#because I need to ‘’’’catch up’’’’ on all the sleep I don’t get because insomnia is trying to eat me alive

[freedomfireflies]

Pillow Talk*

Summary: The one where you and Harry both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together.

Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, daddy kink, mentions of drugs, angst (w/ happy ending!), not suitable for Ramadan!

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Come on. Just one time.”

“No. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Probably. I haven’t slept in 32 hours.”

You huff as you hide yourself behind your door. You don’t even want to see him. Because you don’t want to have this conversation or entertain this idiotic idea. This is what Harry does. He plays games. He tricks and he ruins and if you open this door, you know you’ll regret it. 

“Poppy, please,” he calls, and you hear his forehead land on the wood as though to brace himself. “I’ve tried everything else, okay? It always works with you. I just…I wanted to try. See if it still does.”

You frown. “You realize how wildly inappropriate this is, right? Asking if you can come in just so we can sleep together?”

“Yeah, but that’s all I want to do. Sleep,” he insists again. “Really. I’ll keep my hands to myself and I won’t even talk to you.”

You consider this. Truthfully, you haven’t slept all that well since the breakup, either. And sure, you’ve longed for the nights when the two of you would fall into such an easy, simple, and incredibly effective routine. 

But he broke your heart. And now you’re both paying the price.

“Just one night,” he pleads again. “And if it doesn’t work, I swear I won’t bother you ever again.”

There’s a subtle ache in your chest. Just hearing his voice reminds you of the pain. Of the joy. Of every good moment and every bad one, all wrapped up in the same silky cadence.

You take a deep breath. Perhaps you’re curious, too. Even if you don’t want to be. Because maybe this will work. Maybe you’ll finally be able to rest and get on with your life.

Or maybe it won’t.

But at least if it doesn’t, maybe you can find some closure.

So, with that thought…you open the door. 

He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. Which makes you just a touch happy if you’re being honest with yourself. His usual curls are askew and unkept. The bags under his eyes are dark and his clothes are wildly wrinkled.

And you’re surprised. He’s been up for longer than 32 hours before and handled it much better. You wonder if his age is catching up with him or if there’s something else keeping him awake.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

But you don’t fight with him. He’s not here to fight and you accept his terms as you widen the door and allow him to step inside.

He nods gratefully as he slips into your living room, but his eyes linger on your face. Almost like he doesn’t recognize you, and it makes your insides turn as you shut the door and put a few feet between you.

“What?” you huff.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, you look…different.”

“Okay…?”

“You changed your hair.”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. It’s nice.”

You cross your arms. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Another pause, and the silence feels heavy.

“Well…do you wanna…?” you eventually say, and he nods.

“Right, yeah.”

“Okay.”

You turn to lead him to your room and it’s…unsettling how normal it feels. Like an old habit rearing its ugly head once again.

When you get there, his surprise returns. “You changed your room, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Why?”

Your eyes roll as you angrily toss your blankets back. “This is the one room I associated with you the most. And short of moving, I needed something you hadn’t touched or tainted. So I made the room mine again.”

He thinks about this, attention lingering on the new paint on the walls and the new furniture in each corner. “I like it.”

“I don’t care.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“Great. Can you get in the bed please so we can get this over with?”

Obliging, he slips off his shoes and joins you under the duvet. “Never thought I’d hear you say that again.”

“Never thought I’d have to say it.”

“Mm. You changed your mattress.”

“Obviously.”

“And the sheets and blankets, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there anything in here you didn’t change?”

“The carpet. But only because my landlord said I couldn’t.”

“Right.” He’s smiling again. “But you did get a rug.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice.”

“Bite me.”

He laughs now and you want to smack him. “I see you still get grumpy when you’re tired.”

“No, I get grumpy when my asshole of an ex shows up to my apartment at 3 in the morning demanding to be let in so he can sleep in my bed with me like a fucking child,” you argue. And you know you’re being snippy and maybe even rude, but he deserves it. After everything he’s put you through, you deserve to be in charge of your own emotions. 

You turn the lamp off and the dark room grows incredibly quiet. You’re both stiff, unable to relax when you’re this close. You don’t want to touch—not the way you used to. And you don’t want to be close or let your guard down, although you suppose you’ll have to in order to sleep.

And then he says, “I really did try, you know. To find another way to sleep.”

You look up at the ceiling and release a soft exhale. “Okay.”

“Melatonin, light therapy, cut out coffee. Even drank those…sleep mocktail things everyone talks about.” He shifts. “I don’t know, I guess my brain just wouldn’t turn off.”

“Yeah. I know.”

More quiet.

“I haven’t done any since we broke up,” he finally says. Gentle, like he’s afraid to break the silence. 

