chaos erupted the moment you hit the roof. The cannon’s operator-a rogue AIM scientist-had already leveled three blocks.

“Flank left!” you shouted to Ghost, who phased through a wall.

“Left?” Sentry’s voice was heard over the comms. “Boring. I’ll take the cannon. Watch and learn.”

He shot skyward like a comet, but you were faster. Solar energy propelled you forward, frost breath flash-freezing the cannon’s barrel as Sentry grabbed it.

“What the-?” The weapon shattered in his hands.

You swooped past him, heat vision slicing the control panel. “Lesson one: teamwork.”

Yelena whooped over comms: “Solara : 1, Sentry: 0!”

His growl reverberated in your bones. “You’re dead after this.”

•••

Back at the Tower, you’d barely peeled off your suit when a golden light flooded the training room.

Sentry hovered in the doorway, sleeves rolled up to reveal corded muscle. “Still owe me that rematch.”

You didn’t look up, still focused on wrapping your knuckles. “Didn’t realize losers got a do-over.”

He teleported behind you, voice a rumble in your ear. “I never lose.”

The fight was a blur of solar flares and supersonic punches. He pinned you against the wall, grip bruising your wrists, but you slammed your forehead into his nose. He staggered back-laughing, blood trickling from his nostril.

“Finally,” he breathed, riled up. His eyes wild, almost manic “Someone who hits back.”

You charged, tackling him through a reinforced window. The night sky swallowing both of you

Midair, 11:59 PM

His hand found your throat as you grappled, both hovering above the city. “Still think you’re my equal?”

Solar energy surged down your arms, ready to strike at any moment. “I think you’re scared that I’m better.”

The Tower’s alarms blared below. He didn’t move.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured. Sentry squeezed your throat just enough to highten your racing pulse, making your breath hitch “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Before you could snap back, Yelena’s voice crackled on your abandoned comm: “If you two lovebirds are done flirting, we have debrief. Get inside, now ”

And just like that, Sentry dropped you.

You caught yourself floating in from the window you guys broke.

He smirked, golden energy fading as he flew past you. “Tomorrow. Same time.”

“In your dreams,” you shot back.

His laugh followed you down the hall.

0.2 Thunder Without Rain

The debrief room was still buzzing from the mission. Yelena lounged sideways in her chair, boots up on the table, tossing a protein bar at you. “You need this more than I do, Sol. You look like you got hit by a truck.”

You caught it, rolling your eyes. “Gee, thanks” you took a small bite, savoring the chocolate flavor “You should see the other guy.”

Sentry strolled in as if he was summoned, golden aura flickering, blonde hair tousled from the fight. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a lazy grin on his lips. “Come on, Solaris, you couldnt have finished without me.”

You didn’t bother to look his way. “Solara, and no, Lena and I were doing just fine until you decided to play knight in shining armor unsolicited.” Venom laced your words, loud and clear

He laughed, the sound low and cocky. “Keep telling yourself that, sunshine. You need me, you always do”

Bucky cleared his throat, trying for authority. “Sentry, take a seat. We need to discuss our next plan” He does as he’s told, taking a seat next to Solara, she mentally rolled her eyes.

Barnes stands up circling the room “Let’s keep this short. We neutralized the cannon, but AIM’s not going to let it go. We need to act fast, and not let the Tower get compromised.” He then pressed the comm on his ear “Ava, report?”

Ava’s upper half body phased through the wall, appearing in front of everyone “They’re looking for us. I would say twenty to forty people, all armed. Suspicious weapons”

“New tech?” John finally talks, adjusting his guns

“Its possible, i’ve never seen anything like it before. We might need to split up and evacuate the building. I’m gonna take some of them down, call me if anything changed” Ava finally said before disappearing through the wall. Loud explosions and shooting sounds could be heard all around the building.

Yelena quickly says “I say we let Sentry go out first to do a quick clean up. Solara and I can evacuate the building, and you guys kick ass, yes? ”

Sentry shot her a look, then turned to you. “Aww, but you’d miss me if I got shot up, Stellar.”

You arched a brow at his comment “You know thats not happening, you’re bulletproof.”

You boldly get closer to his face, rematching the events on the jet “ But if they do shoot you, they’ll be doing us a favor.”

Sentry grinned, stepping closer, his voice dropping “You keep saying that but we both know that aint true”

You make a disgusted face “Fuck you”

Sentry smiled even more

Yelena made a gagging noise. “Can you two save the foreplay for after we’re done thanks?”

Bucky clears his throat, damn thats a reccuring habit, pulling you out of your trance. “We’ll do what Yelena said. Sentry, try to keep them contained here. Solara, Yelena, take the civilians out. John, Alexei and I will follow and aid Sentry with the intruders. Faster we finish faster we can rest, im exhausted” Bucky said with sincerety, is his age finally catching up to him?

Sentry stands up, his shoulder bumping into yours. He stretches and walks to the window

“Dont miss me too much, see you in a minute” He smirked and jumped.

Solara stood up, Yelena following close behind as they walked to the window.

“alright team! lets do this!”

They grabbed hands, and jumped to action

“What’s up with these people jumping out of windows?” John said looking at Bucky

Bucky only shrugged.

•••

The mission was a success, the people were arrested and the weapons are currently being investigated. John was right, a new tech is developing underground.

A few days later, the Tower was back to normal, a little too normal. No missions, no reports, no paperwork, no interviews, no emergencies..odd

Everyone was doing their own individual thing, Solara walked to the empty lounge to fill up her water bottle in a black long-sleeve crop top sportswear and leggins. John enters the room holding various files.

“What you got there Johnny?” you asked him as he sat down near the bar to read them.

“These are the files of the people arrested, i’m just checking if we left any valuable information for the report out”

You sat down next to him, patting his shoulder “Have you slept well?” you said noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

“I’ll sleep when i’m dead” He tries to quote Alexei’s words with a terrible russian accent making you both laugh.

“But seriously though, you need to take care of yourself, we cant have one of our own in bad shape. You’re very valuable for the team” You tell him honestly, John was like a big brother, and you admire the way he tried to make up for his past mistakes. You admire how he cared for everyone in his way. John only gave you a pained smile in response.

“Didnt know we were having a show today” you couldnt help to close your eyes in annoyance as you heard Sentry’s very distinguable voice from affar.

“Oh how I wish they would’ve shot him dead” you whispered annoyed, but thanks to his superhearing he heard every word.

He cockily grinned. It was weird seeing him dressed in something other than his fancy highlighter suit. Today he wore a tight sweatshirt and baggy pants, his hair was curly and you noticed how his roots started to grow back. Hah. Fake Blonde.

“Keep saying that to yourself baby- oh sorry, I keep forgetting you’re Walker’s” and not mine he wanted to say.

Oh, you had enough, solar flares danced your fingertips, impacient.

“Keep talking shit and i’ll have the pleasure of ripping your tongue out Homelander from Temu” Venom laced your words as you stood up, breathing heavily

“Oh? Supergirl has a boyfriend now? i’m hurt” He smirked, he knows how to push her buttons.

He loved it

Walker had enough too, putting the file down.

“Solara, Sentry-training room, now. Work out your issues before you break another window or one of you ends up dead. And Sentry no, I have a wife and kid, Solara and I are friends, nothing more. And if we were, that wouldnt concern you”

Sentry did a mocking soldier salute, but his eyes still lit up with malice “My favorite part of the day starts now.

Training Room

You squared off in the ring, the rest of the team watching from behind the glass. Sentry circled you, golden energy crackling at his fingertips.

“Ready to get schooled again, Solaris?” He smirked, eyes glinting with challenge.

You flexed your hands, solar energy pulsing beneath your skin. Already used to his shitty nicknames “I’ll try not to bruise your ego this time.”

He lunged, faster than sound, but you met him head-on-heat vision grazing his shoulder as he dodged. He laughed, delighted. “That all you got?”

You grinned, letting a solar flare ripple across your knuckles. “Not even close.”

He tried to pin you, but you twisted free, landing a punch that sent him skidding across the mat. He sat up, blonde hair hair wild, and grinned. “Damn, Titanium. You’re almost fun.”

Titanium? thats a new one

You offered him a hand up. “Almost?”

He took it, pulling you closer than necessary. “Keep this up, and you might even impress me.”

Suddenly a voice echoed through the intercom. “Just kiss already!”

You flushed, shoving Sentry away. He just laughed, as his back hit the wall with a loud thud oof he probably dented it, Bucky is gonna have my head

“You need to stop doing that Lena, seriously!” You tell her looking at the camera.

You felt her shrug “Can’t help it, im bored and spying people is the only good thing to do today” her voice boomed over the room”

You walked to Sentry again, pulling him up with your superstrength.

“You dented the way, Bucky is gonna make us eat shit” and he could only agree, a nervious drop of sweat dripped down his forehead.

Hallway

Yelena came down the security room, and looped her arm through yours. “He likes you, you know.” Her thick russian accent lacing through each word

You rolled your eyes. “He likes picking fights.”

She grinned. “Same thing, for him.”

Behind you, Sentry called out, “Hey, Titanium! Don’t forget-rematch tonight. Winner picks the movie.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “Hope you like rom-coms.”

He winked. “Hope you like losing.”

Yelena snickered. “Iconic.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the echo of Sentry’s laughter following you down the hall, the storm between you and him just beginning to rumble.

03. Eye of the Storm

The Tower’s atmosphere was lighter after that specific training session, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that the calm wouldn’t last. You, Yelena and Ava wandered into the kitchen, finding Alexei and Bucky arguing over the best way to make coffee.

“American coffee is like sewer water!” Alexei boomed, slapping the counter for emphasis.

Bucky shot him a deathly glare. “At least it doesn’t taste like jet fuel.”

Yelena rolled her eyes and grabbed a mug for you two “Ignore them, They’ve been at it for an hour.”

You grinned, pouring yourself some of Bucky’s “dirty water” and leaning against the counter. “I’ll take my chances. What do you think Ava?”

The girls looked at Ava spectantly, Ava shrugged while looking for something in the cabinet.

“Dont ask me, i’m british, we prefer tea” She dipped the tea bag, added hot water and sat with you two

“Cheers!” you clinked your mugs together.

Before you could take a sip, the lights flickered. You exchanged a look with the both of them-trouble, again.

John’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Everyone to the conference room. Now.”

•••

The team gathered, tension thickening as John face was unusually grim.

“AIM’s back,” he announced, tossing a flash drive onto the table. “They’re not just after us-they’re after the tech and put a bounty on Sentry and Solara.”

Sentry’s jaw flexed, but he kept his tone light. “Guess we’re popular, Titanium.”

You frowned, reviewing the files Walker pulled up. Schematics, blueprints, and a list of names-yours and Sentry’s at the top.

Yelena whistled. “They really don’t like you two.”

Alexei grinned. “Means you’re doing something right.”

Bucky leaned forward, voice low. “We need to be ready. If they come for us, we fight back-but we do it smart. No more solo heroics.” Now staring at Sentry

Sentry’s eyes flicked to you, something serious beneath the cocky exterior. “Don’t worry, Barnes. I’ll keep an eye on princess here.”

and here you thought y’all were progressing

You shot him a look. “I can handle myself, thank you very much”

He smirked. “I know. But where’s the fun in that?”

Later – Rooftop

You found yourself on the Tower’s rooftop, enjoying some time alone. The city lights stretching out below, it was an incredible view. Sentry landed beside you, arms folded, light steps.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, voice softer than usual.

You shook your head. “Just thinking.”

He studied you for a moment. “You’re not scared, are you?”

You scoffed. “Of AIM? pff please.”

He stepped closer, the air buzzing between you. “Good. Because if you were, I’d have to do something stupid. Like save you again.”

You rolled your eyes to your brain, but your heart skipped a beat. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned, leaning in just enough for his hand to brush your cheek. “You love it.”

You swatted his hand like a mosquito, he feigned being hurt.

Before you could reply, the alarm blared-red lights flashing through the night.

“Emergency – Tower Under Siege!”

You and Sentry spring down the stairwell, meeting the team in the lounge.

Bucky tossed you two a pair of comm. “They’re here. Solara, Sentry-you’re with me. Yelena, Alexei, Ghost, Walker -secure the lower levels.”

Sentry cracked his knuckles, golden light flaring. “Ready, Solaris?”

You nodded, solar energy pulsing at your fingertips. “Let’s show them why we’re at the top of their list.”

He winked, stepping in front of you as the doors exploded inward, AIM soldiers pouring into the hall.

“Stay behind me,” he teased.

You shoved past him, blasting the first wave with a solar flare. “Keep up, Sentry.”

He laughed, launching himself into the fray. “Atta girl!”

Aftermath

The fight was brutal but swift. Solara and Sentry moved in perfect sync-his raw power and your precision overwhelming the intruders. When the dust settled, Sentry hovered above the last unconscious soldier on the stairwell grinning down at you.

“Not bad, Stellar. Almost makes me want to let you win next time.”

You wiped sweat from your brow, smirking. “In your dreams.”

He floated down, landing close enough that you could see the gold flecks in his eyes. “Every night, Solara.”

You shoved him playfully, but your heart hammered in your chest. The first time he called you by your actual hero name.

The others came by and you regrouped, finishing the job together.

The storm between you was growing, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could resist.

04. Calm Before the Crash

The Tower was quiet, the kind of silence that made every sound echo. Most of the team had gone to bed, but you found yourself by the rooftop ‘s emergency door, soaking in the last rays of the city’s lights. You let the energy hum beneath your skin, feeling the gentle warmth that always lingered after a fight.

If it weren’t for your superhearing, you wouldn’t have noticed Sentry approaching you quietly. For someone so powerful, he surely knows how to be sneaky. You trully were’nt in the mood for fighting so before you clapped at him coming to pick on you, you reconsidered your choices as you looked at him

He leaned on the railing beside you, eyes scanning the skyline. For once, he didn’t wear his cocky grin. He looked tired-haunted, lost even.

You broke the silence first. “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Not lately.” Wow, who would’ve thought this almighty god had trouble sleeping?

You studied him, seeing the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed as if fighting something invisible. You mentally, debated what you wanted to do. Ugh, i’m so going to regret this later

“You want to talk about it?”

He hesitated, then sat on the low wall, elbows on his knees. This pose made him look so fragile “Do you know what it’s like to be afraid of yourself?” His voice was raw, stripped of all the sarcasticness it used to have all the time.

You suprised yourself by sitting beside him, close but not touching. “Sometimes. My powers…they’re a gift, but they’re also a burden. If I take in too much solar energy, I could level a city. If I don’t take enough sun, I get weak, sick. There’s never a perfect balance.”

He nodded at your statement, staring at his hands. “When I got my powers, it was supposed to be a miracle. I was just a guy- Robert Reynolds used to be my only name. Messed up, addicted, looking for a way out. I participated in a human testing experiment, not caring what would happen, hell I trully didnt care if I died. They gave me a serum, and suddenly I was a god. But there was a catch. The darkness within me came with it-I call it The Void. It’s always there, whispering, waiting for me to slip and take over. I’m terrified of what I’ll do if I lose control.”

You listened, heart aching for him with simpathy. “People see the power, not the cost. Only want the glory. They don’t understand what consequences comes with holding any power. ”

He looked at you, eyes shining in the city lights. “If I let myself feel, I’d fall apart. The Void feeds on that. It wants me to be alone.“

You reached out, your hand covering his. “You’re not alone, Sentry, I know what it’s like to feel like you’re one mistake away from disaster. But you’re more than the Void.”

He squeezed your hand, his grip trembling. You continue. “You’re more than your power.” You found yourself telling him words that you once wanted to hear.

Smiling, feeling the warmth of his skin and the truth in his words. “Hell, I can’t believe im saying this. You’re an amazing hero Sentry, the way you contribute to the team in your own way is very special. Yes they’re may be times that I want to strap you to a rocket full of grenades, or even throw you off the Burj Khalifa for being a little shit. Still do to be honest, you wont leave me alone”

He chuckled “You want my head, I get it”

“But even after all that, I think you shouldnt give in to the darkness. I’m sure the team would be willing to help you out too”

“They all have been shoved down my ass enough” Remembering the events a few years ago. Solara probably doesnt know, maybe its for the better.

“You’re not alone in this Sentry”

“You can call me Bob… well, if you want I mean. Sentry is a sickass name, way better than Bob, probably the best name around here hahah” He said with a cocky toothy grin nudging your shoulder. And there he is

“Well Bob, since we’re doing friendly introductions. You can call me, Y/N”

“Y/N” He tasted the way her name felt on his tongue “Its nice, fits you like a glove, princess”

For a long moment, you sat together in the quiet, two people carrying the weight of the world, finding solace in each other’s presence. For the first time ever, his dickheadness wasn’t so bad.

The storm inside both of you eased, if only for a little while.

05. Breaking Point

After the last attack, the Tower was humming with tension. You’d barely slept, senses on edge, always listening for the next alarm. Sentry Bob had become a little distant since your rooftop talk. Not suprising. You caught glimpses of him in the halls sometimes, golden aura flickering like a warning sign.