Your lashes flutter. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know what he means. “Great.”

“Yeah.” Another beat. “I thought it was work, I guess. Maybe the stress or something. I’ve been sleeping fine, but these past couple weeks…”

“Right.”

“And I just figured—”

“No, I got it. It’s fine, let’s just…let’s just try to sleep,” you say and he nods.

The bedroom settles and you try, you really do. But you can’t when he’s breathing so goddamn loud and shifting every two seconds and sighing like he’s in pain.

“What?” you eventually hiss.

“Are you dating someone?” he asks.

“What?”

“Are you dating someone?” he repeats. “Josie said you were.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Kind of. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“We’re…we’ve been on a few dates. It’s not official.”

“He hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t. I just figure you deserve someone that actually wants to date you.”

“Oh, do I?” You roll your head to look at him. “Funny, you didn’t seem to think so when you were dating me.”

“All right, touché,” he mumbles. “I could have been better, I know that. And I know I took advantage. You did a lot for me and I didn’t…I didn’t care.”

Surprised, you twist your fingers together. “Uh…yeah. Right. Thank you.”

His head rolls, too. And even with the dim-light, his eyes find yours. “I’m sorry, Poppy. You really did deserve better than me. And if you found it with this guy…I’ll be happy for you.”

You swallow before sighing to yourself. “I mean, I don’t know if I did. He’s…he’s really nice. But he’s so…he’s just…”

“Vanilla?”

Your eyes widen. “Yeah. How did you—”

“He was wearing Crocs with tube socks.”

You laugh—loud. “Oh my god, how did you know?”

“I might have looked him up,” he admits through a grin. “Wanted to make sure he was worth your time.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And he wears Crocs with tube socks. He can’t make you cum.”

Your features scrunch together as you gasp and look away. “Ew, Harry. It’s not about that—”

“It’s always about that. Come on, am I wrong?”

“You—yes. What he wears has nothing to do with what he’s like in bed—”

“So he’s not vanilla?”

“He’s…” You pause. “He…look, he really tries—”

“So, he is,” Harry finishes for you. “Well, at least you got some.”

“I…yeah. Uh-huh.”

Instantly, he turns onto his side, head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies you. “He couldn’t get it up, could he?”

“Harry,” you groan, and reach out to swat him. “Stop, it wasn’t that. We just…we were taking things slow. We did some stuff. Just not…all of it.”

“So what he’d do?”

“Harry—”

“Come on, we’re adults, just tell me.”

“Ew, no—”

“Listen, you used to get fucked good. I’m just trying to help you get back to that.”

You frown but do oblige. “I don’t know. He ate me out and I blew him. That’s it.”

“And…?”

“And…I don’t know. He was fine. He was good.”

“Sure.”

Your eyes roll. “Okay, he…he wasn’t really all that into it. He stopped after a few seconds and asked if I came. Then he said his jaw was tired and that maybe we should just switch.”

Now, Harry’s features scrunch, too. “Shit. What a fucking pussy. Ironically.”

“I guess. It could have been worse.”

“Really? Eating you out was always my favorite. What kind of asshole just stops if he doesn’t have to?”

You feel a rush of heat through your body as you look away. “I guess they can’t all be you.”

“Damn fucking right,” he scoffs. “Seriously, you still wanted to see him after that?”

“He’s cute,” you argue. “And nice. And yeah, maybe he’s not that adventurous but that’s okay. I don’t need wild sex all the time.”

He’s quiet. “How about just one time?”

You turn back. “What?”

“I—okay, I was just thinking…you know, one of the things we would do when we couldn’t sleep was…fuck, so—”

“Oh, absolutely not.” You sit up, as though to put some distance between you. “No. Forget it—”

“Poppy—”

“Don’t call me that,” you huff. “You don’t get to call me that ever again. Okay, I’m not gonna fuck you just so we can sleep—”

“It wouldn’t be just for that,” he argues, sitting up as well. “It would also help your mood, too—”

“Oh, my mood?” You glare at him. “My mood is just fine, actually. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty good if I agreed to let you in my apartment in the first place—”

“You didn’t have to. I’m just saying, if sex with him is gonna be bland, might as well get in one last good fuck before you commit to a lifetime of boring—”

“Oh, my god. It’s not a lifetime and you’re a fucking asshole—”

“Yeah. We’ve established that. Doesn’t change the fact that you need it.”

You stare at him. “Is that why you’re really here? To trick me into sleeping with you?”

He leans back. “What? No. I don’t trick people into having sex, it was just a suggestion—”

“Yeah, a pretty dumb one. Did you honestly think I’d say yes?”

“Yeah,” he admits haughtily. “Yeah, because we didn’t break up over the sex. We broke up because you’re an uptight—”

“What? Say it,” you sneer. “Say it. I’m an uptight bitch because I wouldn’t let you do cocaine.”

He scoffs again and looks off into the dark of your room. The argument lulls. “I could never do anything right.”

“That wasn’t the problem and you know it.” You pull your legs to your chest. “I wanted to move forward and you kept going back. You’re almost 30 and you still act like you’re 19.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to get married and do the whole white picket fence life,” he says. “Maybe I liked things the way they were—”

“No. No, you liked parties with your friends and doing drugs that kept you up for hours  and getting fired and leaving me to pay all the bills—”

“You didn’t pay all the bills and I told you I would do what I could to help—”

“Yeah. But apparently that included getting fucked up and staying out all night just to crash the next day.” You study him closely. “You were never around anymore. I never saw you. We were on two different paths and the only time we ever talked was when you asked if I wanted to fuck.”

“So, that’s it, huh? I’m just a villain in your story. You were this perfect fucking princess, and I was a monster that ruined your life?”

“No, obviously not. I wasn’t perfect. I know that.”

“Do you?” His eyes flick between yours. “You didn’t want me to move forward with you. You liked your new job and your new friends because they didn’t remind you of me. Of who we both used to be.”

“So? I’m not proud of what I used to do. And sure, maybe I wanted to make a better impression on the people paying my salary and keeping me employed. Is that such a fucking crime?”

“No. But you didn’t want me to be a part of that impression and you know it.”

“Right. Because you were shit-faced all the time.”

He opens his mouth, ready to retort. But then he closes it. He closes it and he stares at you and then…he surges forward.

Even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, you’re not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. As he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs.

But you don’t fight him. You know you should. Know you should push him off and berate him. Yet you let him kiss you. And you kiss him back. And it’s far too easy to slip back into this routine as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way.

Your stomach flips while your hands land on his lap. You’re desperate to be closer, to feel his body against yours. His skin, and the way it melts beneath your palms like butter. You dance this devious dance and before you know it, you’re stripping each other of the few clothes you have.

He starts with your shirt. Ripping it over your head before his mouth lands on your chest. Bare and beautiful to him. His kisses are wet and sloppy and you arch yourself closer as you drag your fingers down his scalp.

The only reason he stops is to let you peel his t-shirt off, too. And then his jeans and socks. And you move so fluidly, you’re nearly naked in under a minute. The only thing left between you now his underwear and yours.

He lays you down, gentle. Surprisingly gentle, given the anger that brought you here. And he gazes at you in a soft, unspoken way that says everything you don’t exactly know how to say. 

His fingers brush down your cheek as his body settles atop yours. He still fits between your legs like he was always meant to and the weight of him almost feels good.

“Are you all right?” he finally whispers, and he doesn’t sound like the same man from before. He sounds like the man you fell in love with. “Is this okay?”

You nod quickly, scared that if you think about it, you’ll ruin it. “Yeah. Go.”

He doesn’t. “We don’t have to,” he says. “You were right, it’s probably a dumb idea—”

“Yeah, but…it always works.” You shift beneath him and reach for his briefs, rolling them down his hips. “And I’m tired. Tired of fighting with you, tired of not getting any sleep…tired of pretending I hate you. You were right, our sex is good. So let’s do it. And then we can sleep. And we can finally move on.”

Not the most romantic of speeches, but it works. At least right now. He kisses you again and drags your underwear aside in order to tease you with the tip of his cock.

He feels like you remember. And maybe you find just a touch of comfort in that. There are no awkward pauses or confusion about what to do next. You don’t have to find your rhythm or anticipate the next step. You know him. And he knows you.

Your rub your clit in order to stimulate yourself. You aren’t exactly wet enough for this to be enjoyable, but you don’t expect him to do what he did before. The foreplay is up to you now and you’re more than all right with that.

However, he’s not. And he instantly swats your hand away in order to do it himself. Allowing his fingers to drag up and down your pussy until you shiver before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside.

“Shit,” he whispers. His forehead drops to yours. “Fucking missed this.”

You bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He starts to pump, bending your body to his salacious intentions until the unmistakable sound of wetness echoes throughout the room. “I know you missed it, too.”

“Hm. Don’t push it.”

“Why not?” He presses a kiss to your cheek. Then to your jaw. Your lips. Your nose. Your neck. Everywhere you used to love. “Are you really gonna tell me you didn’t?” 

“Maybe.”

“So Crocs with Tube Socks is better, huh?”

“…not exactly.”

“Right.” He adds a second finger and your eyes roll back. “Don’t worry, Poppy, I’ll fix it.”

“Don’t…call me that,” you pant again, and he chuckles.