You were in the gym, pounding out your anxiety on a punching bag, when the emergency lights flashed red. Sirens blared. The comm crackled with Bucky’s voice:

“Guys, we’ve got incoming-AIM, these dickheads aren’t holding back. Sentry, Solara, Yelena front line. The rest of us will follow. Ava, report and go stealth mode”

Using your superspeed, you suited up quick and sprinted for the main hall, Yelena at your side. “Stay close, Дорогая. Let’s hope that Ken Doll doesnt do anything stupid”

You managed a grin. “No promises.”

The main doors exploded inward. AIM soldiers in advanced exo-suits stormed in, weapons glowing with unfamiliar energy. At their center stood out a white figure-AIM’s new soldier weapon, its suit peculiary powered by the mysterious tech.

Sentry landed beside you, face grim. “Stay behind me, Titanium.”

You bristled. “Nope, not happening”

The fight was chaos. Sentry tore through the first wave, Yelena and Solara focused on taking down the second incoming one together, but the AIM soldier unleashed a pulse that sent him crashing into a wall. Unnotices by you, something flickered in his eyes as he staggered to his feet.

You blasted the weapon with a solar flare, drawing its attention to you. “Come on, big guy. Pick on someone your own size.”

It charged you, and a fight between the two of you broke in. That thing was fast, enhanced, powerful. It threw a punch but you caught it with ease. However, the person under let a chuckle as it blasted the tech’s energy through its widow bites?? hitting you and making you loose balance. This caught you off guard but you absorbed the next energy blast, letting it fuel you. Your skin glowed, hair floating as you unleashed everything you had-a beam of pure solar energy that you knew would knock them out. It did.

Unnoticed by you, a soldier prepared to attack from behind, his weapon pointed to you head as he was taken out inmediately. Sentry was at your side in a flash, but something in his eyes were wrong-too dark, too wild.

“You’re messing with the wrong people, if you want to live, you can walk away now” His tone was filled with undeniable malice.

A soldier charged at him but was instantly turned into a shadow?? “Or not, be my guest”

More soldiers followed to battle, however he brutally manhandled-every-single one with ease. He had a wild grin on his face, his eyes glowing white as the time passed.

Yelena quickly came to your side “Oh no, its happening again. Sol, quick you have to stop him” Her russian accent laced with something you would’ve never thought you would hear, fear

You didnt question her further and quickly made way to his side, grabbing his arm to try and pull him to his senses. Sentry grabbed your neck, grip tight. “Who do you think you’re? trying to stop me? i’m a god, you’re nothing”

He slams you to the wall, you wheezed as his grip tightened. “I dont know what he sees in you, you’re weak” He continues as he gets closer and smells your hair, a whiff of your shampoo makes him smirk. Your thighs involuntarily clenched as his right hand caress your hips leaning by your ear. “You want this don’t you, I can give it to you.”

Having enough, you cupped his face, with the remaining energy you had left, forcing him to look at you, your light meeting his darkness. “You’re stronger than this, Bob. I’m here. I won’t let you go.”

For a moment, you saw him-the real Bob-fighting to surface. He blinked, eyes going back to normal. Sentry’s eyes widened as he saw the position you guys were in, and looked back to the battlefield. You two shared a look that said fight, talk later as more soldier barged in

The battle ended in minutes. The team regrouped, battered but alive.

•••

The members gathered around the table, eating comfortably and chatting. This was a common routine after a big battle. However, Sentry sat by the window apart from everyone. His eyes held that haunted gaze you saw in the rooftop. Everyone noticed how tense you two were after the incident, but nobody dared to ask. You approached slowly, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“Wanna eat anything? You should before the fridge ends up in Alexei and John’s stomachs” you whispered.

He looked at you, voice broken. “I lost it. I almost hurt you.”

You squeezed his hand. “But you didn’t. You fought it. Besides, i’m a big girl, I can handle myself” You flexed your bicep.

He let out a small laugh, some of the darkness easing from his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, Solara”

For the first time, you felt hope-maybe, together, you could weather any storm.

06. Fracture

The Tower was messier than usual. AIM’s attack had left damage beyond the usual “repaint, move on” You courtly greeted the usual construction team working on the repairs as you made your way to the conference room.

The team gathered around the round table. Alexei sat besides his daughter who had a bored look on her face, Ava sat one chair apart leaving space for you, John sat on the other side with a small note pad filled with what you would assume were things he wanted to discuss, and lastly bucky stood by the whiteboard with some files.

The only missing one was Sentry. Not that you cared anyway.

“Sentry will be here later. He had a meeting with Valentina.” Bucky said for the team’s knowledge. Although the team didn’t have a formal leader, you all secretly agreed that if they were to be one, it had to be him. After all, he was the one that brought them together. Bucky rights on the board “Mission Report” damn. his handwriting is neat for a fossil.

“Anything you wanna comment on?” He asks before Ava raises her hand “Yes, they were twice the people we encountered before. At least 30 people per group, all armed with the same type of weapons”

You add thinking deeply “There was this person, who had a mask and a white suit, I would guess that was their leader. Although this person’s fighting style was different, but very familiar…almost like an enhanced black widow” You said truthfully.

Yelena turned to her in disbelief “You can’t be serious are you? The Red Room is gone, my sister and I made sure of that. “ You saw the pained look on her face when she mentioned Natasha.

“Dreykov’s dead, and not a single widow remains under the room’s control since we freed them all.” She huffed and Alexei rubbed her back, calming her down “Sorry, I got carried away, please continue” You gave her a sad smile, knowing that this was a sensitive topic “The person’s suit was oddly similar to the widow’s suits, also, they blasted me with two wrist guards similar to what you and Nat use. Coincidence? I think not”

John butts in, interest in his tone “Are you saying there may be a widow involved with this mysterious organization?” You nodded and Yelena rubbed her temple, clearly stressed.

“Well if there is one, she’s enhanced. I saw through the vents how she took down the lower level guards with ease.” Ava said. “Also, when are we gonna discuss what happened with Sentry back there? Seriously, he was crazier than usual”

Bucky nods “Solara, Yelena, when Sentry lost control, what happened before that?” You girls look at each other trying to remember

“Ah!” Yelena snaps her finger, remembering

“The white soldier blasted him with weird energy while me and Solara took down the others at the sides. You nod and add “After that, he completely changed” Everything discussed, John writes it down on his notepad. “Do you think the weapon had something to do?” Yelena asks Bucky.

Bucky grimmed, a clear thought passing through his head “This is more serious than I thought.”

Ava asks “What is it?” Bucky looked her way “We may be dealing with something similar to Superman’s red kryptonite. In the comics, the green one weakened him, the red one, however, made him loose control”

John snorted, eyes still on his pad “Didn’t take you for the kind that reads comics” Bucky palms his face grunting “It’s called having hobbies, Walker. And the first came out in 1938, for your information” Alexei stopped the banter “Sargent Barnes, if this is the case, what should we do? will Sentry turn on us?” He asked him with concern

“No I dont think he will, but we need to be precautios of whats coming. Keep Sentry at bay and investigate further. We can schedule a undercover mission to gather intel.” Everyone nodded.

Bucky hands Alexei some files which he passes around. “Some of the people arrested had criminal backstories with Hydra and Shield. Look for valuable info, Yelena if you can, get something out of any of them. That’s all for today”

The door opened, Sentry entered with his usual cocky grin. “Hope I didnt miss much” Bucky sighed and quicky summarized the meeting, including the part of the red kryptonite situation.

“Damn, Buck, who would’ve knew you read comics.” Sentry said with a raised eyebrow. John laughed loudly at his comment, fist bumping him. “I told him the same thing dude!” However, the energy of the room felt uneasy after that meeting.

•••

You found yourself in the kitchen later in the night, trying to make coffee, but the machine sputtered and died with a sad wheeze.

“Need help, Solaris?” Sentry’s voice behind you was a little too close, a little too smug.

You didn’t turn around. “Unless you can fix a coffee maker with your ego, I’m good.”

He leaned in, voice low. “My ego fixes a lot of things, sunshine.”

You snorted, grabbing another mug from the cabinet. “Like what? Your reputation for being a pain in my ass?”

He grinned, eyes glinting. “And you love it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart hammered. He was too close, heat radiating off him like a second sun. “You wish.”

He stepped back, cocky and casual, but you saw the tension in his jaw. You think he wanted you riled up, going back to his usual ways, rooftop talk long gone, and damn if it wasn’t working.

Yelena strolled in, hair in a half bun, jeans and hoodie, wait, isnt that my hoodie? . She eyed the two of you, then the broken coffee maker. “You two flirting or fighting? Hard to tell these days.” You shot her a glare. “He’s being insufferable.” Sentry shrugged, grabbing an apple from the counter. “She started it.” Yelena grinned. “If you two finally hook up, can you keep it down? Some of us need sleep.”

You choked on your coffee. Sentry just smirked, biting into the apple with a wink.

•••

Later, Bucky called a meeting in the lounge. “Someone infiltrated our database and our security team. We’re on lockdown until we figure out who leaked it. groups only. No one goes anywhere alone.”

Yelena immediately claimed you as her partner, but Bucky shook his head. “Solara, you’re with Sentry. Yelena, you’re with Ava. Alexei, John you’re with me.” You groaned. “Seriously?” Sentry’s grin was pure trouble.

You stomped furiously down the hallway to your room. Sentry following close. At your door you turned to face him “If you snore, I’m blasting you into the sun.” He leaned close, voice dropping. “You’d have to get close enough to find out.”

You shoved him, but he caught your wrist, pinning you to the door with a loud thudz The air buzzed with electricity. “Careful, sunshine,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “You keep pushing, I might just push back.” You glared, fighting the blush forming on your face. “Let go.” He did, but not before his thumb traced a line over your lips. “You’re fun when you’re mad.”

Having enough, you push him hard again and opened the door, craving to close it in his face and breaking all his perfect teeth. Inside, he glanced around your room: spacious, but comfortable. All sorts of paintings and posters decorated the walls, a small desk was filled with pens, notes, your bed was unkempt in a way that it meant that you planned to nap later. He saw a makeup vanity covered with polaroids of the team, you Yelena and Ava making funny faces, John sleeping on the couch and Alexei putting whip cream on his spralled hand, Bucky asleep as you drew things on his face with a smile and him in the back reading. He smiled at the sight.

You removed your hoodie staying only in a crop top, his eyes following you as you reached for the tv remote on the nightstand. You glanced his way “If you’re done staring, make yourself comfortable”

He sits on the edge of your bed, unsure when you said “I hope you like romcoms, you owe me one”

•••

Hours later, you woke up and found him in the floor, sitting alone in the dark. The cockiness was gone, replaced by shadows.

You glanced from the bed, silent for a moment. “You okay?”

He didn’t look at you. “I just thinking about that day, when I lost control”

You patted your side motioning him to sit, he does. “You didn’t. You fought it.”

He let out a shaky breath. “You make it sound so easy”

You swallowed, heart pounding. Remebering how the dark version of him gripped your neck, caressed your hip and whispered things in your ear

He turned, searching your face. “You’re dangerous, Y/N. You make me want to do things I shouldn’t.”

Sentry’s face starts getting closer to yours, you felt his breath on your lips.

The moment stretched, electric and fragile. You pulled away panicking “Let’s go to sleep” you quicky turned around, heart pounding against your sternum.

Sentry laughed, and the tension broke-but something had shifted between you. The storm was coming, and you weren’t sure you wanted to outrun it anymore.

[miyasmagnolias]

𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 ⭑.ᐟ

miya atsumu x f!reader

atsumu catches you dancing in your bedroom to a certain viral song.

part five of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college au featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

a/n: this is a very unserious drabble you guys. i needed something lighthearted and fluffy to get me through the work week! ( ╥ ᴗ ╥)

You didn't even like the song at first.

A couple girls in your university dance troupe were gushing over the music video before practice the other day, crowding around someone's laptop like fraternity boys did for playoff sports games.

"I can't believe they switched up their style so quickly," one of them lamented. "Their last song was better. Much easier on the ears."

"I dunno. I kinda dig it," another argued. "Sure, the lyrics are a little unhinged — but people don't make this kind of music to wax poetic. They do it so they can shake ass."

"Oh, this dance is going viral for sure," a third agreed.

"What are we watching?" you asked her, slinging your dance bag on the studio floor. You were 99% sure her name was Mina.

"Gnarly by Katseye! Have you heard it yet, Y/N?"

“I haven’t. Is it new?”

“They just released it yesterday,” Mina replied, scooting over on the hardwood floors to make room for you to sit. “The Internet is going wild about it.”

"I see," you murmured, squatting beside her as each member of the global girl group started twerking onscreen in perfect unison. Frowning, you asked, "Why are they holding sandwiches?"

"Couldn't tell you. But it's making me hungry," Mina mumbled. "Anyone wanna grab McDonald's before we start?"

That was two days ago — and you hadn't been able to get the song out of your head ever since. It was everywhere: your TikTok feed, other people's Instagram stories. You'd even heard it at the damn grocery store.

Now, as you sat at your desk trying to analyze the lines of a Shakespearian sonnet, you couldn't help but mumble the words to Katseye's Gnarly instead.

The inner English major in you was livid. Out of all the poetic compositions in the world, you had to be fixated on the Internet's most unserious song? Virginia Woolf would be rolling in her grave right now.

Tossing the book of sonnets onto your bed and opening your laptop, you pulled up the music video on YouTube and cranked the volume up. Maybe if you listened to it enough times, you would finally get it out of your system. Maybe if you overplayed it to death, you could finally focus.

You had never been more wrong.

Meanwhile, Atsumu had just returned home from his evening run, keys jangling as he let himself in and kicked his shoes off by the front door. He heard the deep bass thrumming from your bedroom, and for a second, he thought he was back at the fraternity house.

"Y/N?" he called out to you over the music, taking his AirPods out and peeling off his sweaty t-shirt. He flung the latter onto the couch, making a mental note to pick it up before you had the chance to kill him. "Y/N! What the hell are ya listening to?"

He ambled over to your side of the apartment and rapped twice on your ajar bedroom door. When it was clear you hadn't heard him, he opened it just enough to poke his head through.

His jaw went slack.

Now, Atsumu knew you'd taken dance classes in the past, had even encouraged you to audition for a university dance troupe so you could meet more likeminded people. He knew how formative it would be for you to find community in something you clearly loved to do, just as he'd found his community in volleyball.

What he hadn't known was just how good you were.

In fact, as Atsumu watched you flip your hair and body roll in beat to the most heinous song he'd ever heard, he started questioning whether he knew you at all.

He pushed the door fully open and leaned his bare shoulder against the doorframe, smiling lazily as you performed your heart out in the middle of your bedroom. You were ridiculously cute, what with your tousled hair and confident facials and the way you spun around in your socks —

"Fuck!" you reeled back, the sight of your half-naked roommate nearly sending you into cardiac arrest.

You hit the space bar on the performance video you'd been dancing to for the past twenty minutes. The silence that followed was deafening. Chest heaving, you pressed your hand to your now-racing heart and shot Atsumu the most offended glare of all time.

"Why are you shirtless?"

"Why are you gyratin'?" he asked in an equal amount of disbelief.

You crossed your arms. "I'm taking a study break."

"And what the hell is this song?" Atsumu performed a deep lunge so he could take a closer look at your screen. "Gnarly by Katseye..."

"It's just this silly viral song that's been stuck in my head," you said, collapsing onto your bed. Face pressed into the mattress, you mumbled, "I swear, I don't like it."

"Well, ya liked it an awful lot just a second ago," Atsumu replied amusedly. You peeled your face from the comforter just in time to see his smile turn saccharine. "Where'd ya learn to twerk like that?"

You shucked a pillow at his face.

"What?" he cackled, catching it with ease. Atsumu laughed the same way the sun burst through a dense billow of clouds — warmly and unapologetically. "Ya sure as hell didn't learn it from those damn books of yours."

"None of your business," you quipped, staring daggers at him from across the room. "Shouldn't you be out on a run or something?

"I ran fast," he chirped. As if his sweaty, frustratingly chiseled physique weren't enough of an indicator. "And I'm so glad I did."

"We are never talking about this again."

"Fine by me," he drawled, tossing your pillow back. It hit you with a pathetic thud. He was already halfway out the door before saying, "Oh, and Y/N?"

Your jaw tensed. "What."

He flicked his sweaty hair out of his eyes and shot you his signature shit-eating grin. "Just for the record, I think yer way hotter than a bag of Takis."

Great, he was quoting lyrics now. This was worse than him reading your smutty short stories.

"Out," you growled behind bared teeth, curling into a fetal position as Atsumu's retreating laugh engulfed you like a seismic wave. "And put a shirt on!"

Once you heard the door to his room slam shut, you turned onto your back and unleashed a whimpering sigh.

Atsumu had seen you dance.

To add insult to injury, he'd seen you throw it back.

Fuck. You squeezed your eyes shut and felt your face flush.

You were never going to live this down.

Two days later, Atsumu ran into his teammate at the student rec center.

"Sakusa," he said, dumbfounded. "The hell ya doing here?"