“Don’t know what else to call you. You were always my pretty Poppy.”

“But now I’m not,” you say. “Now you call me nothing. Because I’m not yours to call.”

He sighs but does seem to obey, at least for now. And the faster he thrusts his hand, the needier this growing feeling becomes. Stronger and louder until you finally grab onto his shoulders and say, “Just put it in already.”

He smirks. “How romantic.”

“It’s not supposed to be. Just come on.”

So, he does. He takes hold of his cock and he slips it through the gathering arousal until he can push in. And you both reel.

Truthfully, you’ve missed the sounds he makes when he’s turned on. The way he groans and grits his teeth together. The way the muscles in his arms strain until you can see those beautiful veins you used to love to run your tongue over. 

He’s stunning. Even now, in the soft light of the moon through your curtains. His silhouette is unholy as it hovers above you. Strong hips beginning to thrust as you both work in tandem to find release.

And it’s closer than you expected. There’s something about him that can get you there even without much effort. Something Crocs with Tube Socks could never seem to figure out. 

Because he’s not Harry. And only Harry can play you like an instrument and make such symphonic music all with the flick of his finger and a thrust of his cock.

He kisses you again and you both feel anxious. Soft murmurings of praise and, “Keep going,” that have you arching from the bed and moaning into his mouth.

You’re sweating and gasping for air and clutching onto his back as you attempt to meet his rhythm with rolls of your own. You need this. You need to cum so you can find release and you need to cum so you can finally sleep and you need to cum because then you’ll finally be able to let him go. To close the door on the chapter of you and Harry and move the fuck on.

But how can you move on when you’re still under him? How can you insist that you’re fine and doing great if you’re so easily convinced to fuck him just so you can both get some sleep?

There are other remedies to insomnia that don’t involve his cock and maybe you should have tried that before you let him into your apartment. 

Either way, you’re coming before you can think twice about it. Raking your nails down his back and whimpering his name as he pulls out and finishes on your thigh. 

And just like that…

It’s over.

You find him in the kitchen about an hour later. You managed to sleep at least a few minutes before you felt the sadistic hand of insomnia pull you back out. But when you woke, Harry was gone. His clothes were still on the floor, so you knew he hadn’t left. But he wasn’t with you.

He’s staring out your kitchen window when you slip into the living room. You’re not sure if he hears you or not but if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he keeps himself braced against the sink, clad in nothing more than his briefs.

Curious, you call, “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. Silent. Contemplative. “I used to love this window,” he eventually says. Soft, like he’s reminiscing. “The way the light looked in the morning. The way your little crystals would put rainbows on the wall and you’d get so excited. How you’d make me dance with you to some Elton John song while we were literally in the middle of cooking.”

You blink. “Um…okay.”

He turns and his eyes find yours. “I fucking loved this apartment. And this kitchen. And that couch. And your room. And even the hallway. I loved being here, all the time. I hated going back to my place because it never felt the same.”

The silence grows louder now as you look down at your feet and pull your robe just a bit tighter. “I know,” you finally whisper. “That’s why I changed it.”

“I know,” he whispers back. His expression falls. “You changed everything. This apartment, your life…us.”

“Because I had to,” you argue, glancing back up. “I had to, Harry. I couldn’t keep going in circles. I couldn’t drag you along behind me into the future when you clearly wanted to be anywhere else.” 

“Because the future you always painted didn’t seem to have room for me,” he huffs. “Okay, with all these dinner parties and fancy houses and good school districts. You’d planned out the next 30 years and I didn’t see myself anywhere in your picture.”

“I didn’t fucking care about the parties or the school districts,” you nearly yell. “God, I—I didn’t want the white picket fence life. I didn’t want the 1950’s American Dream shit you keep thinking I did. I just wanted you. Yes, I wanted a good job with insurance and stability. But I wasn’t gonna trade what we had just for that—”

“But you did. You didn’t tell your parents we’d moved in together. You didn’t even tell half of our friends. You went on trips without me and you stopped telling me about your day and we never talked—”

“Because you were never around! You were either out with your friends getting drunk or high or you were in there playing video games because you’d had a ‘hard day.’ So, no. I didn’t want to talk to you when I knew you weren’t even listening in the first place.”

 He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Angry. Indignant. “You resented me. You resented the fact that we were together and you resented that I wasn’t perfect like your precious new friends—”

“Oh, that’s—” You pinch the bridge of your nose and force in a deep breath. “No. I didn’t want you to be like them. I didn’t want you to act pretentious and stuffy and talk about the stock market every goddamn second of the day. The only thing I resented…was the fact that you wouldn’t take care of yourself.”

“I was taking care of myself—”

“Bullshit. You were doing drugs—you were doing cocaine—and you weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, you nearly drunk yourself to death—”

“Right, but I wasn’t doing it all the time. It was just…it was occasionally, and it wasn’t a lot—”

“I don’t care. You shouldn’t have been doing it at all, Harry,” you finally shout. “You…you scared the shit out of me. Every time one of your friends would call and say you were passed out, I thought…I thought this was it. I thought I was gonna lose you. Do you know how many times I just sat on the floor and cried because I was so scared? Because you never wanted to listen when I told you to stop? Because you were so sure you were invincible?”

He seems pained by this, features wilting as he takes a tentative step forward. But he stops when you move back. “Poppy, I wasn’t trying to scare you, I…I didn’t know—”

“Yes, you did,” you scoff. “I told you, over and over that I didn’t want to lose you, but you thought I was being dramatic.”

He nods once. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.” He looks at you. “S’why I stopped after we broke up. You were right, I needed to get my shit together.”

You nod, too. “Good. I’m glad.”

His gaze dances around the kitchen. “I hate that you changed everything,” he says again, and your heart wrenches. “I hate that it doesn’t look like it used to. I hate that I hurt you so bad that you felt like you had to erase everything I ever touched.”

You step closer and wipe a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, I hate it, too. I hate that I had to. I hate that stupid mattress and I hate that my kitchen doesn’t look like a rainbow anymore and I really fucking hate that I have no one to dance with when I cook.”

His eyes soften as they find yours and in only a few seconds, he’s reaching for the belt on your robe and tugging you to him. Wrapping you in his arms as he presses you against his chest, the way he always used to when you were sad.

“No,” you argue weakly, although you do nothing to stop him. “No, you can’t…you can’t—”

“Yes, I can,” he retorts quietly. You feel his lips press to the top of your head. “You don’t get to cry over me anymore. You’re better than that now. You did what I couldn’t. You moved on. And I don’t get to ruin that for you.”

You sniffle as you run your hand down his stomach. “It wasn’t about moving on. I just needed to learn how to be strong enough for both of us.”

“Poppy,” he breathes and holds you tighter. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

And deep down…you know he’s right.

“Shit, just like that…a little closer. Good girl, hold yourself open for me, baby. Yeah.”

Doing your best to oblige, you slip your fingers between your folds as Harry nudges his nose closer. Kissing his way along your thighs before allowing his tongue to lick a very generous stripe up your pussy.

Round 2 is on the couch. Harry wanted the kitchen counter—nearly insisted on it, in fact—but you knew you didn’t want to ruin your favorite breakfast spot. And you weren’t about to just for him.

So, the couch it was. He complained about it as you got settled. He hates this new couch, too. The color, the lumpy cushions, the way it feels like you’re sinking when you sit. 

You told him you didn’t care. You loved it and if it annoyed him, that was a bonus.

Thankfully, he swallowed his complaints in favor of swallowing you. He tossed your robe open and pulled your thighs apart. And then he buried himself between the warmth of your pussy the way he always used to.

And you decided that maybe you don’t mind insomnia so much if this is the remedy.

“Missed this, too,” he says now as he nips at your clit. “God, you’ve always tasted so fucking good. S’fucking crazy, baby. Can’t ever get enough.”

“Sure,” you snort, head dropping back. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls—”

“No.” He shakes his head and his nose nudges the sensitive nerves as you whine. “No, there’s no other girls. Come on, did you really think there could be?”

“With a mouth like that? Yeah,” you admit. He laughs. “That’s how we met. You were such—fuck—such a player.”

“Maybe,” he concedes before mouthing at you again. “But nobody else has ever made me feel the way you do.”

You snort. “Where’d you learn that line?”

“It’s not a line. It’s the truth.”

“Harry. Come on. I know you.”

“Then you should know I don’t say shit I don’t mean.” He smooths his palms down your thighs in order to spread you just a bit further and see the way your hole flutters. “Oh, pretty girl. S’just drenched, hm? All sensitive from the last one…need Daddy to make it better?”

You scrunch your nose. “You don’t get to call yourself that anymore.”

“No?” He grins. “Why not?”

“Because I hate you and Daddy is reserved for someone I like.”

He tsks. “I don’t know, kind of seems like you still like it. Keep clenching around my tongue like you wanna hear me say it again.”

You hesitate as you weave your fingers through his curls. “Never.”

He hums and the vibration against your cunt makes your thighs twitch. “Come on, baby. Don’t be mean to Daddy.”

You want to glare. Slap at him, refuse him. But he’s right—you have missed the moniker. If only just because of how good he sounds when he says it. So, you let him tease you and taunt you as he tastes you. You let him do whatever the hell he wants because your second orgasm feels stronger than the first and you don’t imagine you’ll survive this one. 