The wing spiker perked up at Atsumu from where he was furiously disinfecting his press machine with a Clorox wipe.

"Atsumu," he started, glancing between the setter and the piece of gym equipment. Almost as if he'd been caught red-handed.

"Flu outbreak on the team?" Atsumu guessed. His teammate's shoulders slumped.

"The student athlete gym is disgusting," he grumbled honestly. "Everyone keeps coughing. At least here, there's room to breathe."

"Fair," Atsumu admitted, setting his stuff down and taking the press machine next to Sakusa's. Beside him, Sakusa eyed him carefully.

"How are you doing?" he asked, his voice tense. Tentative. "You ready to come back next week?"

Atsumu paused. It had been three weeks since his coach had put him on mental health leave, and while Atsumu had done all the perfunctory steps — sticking to his gym routine, getting enough sleep — a small part of him wondered if he'd lost his spark. If that fierce, relentless flame of his that only ignited on the volleyball court was forever extinguished by what had happened to him.

"To be completely honest? I don't know," Atsumu admitted, looking around at the student rec center he'd been banished to for the past month. He once thought it sad, borderline plebeian of him to work out anywhere but the student athlete gym. Now, he found himself here every day.

Sakusa considered him for a moment.

"If you're embarrassed about being kicked out for a month, don't be," he said matter-of-factly. He may as well have dumped scathing hot water down Atsumu's back. Softening, he added, "The team's got your back."

Shoulders relaxing, Atsumu said, "Thanks, Sakusa."

His teammate fiddled with the Clorox wipe in his hands. "The team also sucks without you, so you better come back ten times better. Else your leave of absence would have been for nothing."

At that, Atsumu chuckled. "Don't stroke my ego too much."

Shoving an AirPod into each ear, Atsumu pulled up his workout playlist on his phone and hit play. Little did he know his Bluetooth hadn't connected yet. His music blared from his phone speaker like a fire alarm.

"Hottie, hottie! Like a bag of Takis, I'm the shit! I'm the shit — !"

Atsumu slammed his finger into the pause button.

The silence that followed was deafening. A couple girls on the stair masters snickered. Meanwhile, Sakusa shot him the most judgmental glare he'd ever seen.

After a moment, Atsumu said, "Please don't tell anyone."

"Hey, whatever it takes for you to heal, man," Sakusa said, though his lips frowned in displeasure. After finishing his sets, he stood from the press machine, wiped it down, and said, "See you next week?"

"Yeah, man," Atsumu sniffled, trying to act like he wasn't just caught listening to the world's most viral girl group. "See ya."

Once Sakusa was out of his line of sight, Atsumu mouthed a silent 'FUCK' and hid his face in his hands.

He hadn't meant to get addicted to the song, but after catching you dancing to it the other day, he started listening to it out of morbid curiosity. On his runs. During his workouts. Hell, he even listened to it in the shower when you weren't home. He knew he wouldn't hear the end of it if you found out.

Still, it didn't stop him from hitting rewind once his AirPods reconnected.

"They could describe everything with one single word..."

He bobbed his head to the beat as he gripped the handlebars of the press machine and began his set.

If anything, the song had given him the unexpected confidence boost he needed before his return to volleyball.

And if he had even a shred of the confidence you had when you danced, that would be more than enough.

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

[yesihaveaobsession]

alastor x nurse!female reader

Summary: The reader (you) are a ER nurse in the depths of Hell and the Radio Demon seems to be quite fond of you.

A/N- So y'all who gave me some ideas/ requests a few weeks back I haven't forgotten about you! So this request was from @artisticbishoujorin and instead of doing the whole human solider bit I decided to keep it in hell because I thought it was cuter! I hope that is okay and I hope y'all like this!! :))))

Like most things in Hell, it was quietly strange. You had just finished tending to a particularly loud sinner’s broken arm. Now, you were filling out a patient chart at the nurse’s station when the sliding doors opened.

You didn’t look up at first—you figured it was another demon coming in to complain about a scratch or something. But then came the static. A very unfamiliar kind of static.

It was radio static. That unnatural buzz that slithered into the corners of your mind and set your nerves on edge.

You looked up—and nearly dropped your clipboard.

The Radio Demon stood there.

Alastor.

The smile that carved horror straight from the airwaves himself. Crimson eyes glowing, his microphone in hand. That ever-present toothy grin stretched just a little too wide to be comforting.

Of course. How did you not notice it before?

You froze, afraid to move. Your instincts screamed at you to keep your head down. Keep filling out the chart. You’d heard the stories—everyone had. Alastor wasn’t the kind of demon you wanted in your clinic unless you had a death wish.

And yet, he was just standing there, eyes scanning the room like he was browsing a menu. Until finally...

They landed on you.

And oh, you felt it.

“You must be the nurse I’ve heard about,” he said, his radio-tinged voice both dangerously charming and deeply unsettling.

You tried to speak, but it came out as a whisper. “Heard about?”

“Oh yes!” He twirled his microphone and leaned on it like a cane. “I’ve seen you on my strolls through this part of town. Always so kind to your patients. And so very neat! Why, it’s a breath of fresh sulfur to see such professionalism.”

He chuckled at his own joke.

You honestly had no idea what to do. Laugh? Run? You figured one wrong move and you'd be done for. So, you forced a smile.

“Can I… help you with something?”

He tilted his head. “Not today, dear. Just curious. But I’ll be back.”

And he was.

Over the next few weeks, he came back again and again. Sometimes with real injuries—and only asking for you. Nobody dared to question it, so they always led him straight to you.

Despite the wounds he showed up with, you never asked how a demon like him even got hurt. Sometimes it was just a scratch. Other times, he brought "friends" who needed help. And once, he just came in to “ask about stitches” for a ripped waistcoat.

You never fully stopped being nervous around him.

But… over time, something strange started to happen.

He never once made you feel unsafe. As crazy as that sounds.

Sure, he was… odd. Too observant. Watching you with those crimson eyes as you cleaned a wound or bandaged someone up. But he never crossed a line. He listened when you spoke.

Once, while you were patching up a wounded imp with blood smeared across your cheek, he offered you a pristine white handkerchief embroidered with his initials.

“Can’t have you tarnishing that pretty face,” he said with a grin.

Was he flirting with you? No… impossible, right? Still, your cheeks burned for the rest of the day.

Eventually, you two started talking more—about everything and nothing. You told him how you ended up a nurse in Hell. How you liked helping people, even if most didn’t deserve it.

And he told you… well, vague, unsettling stories. But the way he told them was so dramatic, you couldn’t help but laugh.

You two grew close.

One day, after patching up a hellhound’s paw, you looked up and caught him watching you with a softness in his eyes.

A rare softness.

It startled you more than his grin ever had.

“What?” you asked, wiping your hands on a rag.

He simply smiled. “It’s just curious,” he mused, “how someone so bright ended up in such a dark place.”

You looked down and kept working. You didn’t know what to say.

“And yet you stay kind. Unafraid,” he added, tapping his cane once. “I find that… endearing.”

His gaze followed your movements.

You blinked and smiled a little. “Unafraid? I was terrified of you when you first walked in.”

He threw his head back with a laugh, a hand on his chest. “Good! Means I was doing something right.”

You smirked, just a little. “You still scare me sometimes.”

“Excellent,” he said, still grinning—because when was he not?

“But I do hope you’ll let me keep visiting.”

You hesitated… then nodded.

“Alright. But next time, bring actual injuries. Or at least a good story.”

He winked as he turned to leave. “Darling, with you? I’ll bring both.”

And with that, you heard him humming as he walked away.

You just smiled, rolled your eyes, and shook your head.

Not that you minded.

[fratboykate]

Ok, but I really need to see Kate in rehab now. Also Yelena not willing to say ex-wife but Kate's like "no, we broke up. I fucked this."

And maybe it's me needing some fluff, but just. Kate and Yelena FaceTime. Little talks. The ones where they ignore the shit and it feels like it did before, but then they get quiet because they remember it's not before. Its now and it's kind of fucked.

Can we get Yelena visiting Kate in treatment? Kate reconnecting with her kids? Kate accepting accountability? There’s so much angst to explore! It’s like Christmas but if Christmas made me cry.

Kinda a combo of parts of these two. Not fully fulfilling either but...I think it'll scratch y'alls itch. Here's 7.8k of angsty goodness.

--

Thirty days.

That’s how long it’s been since Kate overdosed on their bathroom floor, shaking and blue and almost gone. Thirty days since they called 911. Thirty days since her world transformed in an instant.

The doctors said no visitors. At least three weeks. Standard protocol, apparently. Full detox. Full isolation. No calls. No visits. No distractions. Yelena had argued, but not much. She knew better than anyone how Kate could manipulate a room. How she could talk her way out of anything, convince even the sharpest doctor she was fine. Better. Cured.

Three weeks. Clean break. Let the treatment take root. That’s what they said. Yelena knows it was the right call. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt.

//

Yelena didn’t realize how much Kate handled until she wasn’t there. Didn’t realize how overloaded Kate must have felt. Because that’s how she feels now. Drop-offs, sports, dance classes, dentist appointments, remembering that Alexia needs a poster board or Maks has a costume party. With the kids in her care full-time now, Yelena’s brain runs like a computer with too many tabs open. None of them organized. All of them on fire.

Sonny’s teething again. Maks wet the bed three times this week. Alexia…Yelena doesn’t even know. The girl’s gone quiet. Too still. She doesn’t ask about Kate much anymore. Doesn’t cry. Just watches. That’s worse.

The silence. The observing. The waiting. Yelena can feel the weight of Alexia’s eyes on her when she’s folding laundry, when she forgets to pack a snack, when she doesn’t laugh at Maks’ joke fast enough. She can feel it like a measuring stick being held up to her forehead.

Are you enough? Are you enough without her?

//

Alexei has all but moved in. At first it was just to help for the week. Then the week stretched. Then it became routine. He makes breakfast every morning like he’s been doing it forever. Walks Sonny up and down the block when she won’t stop crying. Tells Maks stories about when Yelena was little, always ending with, "And that is why your Mama is like this."

Melina stops by every day with printouts. Meal plans. Color-coded calendars. Suggestions for managing the emotional trauma of children post-crisis. She talks in bullet points. But she has never, not once, told Yelena or Alexei how she feels about any of this.

Alexei and Melina are helping. They are. But it’s still also only Yelena now. She’s the one who wakes up every night to check if the kids are breathing. The one who takes the calls from the school. The one who remembers which brand of pull-ups doesn’t give Sonny a rash. The one who has to answer the same question, over and over again:

"When is Mommy coming home?"

She tells them: Soon. When she’s better. When the doctors say she’s ready.

Maks asks if they’ll get to live together again after. Alexia doesn’t say anything.

//

Yelena goes to group once a week. Nar-Anon. The one for the families and friends of addicts. Took her three tries to actually walk inside. Sat in the car the first time, engine running, hand on the door. Couldn’t move. The second time she got as far as the hallway before a woman smiled at her too kindly and she bolted. The third time, she sat down. Didn’t talk. Just listened.

Heard stories that sounded too familiar. Stories about addicts who lied and stole and relapsed and swore they wouldn’t. About kids who grew up with half-parents. About the helplessness. The rage.

She cried halfway through her second real meeting.

Now she’s made it a point to put in on her calendar. She promises herself she’ll go every Thursday night. So far, she’s stuck with it.

She sits in the third row, near the back. Not sharing. Not uttering Kate’s name. Not even her own. She simply shows up and listens. And, for now, that’s enough.

//

Yelena misses work deadlines constantly now. The lab understands. Mostly. Her name still carries weight. But the remorse gnaws at her. She was never late before. Never missed a review or stood someone up for a meeting or forgot to follow through.

Now she sets alarms and forgets what they’re even for. Now she pours coffee and drinks it cold. Now she folds laundry at midnight because it’s the only time the house is quiet.

Alexia stays up too late. Pretends to read. Yelena doesn’t push her. Maks has become more clingy, crawling into her bed in the middle of the night and whispering that he had another bad dream. Sonny hangs on to Alexei like a barnacle. Yelena calls him Dad. So now Sonny calls him Dad. Like it’s always been that way.

Yelena loves them so much it hurts. Loves them beyond measure…yet nevertheless, she sometimes wants to scream. But there’s no room to fall apart. No corner of the day where she can shatter. No one to pass the baton to. Kate isn’t there. Kate isn’t texting to say she’s running late but will pick up dinner. Kate isn’t leaving her notes in the margin of grocery lists or fixing the playlist in the car.

Kate isn’t there. But Yelena is.

//

The house is clean now. Too clean. Alexei’s doing. He can’t sit still. He folds every blanket. Organizes every drawer. Makes the beds with hospital corners. Something about control, Yelena thinks.

Maks spilled juice on the carpet and cried like it was the end of the world. Yelena knelt down, cleaned it, held him, told him it was just juice. Told him it’s something you can wipe away.

Yelena understands their tantrums have nothing to do with juice spills or teething or dinner choices. So she tries to be extra patient with them. That’s the best she can do lately.

//

Kate’s been in rehab for fourteen days. No visitors. No phone calls. The center sends progress updates through a family liaison. Yelena reads every one three times.

"Katherine has been compliant with all treatment protocols."

"Katherine is responding well to group therapy."

"Katherine has rejected additional individual counseling."

“Katherine isn’t being entirely honest.”

The reports are clinical. Distant. Yelena reads them like a lifeline. Every sentence a heartbeat. Every paragraph a breadcrumb that means maybe…maybe…Kate is coming back to the kids.

Yelena doesn’t know if she’s coming back to her. That’s…not something she lets herself think about. Not yet.

//

Yelena talks to Dr. O’Grady twice a week. Once for solo therapy, once with the kids. It was Dr. O’Grady who suggested the group meetings, the Thursday ones Yelena now attends like a quiet form of penance.

When it’s just the two of them, the sessions are usually quiet. Dr. O’Grady is maddeningly good at silence. She doesn’t push. She just…waits. Long enough that Yelena starts talking just to fill the air.

“What are you most afraid of?” She asked last session.

Yelena stared at the carpet for what felt like minutes. Her fingers twisted in her lap. Her mouth opened once, then closed.

Then finally, she said, “That Kate doesn’t want to come back.”

A beat.

“Not to the kids.”

A longer one.

“To me.”

//

On Day Twenty-One, the rehab center calls while Yelena is at work. Her stomach drops.

Yelena hesitates, then stands and steps just outside the door, answering with a tight, “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Amy from Reed Recovery. Is this Ms. Belova?”

“…Yeah.”

“We’re calling to confirm visitation availability for Saturday. Ms. Bishop blackout period is over. You’re cleared to schedule a visit and Kate has listed you as her primary contact. Would you like to schedule a time?”

Yelena’s every muscle goes stiff. For a second, she can’t breathe.

“Yes. Yes, I…sorry. Yes. I’d like to come.”

“Great. Would 10AM work?”
 “Yes. Definitely. Yes.”

“You’re confirmed for 10AM. We recommend arriving fifteen minutes early and bringing a form of ID. We’ll go over visitor rules and expectations when you arrive.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Yelena hangs up before she can hear the rest.

Instead of going back to the meeting she just…leaves. She sits in her car for forty-five minutes. Breath ragged. Phone still in her hand. She closes her eyes.

A month ago, she almost became a single parent permanently. A month ago, she shoved her mouth against Kate’s and begged her to stay. Now she has to see her again. Hear her voice.

Yelena doesn’t know if she wants to cry or scream or run. But she’ll do it. Because this is her life now. Her mess. Her kids. Her family. Her responsibility. And maybe…just maybe…her future, too.

//

The room smells like burnt coffee and industrial-strength floor cleaner. The chairs are all the same. Metal, beige, barely cushioned. Uncomfortable by design. There’s cheap carpeting underfoot, a table in the corner with cookies no one touches, and a corkboard on the wall covered in photos and typed-out success stories. It’s the kind of space meant to disappear into itself. Neutral. A blank enough canvas to hold grief, rage, hope, regret. Whatever you bring in, it’ll carry. That’s the idea, anyway.

Yelena sits in her usual spot, third row from the back. The ceiling tile above her is still stained. She’s counted it twice. It doesn’t change.

The room’s half full. Some familiar faces. Some new. Most of them worn in the way pain wears people down. Quiet around the edges, as if loosening even a little might make them fall apart completely. She’s listened to them speak for three weeks now. Sat through the stories. Mothers crying over sons, daughters raging about brothers, husbands whispering about wives they barely recognize.

She’s understood all of it. Just never knew what the fuck to say. Until tonight. Maybe it’s the phone call. Maybe it’s the silence that followed. Either way, something itches under her skin. Restless. Inevitable.

Because tonight, for the first time in twenty-one days, Yelena has a date and time. She’s going to see Kate. Saturday. Ten AM.

After three weeks of silence, no calls, no updates beyond the sterile progress notes from the facility. After twenty-one days of fielding tantrums and bedtime meltdowns and teething and quiet questions from Maks and sideways glances from Alexia. After all that…she finally gets to see the woman she used to call her wife.

She hasn’t told the kids yet. Not until she sees for herself.

She picks at her thumbnail. Around her, the meeting begins. Someone checks in. Someone else reads from a pamphlet. The man across the circle sips his coffee like it’s been keeping him alive for decades. A tired laugh breaks out when someone makes a dry joke. Then the room settles again. A lull.

The facilitator scans the circle.

“Who wants to go next?”

Silence. A chair squeaks. Then, before she knows why she’s doing it, Yelena hears herself speak.

“I’ll go.”

Heads turn. Some surprised. Some quietly supportive. She doesn’t move to the center. Just stays where she is, hands in the pockets of her jacket, voice low but steady.

“I’m Yelena. Been coming here for three weeks.” She exhales. Her fingers curl tighter in her pockets. “First because I didn’t know what else to do. Now because I still don’t. I haven’t spoken yet. Didn’t think I would.” She glances around. The faces are kind. Or at least trying to be. “My wife…ex-wife…we were in the middle of finalizing our divorce when she overdosed.”

That word lands. She sees a few eyes shift. Nods. A soft inhale.

“It wasn’t…some perfect fairy tale. It was a fucking mess. I’m not quite sure what we are now…Sorry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I don’t know what I want to say….”

She stops. Regathers.

“Three weeks ago, she overdosed. Cocaine laced with fentanyl. Her heart stopped. She seized. Then had a heart attack. The doctors told me if I’d gotten there a few minutes later, she’d be dead.”

A murmur. One man closes his eyes.

“Our kids were home. I found her on the bathroom floor. Blue. Not moving.”

The words don’t come dramatic. They come plain. Undecorated.

“I did CPR until the medics got there. I didn’t think it would work. I didn’t think…I thought I was going to have to tell our kids that their mom was dead.”

Someone across the circle nods. Quietly. Like they’ve been there. Maybe they have.

“She made it. Barely. She was in the hospital for a week. Got released. Got into a program. They sent her upstate. No contact for three weeks. Today, I got the call. I’m allowed to visit. Saturday. Ten AM.”

Yelena shifts. Scratches at the seam of her jeans.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to her. I don’t know if I’m supposed to scream or cry or hug her or just…sit there. I’m mad. I’m scared. And I’m so fucking tired.”

Her throat tightens. She pushes past it.

“I’ve had the kids full-time since it happened. Three kids. One in diapers. One who is desperate to understand everything but is too little to truly grasp anything. One who’s trying to carry the weight of all of it without saying a single word. I look at them and think, ‘They have no idea how close they came to losing her.’ And they shouldn’t. They shouldn’t have to carry that. But I do.”

The facilitator offers a gentle nod. Silent encouragement. Yelena breathes deep. Keeps going.

“I came here because I thought I needed to vent. Or hear that I was right to be mad. That I wasn’t crazy for feeling like this. But I don’t want her punished. I just…want her better. I want her to want to be better.” A pause. “She’s a good mom. She loves them. That’s not the problem. The problem is that she’s sick. And now I’m stuck in this place where I’m furious and terrified and still trying to be kind. Trying to be generous. And I don’t know how the fuck to do it all at once.”

There’s a hush now. That real silence. When people aren’t just listening, but hearing you.

“I don’t know who she is to me anymore. She’s been every version of something. Girlfriend. Partner. Wife. Roommate. Ex. Co-parent. Estranged. The woman who almost died in our shared bathroom.” Her voice lowers. “I almost had to call her my dead wife.”

Yelena lets that sit.

“I keep thinking that should be enough. That she survived. That I didn’t have to make those calls. That should be enough, right?” She shakes her head. “But it’s not. It’s not even close.”

Silence again.

“Sorry. I didn’t plan to speak tonight. But it felt worse not to.” She exhales. Her shoulders slump. The room exhales with her. “Anyway. That’s me.”

Yelena sits back down. Breathing shaky. Heart louder than it should be.

Someone murmurs, “Thank you.”

Another: “Glad you’re here.”

And then the circle moves again. Someone else stands. Someone else starts. And Yelena sits back and listens.

Even if the words don’t fix anything, they were real. And that’s a start.

The rest of the session passes in a blur. Someone cries. Someone else hands them tissues. A man across the room talks about how his daughter stole from him to get high. Yelena barely hears a word.

//

When the meeting ends, Yelena doesn’t bolt like usual.

She lingers. Watching people trickle out. Coats shrugged on. Murmured goodbyes. Chairs screeching as they’re pushed back into straight lines.

She drifts toward the cookie table, eyeing a lonely oatmeal raisin that looks like it’s been there since the Carter administration. She debates it. Even knowing it’ll taste like chalk and drywall, she takes a bite. Instantly regrets it.

Then a voice behind her: warm, low, just amused enough.

“You speak like you’re used to being listened to.”

Yelena turns.

The woman behind her is tall. Late thirties, maybe. Warm brown skin. Dark curls pulled into a half-knot that manages to look effortless and deliberate at the same time. Her black jeans are worn, her cardigan oversized, and her boots look like they’ve stomped over lesser men. There’s navy polish chipping off her nails and a little mischief tucked into the corners of her mouth. Her eyes are darker still. Serious. Curious. Magnetic.

“Most people don’t,” the woman adds.

Yelena lets out a soft snort.

“Used to yelling, maybe. Listening’s harder.”

That earns a smile.

“Still. I’m glad you spoke.”

“Thanks.” Yelena nods, cautious.

“I’m Ava.” She offers a hand.

“Yelena.”

“I know.” Ava grins. “You’ve been sitting in that same chair for three weeks.”

Yelena quirks a brow.

“You keeping tabs?”

“I’m observant.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

Ava shrugs.

“Something like that…Talking’s harder than it looks, huh?”

“At least I didn’t cry.”

“No shame if you had. I ugly-cried my first five meetings. Full snot. Olympic-level.”

Yelena huffs a laugh. It catches her by surprise. “Impressive.”

“I own it now. Snot and all.”

They fall quiet for a beat. Then Ava nudges the table.

“Okay, be real with me. Are these cookies as bad as they look?”

“Worse.”

“Thought so.”

Ava drops her hands into her pockets.

“You wanna walk? There's a decent bodega two blocks over with actual cookies. Fresh. Usually.”

Yelena hesitates. Ava notices.

“Not trying to be weird. Just…you looked like you needed to talk a little more. Or not talk. I’m good with either.”

Yelena glances at the time. 9:13. Alexei’s at home with the kids. They’re probably already asleep. And she…doesn’t want to go back. Not just yet. The thought of going home, of crawling back into silence, tastes worse than the cookie she didn’t eat.

“Alright. Lead the way.”

//

Outside, the air is brisk. The streets are slick with earlier rain, neon puddles blooming under streetlights. They walk side by side, Ava with that relaxed stride of someone who’s been through shit and lived to laugh about it.

“Saturday, huh?” Ava says.

“Yeah.” Yelena nods.

“Longest you’ve ever gone without seeing her?”

Yelena nods again.

“Never in twenty years. Even during the worst of it, we were always circling each other. Drop-offs. Pickups. Something.”

“She know you’re coming?”

“I assume so…I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel. Angry. Relieved. Panicked. It’s like everything’s fighting for space in my head. I can’t decide if I want to hug her or punch her in the throat.”

“That tracks.”

“You always this good at reading people?”

“I’m a school counselor. I spend most of my day navigating hormonal chaos and unspoken trauma. You get good at spotting what’s really going on under the surface. And you get especially proficient at sorting the quiet from the dangerous.”

“And what am I?”

Ava surveys her.

“Neither. You’re something else entirely.”

Yelena doesn’t know what to do with that. So she doesn’t.

The words settle between them like a match waiting to be struck.

//

The bodega hums with fluorescent light and the low buzz of a radio behind the counter. The cookie shelf is still stocked.

“These…” Ava points. “These are the good ones.”

Yelena grabs two. Pays in crumpled bills. They step back out into the night, warmth of the store giving way to chill.

Ava breaks off a piece and hands it to her. Yelena takes it. Their fingers brush. Electric current hums under it.

“What do you think Saturday will be?”

Yelena chews. Swallows.

“I don’t know. And that makes it worse.”

“Nothing bad with a bit of mystery. Sometimes it gets you to the other side.”

“I’m not trying to get to the other side of anything. I just want her to be okay.”

“And you?” Yelena remains silent. “What about you?” Ava looks over. “Do you want you to be okay?”

Yelena stares at the sidewalk. At a puddle. At her shoes. Anything else.

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“Maybe start.”

There’s no judgment in Ava’s voice. Just a kind of understanding that sits quietly in the chest.

They walk more. It’s quiet. Not heavy. Just present.

“You come to group often?”

“Couple times a week.”

“Why?”

‘My sister. She’s in her fifth rehab stint. This one’s in Arizona. Desert views. God and green juice. The works.”

Yelena huffs a laugh.

“Fuck.” She reels it back. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh.”

“Don’t be. I laugh about it too.”

They fall into step again. The city sounds rise and fall around them. Cars. Music. A siren somewhere distant.

“You should decide what you’re gonna say to her. The first time is always weird. I’ve realized it’s easier if you come prepared.”

“I want to shake her. I want to hold her. I want her to say she’ll fix everything. I want to believe it.”

“None of those are mutually exclusive…I’ve wanted to kill my sister and protect her in the same breath. That’s love, I think. Stupid and savage and soft.”

Another pause. This one softer. Yelena finds herself watching Ava again. The sharpness in her tone hasn’t dulled the warmth in her face.

“How long was your sister sober? Before Arizona…” Yelena asks.

“Two years. Then…bad overdose too. I don’t know what happened. She won't tell me. Three months sober this time. I haven’t talked to her since she checked in. Says she needs distance to focus. And I’m…pretending I’m okay with that.”

Yelena nods. “Yeah.”

“Anyway…you did good tonight. Saying all that. Takes guts.”

“Didn’t feel brave.”

“It never does.”

Another silence. This one warmer.

“Do you think they change? I mean…really change?” Yelena asks.

“I think they can.”

“But do they?”

Ava exhales. “Sometimes.”

“Her brother was an addict. OD’d. Same thing. Cocaine. Her parents are basically functioning alcoholics. It’s a family affair apparently. I keep asking myself if I’m delusional for thinking she’s gonna make it out. That she won’t end up the same. I don’t even know if I can trust her again. Not really.”

“She’s not her brother. Or her parents.” Ava’s voice is quiet but certain.

“No. But she’s still her.”

They stop at the corner. Ava turns to face her, eyes catching the streetlight just right. Too perceptive, too steady.

“Then make sure she’s coming back to someone real. Not just to her guilt…Or your fear.”

The words land hard. Not cruel. Just true.

They walk in silence for a few blocks. The kind of silence that doesn’t ache. Just exists. Like they’re making space for each other in real time.

“How old are your kids?” Ava asks.

“Rounding up? Eight, five, and eighteen months.”

“Woof. That’s a lot of snack crumbs.”

Yelena lets out a soft, unexpected laugh.

“So much vacumming.”

“I think the best we can do is be someone they’d be proud of. At their best. And hope they meet us with that same energy.”

Yelena doesn’t respond. She doesn’t know how to. She just looks at Ava. This stranger who doesn’t feel like one. This woman who’s asked nothing of her.

Yelena doesn’t know if she wants anything from her either. Doesn’t know if this is a connection, or just two people orbiting the same ache. But it feels like something. Like space. Like room to exhale. It feels like air. And after the last month, that feels like a fucking miracle.

Her heart starts pounding. Not from panic. Not from grief. But from the quiet shock of still being alive. From something warmer. Stranger. Hope, maybe. Or the very early outline of it.

//\\

They take her shoelaces first.

The moment she’s admitted she’s left barefoot, shaking, silent. Then they cut the strings out of her sweatpants. Just protocol. Then her hoodie. Then her bag. They peel her life away piece by piece, like they’re undressing her for autopsy.

Everything sharp. Everything with a cord or edge or weight is removed. For her safety, they say.

That’s the first time she genuinely cries. Not the ER. Not the ICU. Not even on the ride over.

It’s the moment a stranger puts most things she owns in a clear plastic bag with her name on it and says, “You’ll get these back when you discharge.”

It hits her then…she’s not leaving for a while.

They take her phone next. That one hurts worse. Yelena and the kids are lock screen. Alexia on her hip. Sonny asleep in her arms. Maks making a face behind them. That photo…the one she looked at every time she felt like a failure…is gone now too.

The woman at intake tells her kindly that the first 72 hours are the worst. If she can get through those mostly sane, she’ll probably be okay.

Kate nods. Says nothing.

//

Kate pukes six times in the first three hours. She was still getting SOME drugs at the hospital. For the pain. That dulled the edges of the symptoms. She’s not getting anything here and that sends her spiraling.

Withdrawal is…hell.

She knew it would be. She vividly remembers watching DJ go through it. The cold sweats. The bone-deep ache. The tremors. But nothing…nothing…could prepare her for the fucking silence.

There are no distractions here. No phone to scroll. No playlist to drown out the static in her head. No Yelena to pick a fight with. No kids to orbit. Just time. Time and pain and shame.

She doesn't talk for the first week. Not in any real way. Just enough to get through the vitals check. Just enough to keep people out of her face. But the thoughts don’t stop.

The worst part isn’t the physical withdrawal.

The worst part is remembering the look on Yelena’s face the first time she saw her in the hospital. The disappointment behind her eyes now that she fully knew what Kate had been up to.

//

Day six, she cracks.

Not publicly. Not in front of the group or staff or the med tech who hands out her meds like communion. But in the shower. On the floor. She slides down the wall, shaking and soaked, her forehead pressed to her knees. She sobs until she dry-heaves.

And even then, it doesn’t feel like enough.

The guilt doesn’t come in waves. It sits on her chest. A cinderblock. Constant. Every time she thinks about Sonny’s face. Or Alexia’s voice. Or Maks rapid fire questions.

She doesn’t deserve to get better. That’s the thought. Over and over. She doesn’t deserve to get better.

//

Day nine, her group counselor calls her out.

“You can’t sit in the back with your arms crossed forever, Bishop.”

Kate meets her eyes.

“Bet I can.”

The woman laughs.

“Wanna bet your gym privileges?”

That night, Kate speaks in group for the first time. It isn’t poetic. It isn’t a breakthrough. It’s one sentence.

“My wife found me.”

No one says anything. Someone nods. Another whispers “fuck” under their breath. Kate doesn’t say more. Doesn’t need to.

It’s the first time she refers to Yelena as her wife since the divorce paperwork was filed.

//

By Day Fourteen, she sleeps through the night. Mostly. She stops sweating through her sheets. Stops throwing up after every meal. Stops pacing the length of her room at 3AM trying to scrape the itch out of her skin. But she still doesn’t feel right.

There’s something about sobriety no one tells you: when the drugs leave your system, the rest of you catches up. All the things you were trying not to feel? They wait for you.

Kate starts journaling because they make her. She writes like she’s reporting someone else’s crimes. Third person. Detached. But eventually the sentences bend. Become personal.

“I wanted to disappear.”

“I didn’t think about the fact that they were home.”

“I wasn’t trying to die. But I didn’t care if I did.”

//

The staff calls Kate “high-functioning.” Says she presents well. Says she’s a “good candidate for reintegration.”

Kate wants to throw a chair through the window. Of course she presents well. She always has. That’s what scares her the most.

Even in rehab, even after nearly dying, she can still talk her way into being believed. She can say what they need to hear. Smile at the right moment. Show progress in a measured, digestible way.

She can do that. And underneath?

She wants to use again. She wants the quiet. Not all the time. Not every second. But enough. Enough that it scares her.

//

The reports go to Yelena, apparently. Kate finds that out from her counselor during one of their one-on-ones.

“She’s listed as your primary contact. She’s been receiving regular updates.” The woman says.

Kate’s throat closes.

“She’s reading them?”

“As far as I know.”

Something shifts in Kate’s chest then. A sob she doesn’t let out. A hope she doesn’t want to feed. She nods. Bites her lip until she tastes blood.

Then she asks what more she has to do to earn her visit privileges.

//

On Day Twenty-One, they tell Kate she has a visit scheduled.

Saturday. 10AM.

She doesn’t ask who it is. She already knows. After all this time, Yelena is coming. And Kate? She isn’t ready. Not even a little. But she wants to be.

Kate has a couple days to figure out how to look her in the eye. Days to become someone worthy of being seen.

So Kate sits down. Picks up the pen. And starts writing.

“Dear Yelena…”

She writes. Then writes some more. Like a prayer.

And hopes…just fucking hopes…she’s earned the chance to say it out loud.

//

SATURDAY

Yelena pulls into the lot an hour early. It’s the only way she knows she won’t be late.

She’s been parked for nearly fifty minutes now. The engine’s off. The clock glows 9:43AM. Her hands are locked around the steering wheel like she’s afraid it’ll bolt. The dash ticks forward.

9:44.

Her stomach backflips.

It’s been twenty-four days since she last saw Kate. Not that she hasn’t seen her. Kate’s in her head constantly. Eyes half-lidded. Mouth slack. Skin cold and blue against the tile. That image lives behind her eyelids now. Every night.