He slips a finger in as well. Beckons your pleasure closer with every curl of the large digit. It’s practiced. He sucks and licks and nips and thrusts and curls and pumps all at the same time.

Then, he pulls back and brings his palm down in a sharp smack to your pussy. 

“Stop squirming,” he instructs, then shoots you an obviously pleased frown. “Don’t be a brat.”

“M’not,” you whimper. “Not a brat…just wanna cum.”

“Do you, hm?” He licks you again then adds two fingers. “Should I let you?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously?” He’s smirking now as he starts to go faster. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do deserve it. Yeah? After being so nice as to let me in.”

You pout. “Mhm.”

He’s so happy. He’s always his happiest when he’s suffocating himself with your pussy. He does everything he knows you love. He leaves teasing kisses to the inside of your thighs. He slaps at your leg, your clit, your hip. He helps rock you against his tongue and even lifts you from the couch to find a deeper angle. 

And he does all of this out of sheer enjoyment. 

“Harry,” you whimper as you melt into the cushions. Your limbs feel like jello. The pleasure is everywhere, and he looks like a god. His face is covered in you, glistening about as bright as the stars.

“I know, Poppy,” he says. He kisses your pussy and then smiles at you. “I know.”

You like the way Harry’s chest feels. Warm and soft and painted in the tattoos you used to trace with your finger.

He’s gently scratching your back as you both lay in bed. The room is quiet—you haven’t spoken in minutes. Still, neither of you can seem to find sleep and you know you’ll desperately need it soon. 

But this is nice. Even if it is the last time. You like getting to reminisce—pretend for even a moment that things are the way they used to be. When you were happy and safe and content to be together.

You weren’t sure you’d ever feel this kind of peace again.

“I missed you, too, you know,” he whispers after a moment.

You glance up. 

“I didn’t just miss your apartment. I missed you.” He takes a breath and runs his palm along your spine. “I miss our Sunday mornings and I miss when we’d watch scary movies just so we could make out and I miss the way you used to dance around in your underwear to some stupid musical you were obsessed with.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “Har…”

“And I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I felt like…I felt like I was watching you do all these amazing things and I just couldn’t keep up. You were getting promoted and moving up and I was still at the fucking bar serving drinks. And you knew what you wanted to do. I didn’t.”

“I didn’t know,” you argue gently. “Not really. I hate my job. I hate that I don’t enjoy it the way I used to. I mean, I like that it pays the bills, but maybe that shouldn’t be enough.”

He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “You should do what makes you happy.”

“You used to make me happy.”

The soft strokes against your spine slow. 

“You did, Har,” you tell him. “So happy. That’s why I hated that we started fighting all of the time. I hated that you were gone or that I was gone or the fact that I was too ashamed to tell you that I missed you. And that I was scared we were losing each other.”

“Maybe we needed to lose each other,” he says and you feel sick. “Maybe we needed to be apart to see what we really wanted.”

You think about this. The idea sounds nice. Inviting. A happy end to a rather dreadful story.

But you both know better. Five months has taught you better.

“There’s a reason we broke up,” you finally murmur. “We didn’t…we didn’t like each other anymore. We were holding each other back—”

“I liked you,” he says softly. “I loved you. Yeah, I was mad, but I didn’t just stop loving you.” 

“Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier for us and we wouldn’t be…here.”

More silence. It stretches for what feels like hours.

And then, “I can’t sleep because of you.”

You suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“When Josie told me that you were seeing someone, I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And she showed me a picture she took of you guys and you were so happy. Smiling at him like you used to smile at me and I just…I didn’t know what to do.”

Another pause. You don’t know what to say.

“I put my fist through a wall,” he tells you. “And somehow, that still didn’t hurt as much as knowing you’d moved on.”

You snake your arm around his middle and snuggle closer. “Harry, you knew we both had to move on eventually.”

“Did we?”

“Harry…”

“But so soon? It’s only been five months.”

“Yeah. Five months to grieve you and cry over you and realize I did this for you.” You close your eyes. Tight. “We’re better people now.”

“No, we’re tired people now,” he teases, and you smile. “And I think I’ll be losing sleep over you for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean it. I’m always gonna think about you. Think about what I did wrong. What I could have done better.”

“I fucked up, too,” you argue. “I should have told my parents. And our friends. I should have talked to you more, asked you to do more things together. You’re right, I was ashamed of you. Of this…routine we’d fallen into. And I’m sorry.”

He says nothing. After all, there’s nothing more to say.

But he kisses the crown of your head and it speaks louder than any words.

“Fuck…fuck, Poppy, please—”

You grin as you lick your lips. He’s always sounded the most beautiful when he’s begging. And his best begging always tends to happen when his cock is down your throat. 