Yelena exhales slowly. Unbuckles. Grabs the small duffel from the passenger seat. There’s a few changes of clothes, a new toothbrush, the kids’ drawings. And a letter from Alexia that she wouldn’t let anyone read. Yelena respect her wishes and hasn’t opened it. She doesn’t know what it says. Only hopes it won’t hurt more than it helps.

She shoulders the bag and walks toward the building.

//

The lobby is sterile. Cheerful in a curated, eerie way. The woman at the desk greets her with a soft, professional smile.

“We just finished morning group. They’ll bring her out shortly.”

Yelena nods and takes a seat in a stiff chair that squeaks beneath her. The corners of the room feel round. Soft. Safe. There’s a fake plant next to the bookshelf and a corkboard full of smiling headshots. Recovered alumni with laminated quotes printed underneath. She stares at it. Trying to reconcile the feelings it brings forth.

Then she hears footsteps. Her whole body tenses. Kate turns the corner with her counselor a step behind her. And for a second, Yelena forgets how to breathe.

Kate looks…diminished. Not thinner, not sickly, but smaller somehow. Like something’s been hollowed out. Her posture’s straighter than before. Rigid, even. But she looks like someone scrubbed her down too hard and left her raw. There’s no makeup. No armor. Just a braid, clean clothes, and a face that no longer knows what to expect.

It’s the most honest Yelena’s seen her in a long time.

//

Kate hovers by the visitor check-in desk, one hand buried deep in her pocket, fingers toying with the folded letter she’s eager to give. The other hand stays rigid at her side, pressed flat against her thigh to keep it from shaking. She hasn’t worn real clothes in three weeks. Just rehab-issue sweats and those sad little socks with grippy soles. But today, she asked for jeans. A shirt that fits. Something that gives some semblance of normalcy.

She tries to remember how she used to hold herself when she was out in the world. In real life. Taller, maybe. Shoulders back. Chin higher. Now it all feels like like she’s cosplaying herself.

She rounds the corner. Stops cold. Yelena is already there.

It’s like walking into a memory. Her blonde hair is down, loose waves framing her face. She’s wearing a green dress. Deep, sea glass green. The kind that makes her eyes burn brighter. The shoes even match. Kate doubts she dressed up for this. It’s just how Yelena always looks. But some part of her wants to believe Yelena tried. Because she did. God, she did.

Their eyes meet. Blue and green. Yelena offers a soft smile. Walks forward. Kate mirrors her.

She watches Yelena’s gait. It’s different. Slower. Measured. Like her balance has shifted in the last three weeks. Like something invisible’s been redistributed in her bones.

They stop two feet apart.

The counselor, all clipped warmth, gives the spiel.

“You’ll have one hour. There’s a private room down the hall. No touching outside of one hello and one goodbye hug. No gifts. Bags will be held and checked for restricted items.”

Yelena nods, wordless. Hands over the duffel bag. Watches the staff unzip it, flip through everything. A sweatshirt gets held up. A t-shirt stretched by its seams. They check the hems like Yelena stitched heroin into the thread.

Kate can’t look at her. She almost flinches when she hears the whisper.

“Hi.” Yelena finally says.

Kate turns. Yelena’s looking right at her. Steady. Calm.

“Hi,” Kate echoes.

That’s it. Nothing more. Just that small, brutal exchange between two people who’ve known each other too long to need filler.

The staff goes on rifling. After a beat, they’re cleared to carry on with the visit.

They walk. Side by side. Not touching. Not speaking. Just breathing the same air again. For the first time in twenty-four days.

Kate gestures to the far end of the corridor.

“They call it the Family Room. Which is hilarious.”

Yelena gives a half snort. Not quite a laugh.

“A little on the nose.”

Inside, it’s beige and beige and more beige.There’s a round table and two plastic chairs. A small couch. A box of tissues. Everything in here is either unbreakable or bolted down.

Kate sits. Yelena follows. Across from each other. A few feet and a lifetime apart. For a minute, they don’t speak.

“You look…” Kate trails off. “Good.”

“You look tired.”

“I am.” Kate chuckles once.

“You feel okay?”

“Define ‘okay.’”

Yelena chuckles too. It’s a start.

“Alex drew you something.”

Yelena hands over the folder she was holding.

Kate opens it gingerly. Inside, a few drawings. The top one is definitely Alexia’s. A seven-year-old’s crayon-scribbled mess…but Kate knows exactly what it is. Their family. All five of them. Yelena and Kate holding hands. Alexia with a thundercloud over her head. Maks mid-dinosaur attack. Sonny holding what looks like a sword but might just be a juice box.

Kate’s hand trembles slightly.

“How is she?” Kate asks.

“She’s quiet. That’s new…I think she’s just processing.”

Kate’s eyes drop to the paper again. Shakes her head. Guilt washing over her.

“She still drew you…She wanted to.”

Kate closes the folder like it’s fragile. Like if she moves too fast, the whole thing might shatter.

“How’s Karina?” Kate asks after a long beat.

Yelena furrows her brow, taken aback. The name drops like a coin in water.

“I don’t remember the last time anyone called her that.”

“It’s her name.”

“It is.”

“I was…we did this thing in group this morning. Had to write down our kids’ full names. I don’t know. It’s just…stuck in my head.”

“She made a friend at daycare. Bit her. We’re dealing with that.”

Kate groans.

“God. How bad?”

“Tiny vampire-level bite. Minimal blood. But emotionally? Devastating.”

Kate snorts.

“Sounds like her.”

“She’s still teething. Still pissed at the world about it. Honestly, biting is low on the list of traumatizing things she’s done this week.” Yelena offers with a faint smile.

“She’s STILL teething? How many teeth does she even have to grow?”

“She’s a dental overachiever.”

Kate smiles again, something honest breaking through in her face. Yelena leans back in her chair, studying her. Kate knows that look. The scan. The slow once-over. Watching for tremors, pupil dilation, the microexpressions of a lie. Yelena doesn’t speak until she’s satisfied.

“Maks only sleeps in my bed now,” Yelena adds quietly. “And he refuses to eat soup. Says it’s a vegetable conspiracy.”

Kate lets out a real laugh. Short. Startled. She covers her mouth like it slipped out by accident.

“He needs to stop spending so much time with my dad.”

“I miss his weird little brain.”

“He misses you too.”

Kate’s smile falters. Her throat works around something that doesn’t quite make it out.

“Yeah?”

Yelena nods.

“He asks when you’re coming home. All day long.”

Kate glances away, jaw tight.

“What do you tell him?”

“That you’re trying really hard.”

Kate nods, slow. Thoughtful.

“Do you believe that?”

“I hope so.”

Another silence. This one different. Softer. But sharp around the edges.

Yelena glances at the clock. Half the visit gone.

Kate shakes her head. A breath escapes her, half a laugh, half a sigh.

“Jesus, I missed you.”

Yelena doesn’t say it back.

Kate notices.

//

They talk about the kids. About therapy. About Susan. About school drop-offs and field trips and Maks accidentally calling Alexei “Dad” in public. They fall into the shape of old habits. Let it breathe between them.

Kate talks about group. About a woman who keeps trying to convince her yoga will change her life. About journaling. About her roommate who snores and cries in the shower and reminds her of DJ in all the worst ways. She talks about detox. About how bad it got.

Yelena listens.

Then finally, Kate says what she’s been trying not to.

“So…next week’s thirty.” Yelena nods. “I could come home. Technically.” She pauses. “Do you want me to?”

Yelena doesn’t answer right away. And that’s the answer.

“I think it’d be a mistake.”

Kate swallows. Nods once.

“Okay.”

“You don’t?” Kate hesitates. Then shrugs. Deflated. “You’re doing better. But you’re not there.”

“You don’t think I could be…at home? With you. With the kids?”

“I think you need to want to get better more than you want to be home.”

Kate looks down at her hands.

“I thought…I don’t know. You’d be mad if I stayed.”

“I’d be mad if you came home too soon.” Kate shrugs. “I wanted you back every second of every day. Until I found you on the bathroom floor. Now…I just want you alive.”

Kate looks down at her hands. Rubs her thumb against a hangnail.

“You should’ve let me die.”

Yelena’s hand slams against the table. Violently. Loud. Final.

“Don’t fucking say that to me. Ever. Are we clear?”

Kate doesn’t look up.

“You weren’t supposed to be there.”

“And what? Alex was?” Yelena’s voice rises. “Maks? Sonny?”

Kate flinches. Holds the silence for a long beat.

“I wasn’t trying to die.” Kate argues, but even she doesn’t sound convinced.

“Then what were you trying to do?”

Kate doesn’t have an answer. She’s been looking for one since it happened.

Yelena leans back. Crosses her arms. Lets the silence burn. Finally, Kate lifts her chin. Meets her eyes.

“Is there still a life to come back to?”

“I don’t know.”

And that silence is louder than anything Kate’s heard since she got sober.

They sit in it. Sit in what’s left. It’s not dramatic. It’s not even tense. Just…true.

“I guess I could stay.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Kate hates how calm Yelena sounds. How reasonable. How fucking distant. She wants to knock the table over. To scream. ‘Are you fucking serious? That’s all I get? ‘That’s a good idea?’’

Instead, she just nods. “Yeah.”

For some reason, this hurts more than anything else. More than the broken ribs. Or the detox pain. Or the days alone with her thoughts. This moment. This quiet, reasonable agreement that her being gone is what’s best for the people she loves…it shatters her in slow motion.

Yelena isn’t begging her to come home. Isn’t clinging. Isn’t even cracking. She’s not screaming that she needs her, or that the kids do, or that this is killing her. She just sits there, composed, steady. It stings like nothing else.

“So you’re not mad that I’m not coming home?”

“I’m relieved you’re not pretending you’re ready.”

The words land like a punch to the sternum.

“So what, you want me in here forever?”

“You should stay until you’re well. That’s it.”

Kate swallows. Her throat burns. She focuses on her breath. Four seconds in, six seconds out. One of those grounding gimmicky tricks from therapy. The silence between them starts to hum with everything neither of them is saying.

“I thought…if I stayed clean. If I finished thirty days…you’d want me back.”

“I want you alive.” Yelena’s voice is even.

“Not the same thing.”

“No. It’s not.”

They let that ache. Kate leans forward, elbows on knees, palms open.

She thought seeing Yelena would feel like winning. Like some impossible victory. She thought it would feel like returning from war. Roses. Relief. Redemption.

Instead, it feels like standing in front of a locked door with no key. Because she broke it. She broke it, and Yelena isn’t even reaching for the handle anymore.

“When they told me you were coming, I thought…” Kate exhales hard. “I don’t know. I thought it would feel like something was over. Like I passed a test.”

“This isn’t pass/fail.” Yelena offers, gentle.

“Try telling that to my brain at 3AM.”

Yelena leans in too now. Mirrors her posture. Hands folded.

“I’m proud of you for staying.”

Kate laughs, humorless. “Yeah. You would be.”

“Kate…” Yelena’s voice is careful now, but not soft. She studies her. Sees through her. Always has. “If you were ready, actually ready, we’d talk about next steps. But you’re not. And I’m not doing this halfway. The kids deserve better. You deserve better.”

Kate’s eyes shine. Not with anger. With something deeper. Sadder. More familiar.

“I didn’t think it would feel this fucking lonely.” Yelena reaches across the table. Takes her hand. “I don’t know when I’m coming out,” Kate admits.

“That’s okay. Everyone will be waiting.”

‘Everyone’. Not ‘I’. That one word guts her.

Kate grips her hand tighter.

“Will you bring the kids?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I miss them so fucking much.”

“When you’re ready. Not before.”

“Okay.” Kate’s voice cracks.

Yelena squeezes her hand.

“You’re doing good…You are.”

Kate shakes her head.

“I feel like shit, Yel. All the time.”

“That’s part of it.”

They sit like that. Hands clasped. No more pretending. Just two people who’ve loved each other longer than some countries last.

The door opens. Someone pops their head in.

“Five minutes.” They say.

Yelena nods. Stands. Kate does too.

“Tell them I love them.” Kate pleads softly.

“I do. Every day.”

Kate hesitates.

“And you?”

Yelena doesn’t answer. Just looks at her. Kate waits a second, then steps into her arms. The hug is brief…too brief…but it grounds her. She breathes for the first time in weeks.

Yelena pulls back first.

“I’ll talk to your therapist. If it’s cleared, I’ll bring them next time.”

Kate nods. Doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t say please. Just nods.

Yelena turns. Kate doesn’t stop her. Doesn’t watch her walk away. Doesn’t say come back. Doesn’t say don’t leave. Just stands there and watches the woman she’s still in love with disappear through the door.

Kate closes her eyes. Slips her hand into her pocket and pulls out the letter she didn’t give. The one she rewrote a dozen times. The one she planned to give because she knew the words in it wouldn’t come out right if she tried. She unfolds it.

“Dear Yelena,

I didn’t think you’d come. I wouldn’t have, if I were you.

I’ve been trying to figure out what to say for days and I still don’t have it. I don’t know that I ever will. There’s no version of this that makes it okay. And even if there was, you wouldn’t owe me forgiveness.

So I’m not writing this to fix anything.

I’m writing it because I almost died. And if I had, I think I would’ve gone with your name in my mouth. I think that’s something you deserve to know.

I don’t remember most of that night. Not really. Just flashes. I don’t know how to explain what happened. I don’t know how I let it get that far. I don’t know what I thought I was doing. Truth is, I think I’ve been unraveling for a long time. Quietly. Bit by bit.

DJ told me the urge to use wasn’t loud. It waits. It creeps up. Builds a nest in the silence. I didn’t listen. And I almost followed him.

I’m sorry for a lot of things. But most of all, I’m sorry it was you who had to find me like that. Who had to save me. Who’s had to pick up the pieces now that I’m away.

I don’t deserve whatever grace you’ve got left for me. I probably never did. But I’m here. And I’m trying. Every second of every day. I miss the kids like fucking crazy. I miss you so much it’s almost suffocating.

I’m not asking for anything. Not a second chance. Not a maybe. I just don’t want you to forget what we were. Because we were good, Yel. We were great. We were the best thing I ever did.

Tell them I love them. That I’m getting better. That I’ll come home in a few days. That Mommy’s working really hard to be okay again.

I don’t know what life looks like on the other side of this. But if you’re ever willing to talk…I’d like to. About possibilities. About us. About what could still be.

Maybe we’re not all the way gone yet.

I love you. Always have.

-KB”

Kate stares at the last line. She folds the paper shut. Walks to the door. On her way out, she passes the trash can in the hallway.

She chucks it in.

[slxttyria]

Geum Song je x f!reader pt.2

Warnings: none so far!

(new to this, please leave tips! English is not my first language)

part 1.

Ever since that day Seong Je figured out every single information about you in an instant, he watches you get dropped off at school, sometimes even follow you home.

He swears this is not stalking, he considers himself more like a shadow. He also swears he's not obsessed.

He warned all his minions to not go near you at any cost.

You also realized that those boys didn't trouble you again not did you see them when you turned that one corner.

Instead you saw him, you didn't know his name of course. You stopped in your tracks and muttered out a small "Sorry." And turned to walk off.

"Wait." You paused instantly and when you turned around he was right there. "You can pass here you know? I'm not stopping you." He smiled lightly while looking down at you, the height difference standing out.

You looked up at him and hummed before walking past him to continue your walk.

You thought he stayed until you heard footsteps behind you, as he fell into the same pace as yours.

"Yesterday..."

"I don't was to talk about it." You cut through his voice, he raised an eyebrow and scoffed "Okay Ms. Grumpy..." He said looking back at the road he was walking on.

You stopped.

What the hell did he call me...?

"What...?" He said slightly confused, you glared at him then he held his hands up in defense and laughed.

You started walking again.

Couple minutes later he was annoying you again, well to you he was annoying "Do you like ice cream?" He asked while looking at the ice cream truck on the side of the road.

He finally looked at you "Do you even speak?" He questioned again and you rolled your eyes in annoyance.

"Yes I do. I just don't talk to annoying people."

His teasing grin faded "You know I was gonna buy you ice cream, but nevermind."

"I never said I wanted it." You said not looking at him, just walking.

You reached the gate to your house, surprisingly he walked you all the way there. It was weird of course, you basically just showed him where you lived which he already knew of course.

"Bye grumpy." He waved with that same teasing smirk. You glared at him before walking inside.

Of course this did not stop to the point where everyday after school, he'd be waiting at that corner or even at your school gate. You got glares and whispers when the other girls glanced at you and him together.

He also found a habit to carry your bag for you, he would stop insisting so you gave it to him, sometimes he'd even buy you snacks or your favorite candy which you had no idea how he knew about it.

You guys slowly got closer and closer, you got more comfortable around him sometimes even smiling at his stupid jokes or stories. He'd treat that smile as if it was a hard earned trophy he won.

10:39 pm

*Notification from Seong Je*

"Come outside I'm bored"

You sighed, slipping out of bed to find a oversized hoodie, his hoodie, to put on.

You slowly made your way downstairs to find your mom and stepdad making out on the couch.

You walked past silently exiting through the door with a soft click.

And there he was standing right at your gate with that grin.

You walked towards him "What are we gonna do?" You asked softly looking up at him.

He was staring at your face, longer than usual, admiring your features...

"Seong Je." You spoke slightly louder.

"Oh yeah, you want ice cream?" He took your hand and began walking.

You were sat at the table staring out the glass window, when he sat beside you.

You turned to look at him then at the ice cream.

"Why did you only get one?" You asked

"It's for both of us." "I never agreed on sharing with you"

"Your so mean hmm?" He ruffled your hair as you took a spoon of the ice cream to your mouth

"Hey feed me too..." He said opening his mouth with an 'aaaah' sound.

You completely missed his mouth on purpose smearing it on his cheek instead, smiling to yourself.

"Ya! You little troublemaker!" He wiped the melted ice cream off his cheek and just decided to let you have it, but you did end up giving him some.

You finished the ice cream, a smudge of it at the corner of your lips.

Seong Je stared at if before leaning down pressing his lips against the side of yours to get it.

You gasped and he took it as a opportunity to actually kiss you.

He moved his hand from the table to the back of your neck, the other around your waist pulling you closer.

Your hands on his chest pushed him back, your ears started to turn a hot pink

"W...Why did you-" "You had a smudge...." You could have told me instead."

He sighed and rolled his eyes "So that means you didnt like my kiss...?" He looked back at you.

"No! I mean... Yeah! But...!" You sighed and covered your face

He chuckled, this was rare for him to see you break your nonchalant composure he absolutely loved it.

"Let's just go..." You muttered, hiding your face with your hair as you got up and storming to the entrance.

11:57pm

The wall back to your house was silent, your avoided his gaze as much as possible while he just smiled at you to make you flush even more.

Arriving your gate, you felt as if you still had to say bye to him.

"Bye Seong Je, and thanks for the ice cream..." You spoke softly, eyes meeting your shoes.

"no hug?" He held out his arms waiting.

You hesitated but wrapped your arms around him eventually, melting in his embrace you felt a pair of lips on your forehead.

You let go and turned to your house walking inside leaving him there.

He watched until you closed the door then his phone rang.

"Hello?" "Where the fuck are you? I've been calling you for the past 2 hours."

He chuckled "Baekjin-ah calm down hmm? I was busy..." He teased

"I'm not in for your bullshit I bet you were with that girl your obsessing over." Baekjin spat from the other end.

Seong Je didn't reply and hanged up with a sigh.

He was really falling for you, and fast too. He would have never thought he'd be obsessing over someone like her.

Pt3????

[transboyswitchytales]

A Proposition

Professor Wanda Maximoff x Reader Student

Part 1, 2, 3, this is 4!

Hurt/Comfort/ FLUFFFFFF

Wanda has a nightmare, and you two have an early morning together. A sunrise and a new day is sure to take the pain away.

( Mommy kink, 18+ Will block you if under 18) It's really just fluff. Tooth rotting fluff, not just from the sweets they eat.

PS: This is really for the sweet and always supportive @franfineashell Without this lovely human, there would never have even been a part 2. It's her support that has me writing Wanda fics. So thank you a million times over for reading my silly shit and commenting. It's why I'm writing this at 3 am. You are the best.

My Masterlist

You heard her scream and jerked awake. Blinking rapidly, you couldn’t see in the dark at first, but your eyes adjusted quickly as Wanda thrashed in bed. 

You knew where you were ,and your eyes fell to your girlfriend. 

You grabbed her arm and she screamed and cried. Oh god, your heart broke at the sound. You started to shake her. 

“Wanda, baby, wake up. It’s a bad dream.” You say, and she’s quaking, but her eyes snap open. 

“What, oh god. Please, no, no .”

“Wanda, sweetie, it’s me. You are safe, it’s just a nightmare. You are at home, you are in bed. I’m right here. It’s all ok.” You tell her the facts, hoping it’ll ground her. Wanda was prone to nightmares, you were getting better at bringing her down from them. 

Wanda’s hands came up to your face, and she cupped your jaw and stared at you. Leaning down, you work the warm pads of your thumbs to wipe her tears. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of you. 

Of your touch, the feeling of your hands, the solid mass that was your body in bed with her. 

Wanda opened her eyes and studied you again. 

“I think this calls for a snack.” You whisper, and Wanda’s breath shakes a little, and she nods once. You know, after a particularly awful nightmare, Wanda doesn’t go back to sleep right away. You’d made the mistake once, rolling her onto her side and making her be little spoon. You cradled her from behind, arms wrapped securely. You were just about to fall back asleep when you felt her shake slightly. Your alarm bells went off, you’d been an expert in past relationships with the silent sob. That special type of cry where no sound comes out, and in the very act of silently sobbing next to someone, a part of you feels like it’s dying. Because the person next to you, feels a million miles away. And you are putting yourself in a box so they don’t have to deal with your tears. 

You turned so fast in that bed and flipped the light on. Shifting Wanda onto her back, you saw the tears. She’d apologized, and you’d kissed her and rocked her against your chest. Wanda had obviously never experienced a love like yours. Because as big as she loved you, you loved her back. 

There was something so insanely intimate about being loved and cherished in return. You’d never experienced it, and neither had she. 

Wanda was older than you, though not by a large number. There were times when the age was clearly not the same. There were times where language barriers made communication take a little longer. There were moments where being a student and a college professor made you have different opinions. 

But your love made everything that made you both different, so much sweeter. 

You might both be bambi at times in this love. But there was a language you both spoke for each other. Just like that finals week. 

I want to understand you,

I study your obscure language.

Alexander Pushkin that fucking Russian poet nailed it. You learned each other, you’d never watched Dick Van Dyke before. Wanda had never listened to Brandi Carlile. Both of these things were trivial, past partners wouldn’t take the time. But you understood that the little things that made Wanda, your Wanda, were important. 

So you watched the sitcoms, and you understood Wanda better. She didn’t have a childhood or stability. These stories where nothing terrible happens, this was her comfort, her safety. 

You watched every episode, and one day, you caught Wanda watching you instead of the grey TV screen. 

“You actually like this.” She’d said, and your heart broke. Why had no one ever taken the time to learn Wanda? 

But you were a hypocrite. Because one day, Wanda was on your phone and you were confused. So you looked over her shoulder, expecting, like previous relationships, that she was going through your texts. People before had been jealous and controlling, endlessly manipulative. So you’d assumed the worst. 

Only to see Wanda holding her phone next to yours. She was adding your playlists to her Spotify. While you were busy studying Wanda, she’d been busy learning you, too. 

You both were becoming fluent in how to love each other. Not just the way that made you feel good, but that broke through to the deepest parts of Wanda. So that you could support each other in hard times, and cherish each other in the moments that make relationships. When you came into the apartment one day you’d been so floored to hear Brandi playing on the speaker. Not because you’d put it on. But because Wanda missed you and put it on. Your heart exploded a million times over. 

So it made sense in moments like this. 

With a teary Wanda, that you’d learned her language. You got off the bed slowly, keeping the lights off. Wanda had never heard of the word ‘overstimulation’ but when you’d taught it to her, she’d understood. Turns out the feeling was universal and not just a word said in English. 

So you kept the lights off. You threaded your fingers in hers. Wanda loved holding your hand. You think it was because she’d been too late to hold Pietro’s when he died. And that her parents died young, and she didn’t get the comfort and reassurance that comes from two hands meeting. 

So you held Wanda’s hand at every opportunity. And you saw in those moments, Wanda relax, find strength, courage, and the reminder of your love for her. You held Wanda through every feeling. 

So she got out of bed, wiping the last of her tears with the back of her free hand, you guided her behind you out of the bedroom. Going into the kitchen, you walked over to the oven light and turned it on. It was low and not too much for the early morning. 

You pushed her to the counter gently, and you tapped it twice, instructing her to sit on it. It wasn’t Wanda’s style to sit on the kitchen counter. It was way more your style in fact as she talked about her day, you’d put your ass up on there. The first time you saw Wanda stop and think if she wanted to kick you off of it. 

You saw the cogs turn in her mind and waited. Wondering if this was something that made Wanda uncomfortable or something that was a learned behavior. Was this Wanda, or was this her experiences?

Her ex-husband, Vision, had been almost robotic; his OCD and life trauma invaded every aspect of his tortured linear mind. You’d never fault his mental illness. 

You did fault his need to control Wanda. To put her in a box and make her small. He wanted a pretty suburban wife, but quiet, so quiet that all she could do was serve dinner and play house. No opinions, he wanted a grey cut out of a woman. 

He’d never seen Wanda Maximoff. 

Wanda was so big, bright, and beautiful. She scrunched her nose in a signature adorable fashion when she teased you or you said some dirty joke that she couldn’t suppress her enjoyment of. Wanda sang in the shower, loudly, and could make anyone who tried to debate her on politics weep. Wanda was quick witted and determined. She wasn’t some two dimensional character, not a secondary character in a mans story, fuck no. 

 Wanda might seem small when she’s curled up on the sofa to read. But she had an army-sized bundle of trauma. Wanda had seen more than most people ever see in life, death, and war, yes, heartbreak of course. But she’d read mountains of books, traveled all over, and experienced life in such vivid, monumental ways. That when Wanda had decided to teach, it wasn’t because she couldn’t ‘do.’ Because she had done so much. And she’d wanted to inspire others to experience life. To fall in love with words the way she had, the way books and stories had saved her. 

Wanda had decided that day that she liked you on her countertops. Wanda had decided she liked your mess and the way you took up space. 

So, at four am on a Thursday, you waited for her. 

You eyed your strong and independent girlfriend again softly, not over intensely. You’d learned enough to know Wanda’s tells. 

You patted the counter, and Wanda lifted herself up and sat on it. Yeah, that was growth, because Wanda had never sat on a kitchen counter in her life. But she was. 

Wanda was in full color, and you bent down and kissed both of her knees. You didn’t linger in the moment as you turned to get to work in her kitchen. 

You didn’t want to put Wanda on the sofa, that was too far from you. And you knew the nightmare images hadn’t left her yet. Sticking like fly paper against her eyelids, that wouldn’t do. 

So you went to the pantry for a secret stash of sweets. 

You’d learned that your elderly girlfriend liked butterscotch pudding. It was by far the most geriatric of desserts. You’d teased her affectionately for it, saying ‘at least when we’re in the old folks home, you’ll be stocked.’ 

But Wanda liked it, so you bought it. You couldn’t believe how shocked she looked when you pulled it out of the grocery bag. 

‘I study your obscure language.’

You pulled out the milk. Because, for some reason, Wanda wasn’t lactose intolerant like you. Which still didn’t make sense, maybe it was because she wasn’t from the US. Anyway, you took the saucepan and you started to hum. It was soft and low, but you knew what it did to Wanda. 

You don’t need to turn to see Wanda smiling at you. You move over to her expensive coffee machine and start to brew. 

Wanda didn’t need to be taken care of, she didn’t require it. She’d dried plenty of her own tears. In fact, if Wanda was in the talking mood, you knew she’d be more inclined to be the caretaker. She was a domme, a top in and out of the bedroom. Wanda opened doors and demanded to pay, she liked your submission and enjoyed doting on you in all forms. But that was what made these moments so intense and special. 

Because Wanda didn’t let anyone do this, she let you see her like this. Wanda gave you this, allowed the intimacy of these nights, mornings, weekends. Where she let you give. And it was beautiful. 

You sing as you pour the milk in. Before grabbing butter and the chocolate chips, flour, brown sugar, cane sugar, the list went on. 

You sing through the cold air. 

‘You've got to grind, grind, grind at that grindstone

Though child'ood slips like sand through a sieve

And all too soon they've up and grown

And then they've flown

And it's too late for you to give

Just that spoonful of sugar to 'elp the medicine go down

The medicine go down, medicine go down’

You sing and then move to grab two coffee cups above the cupboard. You knew which one was Wanda’s favorite. You didn’t ever use it, you pushed it under her machine, and then found the one you’d stolen. It had a picture of Ilya Repin, the famous Russian painter. You liked him now because of Wanda. So you were happy to see his mustache in the mornings. 

You hummed the rest of the lyrics before you pressed buttons on the oven. Wanda cleared her throat. You understood she found her voice, and she’s collected herself enough to talk to you. But you don’t look at her, no spotlight needed; she knew you were listening. 

“You do like Dick Van Dyke.” She whispers in the cool night, in the dim light of the kitchen, with the person who loves her more than words can say. More than Alexander Pushkin, Julie Andrews, Mary Tyler Moore, or even Mr. Dick Van Dyke could understand. 

“He’s an icon and has never made anything bad, even if he gave us a terrible British accent.” You say as you pour the right amount of milk for her coffee. You take out a teaspoon, stirring it before you turn on your heel and walk slowly in between Wanda’s thighs. 

She takes the coffee and smiles into the cup, consuming a long sip. She’d made you give up energy drinks since the great library fiasco. So now you both drank coffee, every now and then tea at night to sleep, but coffee was your thing. Wanda made a happy noise at the taste. Coffee fixed everything. 

You put two hands on her knees and run your fingers up the outside of her thighs, soothing her. Wanda takes another sip before putting the cup down to the side. You wait patiently for your payment. Wanda knows it too, she looks pleased at your demand. Taking her fingers, she goes under your chin, teasing your skin before hooking behind your neck and bringing you to her waiting, wanting, lips. 

You kiss and it’s delicious like brown sugar. It’s soothing and sweet, it’s coming home after a long day. It’s kissing your best friend after decades of waiting. Kissing Wanda is better than anything and everything you’ll ever experience in this lifetime and the next. 

Wanda seems to feel the same as she overlaps her ankles around you and pulls you closer, deeper into her loving embrace. You could think of no better cave to grow old in. Wanda’s kisses are full of devotion and longing. Your head feels fuzzy as you don’t remember to breathe through your nose, you just be with her. 

Your mind is gone on vacation, toes curling, body erupting in goosebumps. Even after all of this time of kissing. 

It doesn’t matter. 

You can only hear one note.

Wanda. 

You are alarmed when the oven beeps and the kiss ends. Wanda is breathing heavily, and you realize she’s just as gone as you. Her lips are flushed and her face is red. She looks positively pornographic. 

“Malysh, I thought you were making pudding and coffee? Why is the oven on? And why is it interrupting our kiss?” Wanda looks like she’s pouting, which is funny because she’d never admit to pouting. You laugh and pull away from her, and she tries to grab your ar,m but you are faster. 

Going to the clean dishwasher, you open it and pull out a mixing bowl. 

“My girlfriend needs pudding, yes, of course. But also, she secretly loves these brown butter chocolate chip cookies I make. Annnd I know for a fact your period is starting soon and you love them.” You tell her, and Wanda licks her lips at the memor,y and you take it as a huge compliment. 

“The ones with the-” Wanda remembers, and you answer for her. 

“Sea salt, yup those ones.” You say, and you put the pudding mix into the warmed milk. Before getting out another pot for the butter. 

At one point, you go over to the living room and pick up a book Wanda had been reading while you were working on your essay. You hand her the book and she eyes it curiously. 

“Read to me?”

It was a thing for you two. It was intimacy of the prettiest melody. The sound of each other's voice and a good book, nothing tops it. Sorry Brandi and Dick, but it was something that made your heart sing. Wanda didn’t need to be asked twice, she understood your language. 

So she read aloud and you tried not to look surprised when she sat criss cross on the countertop, her sock feet now up on the kitchen surface. You were making history tonight, it seemed. 

When you put the pudding in the fridge and the cookies in the oven. You worked on the dishes and sipped your own coffee. Bending your neck to the side to pop it. 

Wanda eyed you and stopped reading, and you turned to her with a sour face. 

“Hey, Mrs. Audible, I’m not done with my audiobook. What are you doing?” You tell your girlfriend. But when her face grows sad, you are further confused. 

“You should go to bed, baby, it’s like five am. You’ve been up too long wit-”

“Hey, I’m spending very precious time with the woman I love. And the wee hours of the morning are not to be taken for granted. When the light comes up-” You use a wet fork to point to the window to the right. “It’ll come through there and it hits your auburn hair just right. And it turns this warm golden color, and your eyes…Well there’s nothing like it. So I’m gonna stay right here until I get my morning show. Then I’m going to make you, make us that omelet you saw online. But first, I want my audiobook back, and if my domme behaves, I’ll feed you cookies and teach you something truly sinful. But only if you read to me, the way only you can.” You flirt with Wanda, and her face morphs into pure love.

 She nibbles her bottom lip, you know that’s her sign, she wants to kiss you. But she gulps, licks her top lip, before opening the book back up and finding her place. 

Wanda reads to you, and you, in turn, finish the dishes. The cookies don’t take long, they have to be soft just the way Wanda likes them. You pull them out and you refill Wanda’s coffee. 

You take out the pudding and put it in a small ramekin. Then plate the big cookies, and you don’t have to invite Wanda. She’s been practically drooling, and you weren’t sure if it was because of your lack of bottoms or your baking. But you were going to try not to fight for her attention with a pastry. 