“What, Daddy?” you ask innocently. “What do you need me to do?”

His eyes roll back and he grips the sheets in his fist. “Please…”

You reposition yourself over his legs as you dip back down to have another taste. You lick and you suck and you stroke until he’s making another strained noise that sounds like sex.

You hope your neighbors can hear. You bet they missed him.

“Good boy,” you purr, squeezing his thighs as you take him even further. 

He sucks in a sharp breath through gritted teeth before his hand finds your hair and he squeezes. “Easy…easy, baby. S’been a while. Don’t hurt yourself—”

You respond to his instruction by inhaling through your nose and relaxing the muscles in your throat. Allowing him to hit the back the way he always used to.

His head drops into the pillows. “Shit—Poppy, I mean it. M’not gonna fuck your throat. It’s gonna hurt and I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.”

It’s an oddly thoughtful gesture but it does nothing for you now. Instead, you shake your head and pull off, a string of saliva dripping down his cock in your wake. “I’m fine, H. Trust me, I can take it.”

“Yeah?” He pushes up onto his elbows. “Is Crocs with Tube Socks hung or something?”

You grin. “No. But that dildo you got me last year is.”

He blinks. “You…fucking hell, you fuck your throat with that?”

“Mhm.” You swirl your tongue around his tip as he curses. “And then I fuck myself. And I pretend it’s you.”

He tightens his hold on your hair and forces your eyes back to his. “Are you serious?”

You nod, now feeling a touch shy as you wipe your mouth with your knuckles. “Yeah…I know that’s…probably weird, but…I mean, you got it for me, so I thought I’d be weirder to think about someone else—”

“No, it’s…” He stops. Struggles. “Shit, I really needed to hear that.”

“Oh, you did, huh?” 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want you to think about anyone else when you used it, either. It’s got my fucking initials on it.”

You laugh, louder than you mean to and it makes him grin. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? It was a pretty good gift, I’ll admit.”

“S’a fucking perfect gift,” he retorts. “We had a lot of fun with that dildo.”

“We did indeed.”

“But apparently not as much fun as you’re having with it.”

“Fucking myself helps me sleep,” you remind him. “So sometimes it’s necessity.”

“Is that right?” 

“Mhm.” You squeeze the base and he twitches. “You used to watch me. Remember?”

“I do.” His eyes get darker. “Do you fuck yourself a lot?”

“…these days, yeah. Apparently, I can’t sleep all that well, either.”

“And does it work?”

“Most of the time, yeah.” You turn your attention back to his cock in order to avoid his curiosity before you quietly admit, “Sometimes I pretend you’re here. Sleeping next to me. And…that helps, too.”

He reaches for your wrist and pulls your attention back. “Poppy—”

“No, don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb—”

“I imagine you, too.”

You blink. “You do?”

“Every night. Except the past couple weeks. Cause now I just think about you and him. And then I can’t fucking sleep.”

You turn your hand so your fingers brush through his. “Shit. We’re a mess.”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

The conversation falls away as you dip back down to resume your work. Squeezing his balls, moaning as you take him on your tongue, and milking him for every last drop. 

Turns out, you missed the taste of him, too.

Morning comes before either of you find a moment of rest. But you can feel yourself growing tired. Your eyelids are beginning to droop, and your body feels incredibly spent. 

Turns out, round 4 is where the magic happened. He brought out your favorite vibrator and teased your poor, swollen clit with it until you squirted. It was easy and quick and he seemed rather delighted to be bathed in you.

Until, of course, you insist on an actual bath to clean you both.

The shower felt good. The warm water washing away the sticky sweat on your skin. And the two of you fell back into a similar routine. He ran the soap down your arms and you washed his curls with your favorite shampoo. A shampoo he claimed he looked everywhere for after you broke up but could never find.

He said he missed the smell. The way it made his hair so soft. And the way it would make his pillowcase smell just like you.

You were grateful that the shower hid your tears.

You both crashed on the couch after you had dried off. The sheets still needed to be cleaned and neither of you could be bothered. But, as it turned out, the couch was growing on him. And he begrudgingly admitted it was rather comfy as the two of you curled up in your usual spot. 

You know you’re both close to sleep. Finally, after all your efforts to get here. But you also know that once you wake up, Harry will leave. 

And there’s a chance you won’t see him again.

You know that nothing has changed. The two of you still want different things, even if you want each other. And you hate that that’s not enough. That what you want and what you should want don’t align.

Instead, he’ll move on with his life and you’ll move on with yours.

But you don’t want to learn how to fall asleep without him.

“Make me a deal,” you whisper.

He hums. Lashes shut tight as the morning light slips in through the window. “What?”