You both walked to the sofa. Wanda didn’t need you to tell her to grab your favorite throw blanket. Just like you didn’t have to ask her for the salt anymore, or ask if she had an extra pair of wool socks. Wanda just handed things to you wordlessly now, her extra pair of sunglasses while she drives, the aux cord, the ketchup packet. Wanda was just that good. 

She smoothed it out, and you broke your usual cuddle puddle. You sat facing her, and she arched an eyebrow but mirrored your body. Both of you sitting facing each other, leaning your side against the back of the sofa, with crisscrossed legs. 

She puts the blanket in the middle of you both so it covers your chronically cold feet. And she covers her lap too, which you know is because she can touch you under the blanket more easily. She did it so subtly, a hand on your inner thigh, her knee against yours, a foot against your calf. Wanda’s touch was a constant source of comfort for your winter-cold bones. An ache she alone soothed. 

“Professor, are you ready to be schooled?” You tell her seriously, and Wanda tries not to snort in laughter. 

“Please, teach me your ways, sugar junkie.” 

You didn’t take offense at the nickname. You simply took a big cookie off the plate. Showing it to her like you were teaching brain surgery. She eyed the cookie and looked at you like you were being ridiculous. 

But you turned the cookie down into the bowl and dipped it and she scoffed. 

“You did not just dip a cookie in pudding,” Wanda worded like you’d committed a felony.  You chewed and used your pinkie on the hand holding the cookie to brush the crumb off your lip. 

“You cannot knock it until you try it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You think I’d steer you wrong?”

“I remember the taste of cherry slushie.”

“It’s not my fault Sokovia failed to have a 7-Eleven! That country failed you, your loving girlfriend is just trying to help. Now don’t be a whimp! You really are going to shy away from your two favorite desserts?” You pressure her, and she squints at you. You give her a look that is simply put as ‘I dare you.’ Wanda grabs a cookie, not breaking her stare.

She slowly dunks it and then bites it. 

Wanda’s eyes fall shut, and she moans. 

“Oh wow, right about Lana Del Rey, right about the talented Margaret Atwood. And I’m right about pudding and cookies. You know, I think you should adopt the cis man mentality.” You bait her, and Wanda coughs on her cookie and looks taken aback. 

“Which is what? Wearing Crocs to grocery stores? You want me to start drinking light beer?” Wanda jokes, and you break and giggle at the idea of her doing either of those things. Before you collect yourself once more. 

“No, the whole ‘my wife is always right.’ That really condescending ‘happy wife, happy life.’ You gotta start that shit, because I haven’t been wrong.”

Wanda glares at you, and you remember. 

“Ok, yes, the slushie and I really thought Disney Channel movies were going to age well, and some didn’t. Hocus Pocus did, though, and you liked that. But yes, some things were hit and miss. I’d like to remind you of the feeldoe.” You reminded her of the sex toy, and Wanda’s face broke into a dirty grin at the memory of the recently purchased toy. 

“That was a good rebuttal,” Wanda said and then stopped looking at her cookie. “Are we double dippers?” You tried not to laugh at Wanda’s question. You’d told her the biggest rude thing to do at a party was double-dip. And she’d remembered it as one of your pet peeves. You hadn’t brought it up in months, and she still remembered. Fucking Wanda Maximoff, man. 

“You’ve spit in my mouth and pussy, I think you can double dip your cookie.” You say crudely, and in the first month, Wanda would have choked on her own spit at your words. But now she just looked at you with this mischievous grin, at the memory, before double-dipping her cookie. 

Three cookies in, and you were full as you leaned behind you to the side table to sip at your coffee. The dawn was just starting to turn the sky a lighter shade of blue.

 It wasn’t full to glow yet. And Wanda turned to see you eyeing the slow morning transforming. 

Time was funny. Past, you never could have imagined a world where you felt safe. Where your college professor was your supposed one-night stand. Where you’d see Wanda again? 

You couldn’t imagine the melancholy of the future, where you’d remember this time. Where you’d want these small moments with Wanda back. Because the future would be different.

 You saw Wanda in it, of course you did. But you also saw kids, maybe a son? You saw a house with a yard, a garden, and a dog. Life would grow, and you’d remember this moment then. When you woke your lover from a nightmare. Where you made her a snack and you stole time like a thief. You stole a morning of kisses and whispers. You’d never be in this moment, ever again. And you were missing it already. 

Wanda’s hand found yours, but you didn’t say anything. Staring out the window, the steam from Wanda's and your coffee wafts up. 

The present version of you couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a morning. 

Wanda squeezed your hand, and you broke your thoughts to stare at her. 

“Play something?” She requested.

You felt like you were in a movie now. How did Wanda know?

“Now?” You asked knowing the answer and she gave you a gaze that said ‘don’t play coy.’ So you moved off the sofa, placing your coffee down. You ran to the bedroom, grabbing your phone. You walked back inside and you turned on her sound system. Connecting to the familiar Bluetooth that you named ‘Mama’s jukebox.’ 

You hesitated over a song before you went for something else. Wanda stood and grabbed just under your elbow. 

“No, pick the one you wanted first,” Wanda told you, and your soul flared deep inside. So you went back to it. You pressed ‘Runaway’ by Aurora. Throwing the phone onto the sofa and you closed your eyes. Like the lyrics and looking into Wanda’s eyes were too much. 

The song was loud, and you momentarily hoped the neighbors weren’t gonna be mad. But the lyrics hit you with such intensity, you felt naked now. 

I was listenin' to the ocean

I saw a face in the sand

But when I picked it up

Then it vanished away from my hands, 

I had a dream I was seven

Climbin' my way in a tree

I saw a piece of heaven

Waitin' impatient for me, 

Wanda grabbed your hips and she pulled you closer. You swayed and her forehead rested on yours. And you let out a shaky breath. 

Wanda was slow dancing with you at five am. And you’d never felt more seen by another person. 

And I was runnin' far away

Would I run off the world someday?

Nobody knows, nobody knows

And I was dancing in the rain

I felt alive and I can't complain

But no, take me home

Take me home where I belong

I can't take it anymore

You heard Wanda intake of a sharp breath. And you realized she wasn’t just slow dancing, just romancing you with her hips. She was listening to the lyrics. She heard you. 

Wanda was your home now. 

I was painting a picture

The picture was a painting of you

And for a moment I thought you were here

But then again, it wasn't true, dah

And all this time I have been lyin'

Oh, lyin' in secret to myself

I've been putting sorrow on the farthest place on my shelf

La-di-da

“My love, open your eyes. I’m not going to hurt you.” Wanda whispered and you did and you saw only love shining back. And you kissed her hard as she pulled your hips to hers. You dive into her, and she catches your every movement. Kissing you and swaying you gently. Rocking your body like she was the keeper of your battered and beaten heart. Your love, your best friend, your protector. Wanda kissed you, and you felt it in every square inch of your body. 

And I was runnin' far away

Would I run off the world someday?

Nobody knows, nobody knows

And I was dancing in the rain

I felt alive and I can't complain

But no, take me home

Take me home where I belong

I got no other place to go

No, take me home

Take me home where I belong

I got no other place to go

No, take me home

Take me home where I belong

I can't take it anymore

Your phone interrupts your main character rom-com dance. Wanda doesn’t release your hips but you both stop kissing and dancing. You sigh, frustrated and leave her grasp and you feel Wanda’s fingers hold you until the last possible second. Like the limbs of a haunted tree in a storm claw against a windowpane. 

You feel her against your lips and her hands even after you walk away from her embrace. She’s burned into you. 

You pause your extremely revealing song to see Darcy texted you. You sit on the sofa and read her extremely long message. Wanda seems to be nervous, her weight shifting from foot to foot. 

Wanda’s playing with her fingers, and you’ve seen this a handful of times. But you don’t question her. 

You text Darcy back first, knowing she's probably a tad stoned. It started off with a sex question and somehow turned into a question about her essay for Lit. And you easily answered both questions and did a quick Google search so you could send her a good source. For the link on F. Scott Fitzgerald. Not the sex question, that was just about multiple orgasms, and you answered that one easily without using a search engine. 

You saw Wanda look out the window and then heard her make a noise that was something between frustration and wonder. You send the message and set your iPhone on the coffee table. 

Looking up, you see the first bright rays of morning. They’re teasing the sky, not yet awake. But their hue is somewhere between a VW bug’s yellow and an orange that could only be described as a creamsicle ice pop. You look at the window with a sense of peace you’d only just discovered from loving Wanda. 

She turned, and you saw how serious she looked. Not the same face you had from the sunrise. But she crosses the distance, putting the pudding and cookie plate onto the coffee table quickly and sitting close to you. 

“Baby?” You say concerned. 

“I have a proposal for you.” She says serious and you try to lighten the mood. 

“Uh oh.” You make a fake worried look, and Wanda laughs outright. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She is playing along, but you see the tension in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, the last proposal you ‘proposed’ was for us to start juicing and you got that juicer and we did like mountains of celery and it made a thimble of juice. So, forgive me if a five am proposal has me a little hesitant. I’m sorry, baby, you tell me, I’m all ears. What’s your proposal?” You tell her, and you see she’s a bit more at ease now. Remembering who you are and how you talk to her. It makes her shoulders relax, and she looks more sure.

“Move in with me.” 

You blink. Not seeing that coming. 

“What?” You feel like you might be dreaming now. And Wanda, the sweetheart, she is. She doesn’t take your initial shock as a negative. She pushes through and grabs both your hands in hers. Wanda has this look in her eyes, and you’d seen it before now. But now you could place it, you saw it in her office that day. You saw it when she bought you a drink. God, what a woman.

Wanda’s eyes were shining now, and she declared her love like it was the only chance she’d ever get. 

Because this morning was quickly becoming day.

And another moment that would be a memory. 

And Wanda wasn’t going to let this morning pass without saying it.  

“Move in with me, you don’t need the dorm. You don’t even like going to the dorm. And the majority of your stuff is here-but that’s not why it’s not a convenience thing, god. No, it’s so much more than that.  What I mean is that I can’t spend another moment in this apartment without you. What I’m saying is I want you in every corner of my life. I am so in love with you. I love you more than I thought someone could love another person. It’s not the sex, which is mind-blowing. It’s not that you let me pick the shows at night, or that you actually enjoy them. Which is- wow. No, it’s that when I come into the bathroom and I don’t find your hair in the sink, I’m upset now. It’s a proposal for you to move in, yes, but it’s more than that. I need you. I need you everywhere, all over me, all the time. It’s not just the last few boxes of your stuff that is at your dorm, that belong here. I want to grow old with you, and I want to trip over your shoes that you refuse to put away in the closet. I want you forever. I thought I’d been scared before. I’d seen war and bloodshed. I’ve lost so many people. I can’t lose you. I won’t be scared and hold back what I know to be true. Is that you are it for me, the end of it all. No searching or wondering what life is going to look like, it’s you. For as long as I live, you will be it.”

You took a breath at the end of her words. Not realizing you’d held it the whole time she spoke. God, you never thought you’d get your When Harry Met Sally speech. And here she was. 

Looking better than Billy Crystal in his knit sweater. 

It was Wanda. 

But you couldn’t not tease her. So you hid your emotions and asked her very seriously’

“Wanda, if this is just because you like my brown butter chocolate chip cookies-” Wanda laughs and then leans over and kisses you hard. You are crying, and she is crying, and it’s a mess. Because you taste like cookies and coffee, and you can only hear the ringing of ‘forever’ with Wanda in your ears. 

Wanda pulls away and she wipes your tears now. 

“I’m not crying.” You lie, and it’s stupid because she doesn’t love you superficially. You don’t cry like an Instagram model, and she doesn’t want that. Wanda loves you, and your snot bubbles, too. 

“You cry for me Malysh,” Wanda says, and you sniffle. 

“I love you.” You whimper through more tears. Wanda nods and grins, and you brush away her tears again. You two would need to buy tissues after you moved all your shit. 

“So is that a yes to my proposal?” Wanda teases you, already knowing from your response. 

“Oh my god, yes. Stop, what are you like into me or something?” You tease, and Wanda pinches your side, and you giggle and hug her around her neck. Wanda places a million kisses against your cheek.

You end up back in your bed with the window wide open and sunlight casting its gorgeous rays over the bed and blanketing over your cuddling bodies. 

Wanda was tracing invisible patterns on your arm. Your legs were tangled, and you were facing one another, noses touching as you stared at her. You couldn’t believe people actually cuddled like this until Wanda. 

Because you wanted to breathe her air, and stare at her. Wanda and you whispered in the bed, secrets for only the other to hear in the early morning light. 

“Wanda?” You asked her, and she looked at you patiently. 

“Yes, my love?” She softly whispers back in your cocoon of light and cuddles. 

“Will you tell me what your nightmare was?” 

You don’t usually ask because when Wanda told you, it was so gruesome. So much blood and violence. Her parents' corpses and her brother lying in a morgue. But it had hurt her so bad this morning, and you were asking so maybe you could help in the future. It was a long shot, but maybe you could?

Wanda smiled a sad smile, before she answered. 

“You left.”

It sat there cold. Wanda’s hand stopped, and it came up to cup your cheek. 

You couldn’t believe it. 

War and death, so much horror, and what brought your lover to her knees this morning was you leaving. That was what had frightened her to thrashing, screaming, and crying.

 Wanda’s gaze didn’t shift, she wasn’t afraid. She’d told you the truth. It was her fear, her worst fear. And you bit your lip and shook your head. 

“Wanda, no.” You say and you don’t have to say more as Wanda gives you the most sorrow-filled mile you’d ever seen someone muster. 

“That’s my waking nightmare.” She admits, and you kiss her slowly before pulling back so she can see your face. 

“You brought me home. I’m not going anywhere.” You say so gently something snaps in Wanda, and she kisses you hard, and her hands fall into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to her. 

The song echoed in both of your minds. 

No, take me home

Take me home where I belong

I got no other place to go

No, take me home, home where I belong, 

[luckycrystal]

double secret || Reader x Kylian Mbappe ft Bro! Trent Alexander-Arnold pt1

Summary;

Trent is Reader's brother, she's been dating Kylian for some time and they've been hiding their relationship, so when Trent comes over to Madrid, it becomes harder to keep their secret. And Oh, she hasn't yet told Kylian that Trent is her brother. Chaos ensues.

"why do you want to come here though?" Y/n asks Trent over the video call. "the weather in Liverpool is so nice, all your friends are there, our parents too...".

Trent raised an eyebrow. "But you're over there in Madrid, and you haven't come home in six months, I want to see what's keeping my lil sister there".

Y/n chuckles awkwardly. The 'reason' currently entering her bedroom now, freshly bathed and changed after a successful game where he scored three goals, smiling at her as he goes to grab his phone from the charging point.

"work, friends," She smiles. "Uh- can I call you back?"

Instead Trent continues, you are so glad that you're wearing earbuds now if not Kylian might have heard his voice and somehow recognized him - which is reaching because they didn't even know each other, well beyond the field. But you were still paranoid.

"you see that's the problem" Trent puts emphasis on PROBLEM, "this, I'm talking to you and you're always so desperate to end each call, can a brother not want to talk to his sister?".

Kylian walks up to you and places his head on your lap, taking comfort to close his eyes and rest. You smile at his cuteness, so anxious to end the call. "No, I think you're reaching, today I'm just tired that's all".

"Alright, I'm not believing that story but I'll let you rest" Trent said with a wink before switching off.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

"who was that?" Kylian asked, making eye contact with you. "the call seemed long".

How were you supposed to tell your brother that his son to be teammate was your brother? At the beginning, you did not mean to keep it a secret from him, the subject never coming on but as time went on, and with Trent move to real, you were worried that Kylian would think the worse of you.

That you were only willing to be honest now because you had no other choice.

"it was nobody" you lied. "want me to give your leg a massage?".

"yeah?"

"it's the least I can do for not giving my baby any attention after such a tough match" you said and Kylian seemed to relax and let you do your thing.

But deep inside the Frenchman did not feel like you were completely honest with him, although he decided not to force you, he believed you'd naturally tell him yourself.

**

Your next encounter with Trent was in Madrid, in the middle of a birthday party! You were not ready to have your two worlds collide just yet, so it shocked you to see him here. You hoped he couldn't spot you.

You were seated with real Madrid players, at their table, courtesy of Kylian who in quote wanted you 'as close as possible' what seemed like a heart warming gesture, now turned to a narrow situation.

'but he has no reason to come here, right?'

'yeah, it should be fine'

All different kinds of thoughts clouded your mind, so it was a surprise when instead of Trent, it was Virgil who appeared in front of you. "Hi Y/n, what are you doing here?".

Y/n freezes but laughs it off. "I have this friend, who's friends with the celebrant".

He laughs, causing you to also laugh even harder. You downed your drink knowing it was going to be a long night. "The boys and I are sitting there, though" he points at the opposite direction. "Wanna join us?".

That's when Kylian suddenly turns around. "I'm sure she's fine here, mate" placing a hand on her waist.

Kylian wasn't even British but he somehow managed to articulate the accents very well. You were not sure weather to be impressed or dig a grave for yourself, you watch as Virgil looks between you two, an understanding showing on his face, you stare worried at Trent, he follows your gaze and gives you a look of assurance.

"i was just asking," Virgil carries both hands up in surrender. "no hard feelings, bro" he says as he retreats back to the Liverpool table, you don't miss the wink that he gives you though.

Kylian rolls his eyes. "You know Virgil is in a lovely relationship" you scold him. "He wouldn't-".

"he might not want for himself but for his 'mates' " Kylian says in air quotes. You smile at him. "no way am I leaving your side tonight" you frown once again, ain't no way Trent won't catch on if he's by your side 24/7.

You love your brother but Trent would not understand you dating a footballer, he warned you of them, said they cheated on their partners, that you would not like the lifestyle, extravagant parties and public attention.

For the most years, you had tried to listen to him. But as soon as you met Kylian on a trip to France, everything changed, all sense left you. You only wanted him, and for a time you were successful keeping him from your family and friends when he was in ligue 1 but ever since his transition to La Liga a more global stage, its gotten much harder to do so.

Kylian was pulled away from you to give a speech to the celebrant, you happily tried to skip away hoping to find a hiding spot away from your brother. "Hey y/n".

Dominik catches up to you. "I almost mistook you for someone else, sitting there". at real table.

You allow him to hug you and give a nervous chuckle as you spot Kylian looking your way. "But I figured you were with Jude right? Trent and him are close so the both of you are-".

"not dating" you complete his sentence. "I'm with Kylian actually...like dating".

I felt good to tell that to your friend group, you had become close with them because of Trent and they were all like a second family to you. You saw him looking like you just told him you were going to change career and become a boxer, with your first match slated tomorrow, no thanks you were happy with your role as a social worker, thank you.

"Like THE Kylian Mbappe?"

"yeah..but Trent doesn't know".

"Trent doesn't know what?" Your brother says surprising both of you as you jump out of shock. As usual as he does, Trent hugs you for more than an appropriate number of time and makes sure to mess up your hair when he's done.

"erm, what are you doing here?"

"y/n is with me" Dominik declares pulling you to himself, "we uh- wanted to- surprise you".

Trent looks between you too with a smile. "How did you know i was missing her?" You sigh a breath of relief which turns to worry as you see Mbappe approaching your way. Dominik gradually redraws his hands when he finally stops in front of the trio.

"hey bro" Trent says shaking Mbappe, he returns his handshake but his eyes are on you, where Dominik last touched you. "hi" Kylian responds.

There's a moment of silence, a bit of awkwardness before Luka Modric suddenly appears asking for who's car alarm is ringing in the parking lot. "Describe it" Trent request. "That sounds very much like mine, wait here" he says to no one as he sprints away, Luka behind him.

Dominik does a nervous laugh because now that Trent is gone, no one can stop Mbappe from giving him death glares. "Er-" You said intertwining your hands with Kylian, "it was nice catching up with you".

"You as well" He doesn't wait to be asked before he scurries off.

"babe" you say pulling his face to you. "he's gone".

"and honestly?" You tell him. "I'm feeling kind of weak" his angry face morphs to concern.

He holds you with more care. "Want us to leave?".

You nod. "Alright, lets go" he says whispering to Vini to greet everyone goodbye on his behalf as you make your way for the exit.

**

In the car, you notice Kylian still in a mode.

"You knew Dominik?"

You freeze. "Yeah, we knew each other"

Y/n felt guilty, she knew if it were anyone else they would start digging deeper asking questions but Kylian was respectful, and plus he'd never think she betrayed him with another man. This just made it easier to keep this secret from him. It made her feel like she was takimg advantage of his nature.

"Babe," He says seriously. "Dont you think those Liverpool players are getting a little too comfy with you?"

"but I'm yours"

"I know that" He tells her, "don't you think it's time everyone else is let in?".

"We wanted private" You reminded him.

"And i still do, but not completely hidden, sure we want privacy but you should be able to at least come to my matches out in the open, and I should be able to support your career too" He replied.

"You already support my career" You tell him. And he did, with annual donations to the NGO you worked at part time, with this in thought, you realized you were the one not in full support as you had never truly watched any of his matched in the stadium. "What do you have in mind?".

"Real Madrid is playing a friendlies with Liverpool, I want you in the audience wearing my shirt".

'JUST END ME NOW' she thought.

***

Part 2 incoming.

[nglgfics]

Unspooled

(Fluffy story as requested by tashi-3: Noel comforting reader who has a bad night)

Masterlist

You hadn’t planned to leave. Not really. It wasn’t a statement. It wasn’t a decision. It was just something your body started doing before your mind caught up.

One moment you were standing there—drink in hand, posture polite, face fixed into something close enough to pleasant. And the next, you were moving. Past the bar. Past the strangers. Past Noel, wherever he was. You didn’t even look.

The club was a crush of heat and light and voices that never landed. Music thumped low through the floor, more rhythm than song. The kind of place that rewarded performance. You’d tried. You’d smiled at the right people. Laughed at the secondhand jokes. Said things you didn’t mean because they were easier than silence. But it didn’t stick. None of it stuck.

Everyone else seemed fine. Sharp smiles. Bright eyes. Quick confidence. They floated across the space like it belonged to them. And Noel—he didn’t float, but he knew how to stand still and still hold attention. His presence did the work for him. He looked comfortable, or at least convincing. He belonged here.

You didn’t.

And the longer you stayed, the louder that fact became.

It started behind your ribs—tight and creeping. Then your fingers went cold, drink untouched. Your jaw clenched. You could feel yourself smiling too hard and not enough all at once.

You told yourself to hold on. Just another five minutes. Just wait until Noel came back to you and gave you a reason to stay.

But he didn’t, and your breath started catching at the wrong angles, and you were terrified—genuinely terrified—that someone would look at you too closely and see it.

So you left.

No one stopped you. No one looked.

You slipped past a curtain near the back and found a service hallway—narrow, fluorescent-lit, quiet in the way that only backstage spaces ever are. The air smelled like spilled mixers and industrial cleaner. There were crates stacked along the wall and a speaker case shoved out of the way like someone meant to move it and didn’t. You sat on it. Elbows on your knees. Shoulders drawn in.

The stillness hit hard.

Your eyes stung from the effort of holding something off. Your mouth tasted like nerves and stale prosecco. You pressed your hands flat to your thighs, grounding yourself in the texture of denim, the weight of your own presence.

You weren’t angry. You weren’t upset with him.

It was just too much. Too many people. Too much space you didn’t know how to take up. Too many words you didn’t know how to say in the right way.

And underneath it all—quieter, but harder—was the fear that sat in your chest like a stone:

He probably wouldn’t come.

Maybe he hadn’t even noticed you’d gone.

Or maybe he had—and decided not to follow. Maybe he’d take your exit for what it looked like: a quiet slip out of something you didn’t want to stay in. Including him.

You weren’t sure what answer you expected.

You only knew what it would confirm if he didn’t come.

So you stayed where you were. Still. Contained.

Not to be found—just to see if he’d look.

And you told yourself not to want it. Not to turn this silence into proof of anything.

But you already felt it sharpening.

You heard the door creak before you saw him.

Your spine straightened—reflex, not hope. A preparation. You didn’t look up. Not yet.

Then his voice behind you, low and even. “Didn’t see you go.”

You looked over your shoulder.

Noel stood in the doorway, framed by flashes of club light spilling from behind the curtain. He looked exactly as he had inside—rolled sleeves, tamed hair, faintly amused—but something had shifted in the way he was watching you. Less performance. More focus.

His expression was unreadable. Calm. That didn’t make it easier.

“I didn’t want to interrupt anything,” you said. The words came too quickly, too measured, like you’d rehearsed them without realising.

“You didn’t,” he said. “I just hadn’t clocked you’d gone yet.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t soften. Just stayed there—still, watching.

You turned forward again, eyes fixed on the scuffed wall ahead, the dim strip of fluorescent buzzing faintly above. You were suddenly aware of your posture—how carefully composed you looked for someone who’d just come undone.

“You didn’t have to come,” you added, quieter this time. Like the words weren’t quite yours.

“I know. I came anyway.”

Still no movement. No comforting tone. No urgency.

You weren’t sure if he was thinking or deciding. Or neither.

“I wasn’t trying to make a point,” you said. “I just— I couldn’t stay. Not without starting to disappear into myself.”

“Didn’t look like you were making a point,” he said. “Looked like something cracked and you needed air.”

You glanced back at him.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t trying to decode you. He was just… present. Entirely, infuriatingly present. Like he’d made up his mind before he’d even walked out here.

And he was staying with that decision now, without flinching.

You swallowed. “I figured you’d stay. It made sense.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Was that what you were hoping for? That I’d stay?”

“No,” you said, quickly. “I didn’t leave because I wanted to be followed. I just… assumed you wouldn’t come after me.”

A pause stretched between you—thin, but loaded.

Then he stepped forward. One step. Not aggressive. Just deliberate.

“Right,” he said. “Because I seem like the type who’d hang around in there while the person I actually care about’s out here alone.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again.

You didn’t have a reply. Nothing that wasn’t an apology you didn’t owe.

He stepped again, slower this time. Like he could see how close you still were to folding in on yourself.

“I came out here,” he said, “because you weren’t there anymore. Not because you embarrassed me. Not because I needed to say the right thing. Just because I noticed—and I didn’t want to pretend I didn’t.”

That stopped you.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t even kind, exactly. It was plain. Direct. And somehow, that hit harder than if he’d tried to comfort you.

You exhaled, finally. Long. Shaky. Controlled.

You didn’t say thank you. You didn’t move. But something inside you shifted.

Something let go.

He sat beside you slowly, like he didn’t want to disturb whatever fragile thing had just settled between you. The speaker case gave a low groan beneath your combined weight. He left space—enough that you didn’t feel surrounded, but not enough that you felt alone.

Neither of you spoke at first.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Just cautious. A peace offering in itself.

Eventually, still watching the far wall, you asked, “Do you actually enjoy nights like this?”

He let out a breath. Not quite a sigh. “Enjoy’s a big word. I can move through them. There’s a rhythm I recognise. Familiar faces. Same noise. Same games. After a while you get good at reading the room before it reads you.”

You nodded. “I wanted to. I really tried. But I couldn’t keep myself in it. After a while it felt like I wasn’t even in my body anymore.”

He glanced sideways at you. “Yeah. I saw that.”

You looked down at your hands, twisting a ring you didn’t even remember putting on. “You didn’t come after me straight away.”

“No,” he said. “Didn’t want to chase you if space was what you needed. But I kept watching the back door like a sad bastard.”

You glanced at him. “And then?”

He gave a faint shrug. “Then I realised I didn’t want to be in a room you weren’t in.”

Your mouth opened slightly, but no answer came. Just the breath of it.

“I know I left,” you said. “But I wasn’t walking out on you. I just couldn’t be in it anymore.”

“I figured,” he said. “And for what it’s worth, I didn’t take it personally. I’ve bailed on nights before. Sometimes that’s the only thing that keeps you from fracturing completely.”

You let that sit for a second. “I think I always expect that when I go, no one follows. Not even out of malice—just because it’s easier not to.”

He nodded once, quiet. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

You turned toward him now, properly. “So why did you?”

He didn’t blink. “Because you were still in the building. And because it mattered that you knew someone noticed.”

That landed hard. Not dramatically. Just honestly.

You looked away, blinking down a heat that came too fast.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” you said. “Someone who needs managing.”

“You’re not,” he said. “You’ve got limits. That’s not the same thing.”

You pulled your sleeves down over your wrists. “But what if it doesn’t stop? What if I panic every time, and you always end up following me out of rooms?”

“Then I follow,” he said. “Or I don’t. But we talk about it. And we figure it out. I’ve done the whole thing where you stay, smile, pretend you’re fine—spent years with someone where that was the rhythm. Never really knew what page we were on. Not doing that again. I’d rather leave early with you than sit through that kind of night.”

You stared at him then. Really stared.

There was no dramatics in his voice. No performance. Just the clarity of someone who meant it, and didn’t feel the need to dress it up.

“I’ve left people without warning,” you said softly. “Because it felt safer than explaining.”

He nodded, slow. “And did they ever come looking for you? Try to understand why you left?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He held your gaze. “Then maybe that’s the part that changes now.”

You sat with that. Not ready to call it trust. But something close.

After a beat, he stood, stretching his legs, letting the quiet hold between you without breaking it.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here before they put one of my songs on.”

You let out a short breath, surprised by the laugh that caught at the end of it.

He held the door without comment. You didn’t hesitate this time.

And when you stepped out of the hallway beside him, it didn’t feel like you’d walked away from something.

It felt like you’d walked into something else.

By the time you got back to his flat, the city had quieted. It always surprised you—how quickly the night thinned out once you left the noise behind. No neon. No shouting. Just streetlights and the low click of keys in a door.

He let you in first. No big deal. No invitation. Just his space—yours, for now.

You kicked your shoes off by the door and dropped your jacket on the arm of the couch. He went straight to the kitchen and came back with two glasses of water and the last of a packet of chocolate biscuits, which he dropped onto the bedside table without ceremony.

“This is what you get,” he said, setting it down like it was nothing. “Five-star. All the crumbs you can eat. No extra charge for the ambience.”

“Top marks,” you murmured. Your voice was soft, but something like a smile touched the edge of it.

He peeled off his shirt and pulled on something softer, older. A washed-out T-shirt with a frayed neckline and faded print. He moved like someone who knew this space—who trusted it, and by extension, trusted you in it. Nothing performative. Just lived-in.

You changed in the bathroom, slower than usual. You weren’t rushing to escape your reflection. The silence out there felt earned now—not empty, not loaded, just calm. Like the air had changed since the corridor. Like you’d passed through something and landed somewhere steadier.

In the mirror, you didn’t look pulled apart anymore. Still pale, still tired, but no longer brittle. Just quiet. Just here.

When you came back, the bed was already turned down. The lamp on his side cast a low amber wash across the sheets. Noel was under the covers, propped on one elbow, the duvet pushed low around his hips. He looked at you like he had earlier—without expectation. Not soft, exactly, but open. Unguarded in his way.

You slid into bed beside him. The mattress dipped, the sheets cool. Neither of you rushed.

He shifted slightly, enough to look at you without crowding. “You alright now?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Better now.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just let the pause settle between you.

“Thanks for…” you started, then paused, unsure how to word it without making it sound smaller than it was. “For not doing that thing where someone says all the right comforting things—‘It’s okay, take your time,’ all that—and then disappears like that’s what you need most. Like space fixes everything.”

You glanced over, just enough to meet his eye.

“You stayed. Even when I didn’t really know how to ask.”

He huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Didn’t seem like space was what you needed. Just looked like everything got too loud, and you needed someone who wouldn’t talk over it.”

You swallowed. Let that sit with you for a second.

Then you shifted—inch by inch—closer to him, careful but sure. He met you without hesitation, one arm coming around you like it was already meant to be there. His hand rested low on your waist, not pulling, not pushing. Just warm and steady.

You pressed your face to his shoulder. He smelled like clean skin, faint cologne, something cotton-soft and familiar. You let yourself breathe him in.

“I didn’t think I could do this,” you said quietly. “Let someone in again. Not this soon. Not without thinking about the last time—how much it cost. I kept telling myself I’d take it slow, keep things safe, but… I didn’t expect you to feel this close already.”

You glanced down. “And part of me still keeps waiting for the moment I have to pull back. Just in case.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just traced a slow, thoughtful line along your back with his thumb.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” he said eventually, voice low and steady. “You don’t have to explain everything, or keep it together for my sake. I’m not asking for that.”

He paused, his hand still resting lightly at your back.

“But if you need to pull back, or breathe, or run for a bit—just don’t shut me out. That’s all I care about. Let me know what’s going on, even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy.”

He glanced over at you, not pushing, just steady. “Just keep me in the loop. That’s it. The rest we figure out.”

Your eyes closed. The tightness you hadn’t even noticed in your chest began to unravel, slow and quiet. You let your body soften into him.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Just the rhythm of breathing. The quiet between you no longer felt fragile.

Eventually, he shifted slightly and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Barely there. Just enough to be felt.

You moved in closer, tucked into the curve of his side. Your leg brushed his under the duvet, and he didn’t react. Just let it happen. Let you settle where you needed to.

His hand stayed right where it was. His breathing stayed slow. His body stayed still, like he’d made a decision not to move until you did.

And when you finally fell asleep—warm, safe, heart quiet—he was still there, holding you like it didn’t cost him a thing.

[philiponmycracker]

A study in expressions Tom Hulce edition, as Mickey Schwerne, from Murder in Mississippi (1990)

[bobsayshallo]

Its funny how black sails could only get away with one mlm kiss and no sex at all, but oh my god they made that one kiss count for the plot.

[andragoras-in-vanity]

im distraught, my rook has elgar'nans vallaslin.....

[deadrocks]

It had been so long since I'd played DAI last, and there have been so many years of thoughtful discussion since then, that I forgot how fundementally frustrating it is to talk to Mme V in Haven and not be able to counter any of what she says about how the Circles work.

[transslyblue]

Came across a video on an illegal rendition of Hamilton. Wow.. I don't think the church knew Hamilton was bi