“If I wake up, and you’re still here…we do this again. Not…as a couple. But as two broken humans that find rest with each other.”

His eyes open.

“But if you’re gone,” you continue, “then we don’t. We don’t do it again, we don’t see each other again, we don’t reach out again. We cut ties. Officially. Block and move on. For real.”

He seems saddened by this, and you hate that you’ve made him sad. But you both know it’s for the best. This won’t be sustainable in the long run. And maybe it’s a bad idea to continue at all, but maybe you want to hold on to him anyway. At least for a little while.

Even if it’s just as friends.

Exes.

Two broken humans that used to make each other whole.

His lips press together and he nods once. “Deal,” he agrees, and you can tell by the look on his face, he’s already made a decision.

You aren’t sure which way, but you suppose you’ll find out soon enough. So, you allow your eyes to fall shut and your dreams to take hold. Melting into his arms and into the sofa as you finally find sleep quicker than you have in months.

You’re not sure how long you’re out. It feels like hours. A heavy slumber that leaves you rather refreshed as your eyes eventually flutter open. 

You don’t see Harry as you slowly adjust to your surroundings. And you don’t feel him, either. But you’re too afraid to really look. To sit up and realize that he’s gone. For good.

And then, just when you think you’ve lost him…you hear the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Good morning, Poppy.”

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley @myalovesharry

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

Yes And Apples (Bucky x Reader)

word count: 2.0k+

masterlist

a/n - ugh this is the most comfy bucky fic i’ve ever written, like can this man please just show up in my life and cuddle me i need that shit

You’re Sam Wilson’s childhood best friend. You’re like a random companion that is somehow in his life always, neither of you are sure how. But now that Bucky’s friends with Sam and his roommate, he’s around you a lot. Problem is? He’s catching feelings.

You have a small studio apartment not too far away from the apartment Sam and Bucky share. You also run a local business where you sell books, movies, vinyl, coffee and beer. Unfortunately, your studio apartment is directly above the business building, so from a security standpoint, it’s really not all that safe. Hence, you kind of end up in Sam and Bucky’s apartment a lot, especially if you’re nervous. 

Thankfully, they’ve got a nice apartment, so you don’t feel too bad about sleeping on their pullout couch a few nights a week. Sam prefers it that way (he has to worry about you less) and only the Lord knows Bucky does too. They both worry about you. If Bucky can’t sleep (which is frequent, because insomnia), he’ll go outside and watch an episode of a show with you, enjoying the quiet comfort of your presence. He fell asleep there once, and Sam saw you two, distanced enough that he could tell you weren’t snuggling, but close enough to tell that you had been intentionally spending time together. He teased Bucky about it for a week.  

The unfortunate aspect is that if Bucky so much as lays a finger on you, Sam will find out and possibly kill him. But he still tucks you in on the couch, does the dishes after you make dinner, and stops by your store on his lunch breaks occasionally to “drop off” something, which usually just leads to him asking if you’re staying at him and Sam’s apartment tonight and if he should get you anything while you’re at the store (the answer is always “yes” and “apples”).

Eventually, Sam brought up to Bucky gently about moving into a bigger apartment so that they could get a guest bedroom for you in case you wanted to stay there, to which Bucky replied, “well, why don’t we just buy one of those cute little southern suburban houses and ask her to move in?” Sam was shocked that Bucky was so okay with it, but he wasn’t complaining. Bucky knew from you talking that you loved any house that looked like it could have been in Steel Magnolias. 

So, Bucky went house-shopping with you and Sam after you agreed to move in, and y’all bought the house together and took separate rooms. The house was cheap because of the area it was in, but it was only ten minutes from your business and close enough to the Avengers Tower that Sam and Bucky could get to work easily. Sam likes the house a lot, but he’s also got his own room at the tower, so he often stays there, too. Bucky has a room at the tower, just like Sam, but he never leaves you alone in the house at night. He could never. You’re amazing and he never wants to miss out on a second with you, and he doesn’t like the idea of you sleeping in an otherwise empty house.

You come back home at 10:12 pm. You always leave the store at 10. Bucky is sitting on the couch when you get back. “Hey, Buck, how’s it going?” you ask casually, walking over to the couch and kissing the top of his head. 

Bucky’s heart beats a little faster at the action, but he plays it off, acting nonchalant. “Not bad. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“Nope,” you inform, putting your tote bag on the barstool chair. 

Bucky gives you a look. “Honey.”

“I was busy, I wasn’t gonna eat,” you shrug. 

Bucky sighs. “Figured as much. You’re eating. C’mon.” He walks over to the kitchen and pulls out a container of eggs. You sigh and join him. Bucky knows what your favorite bagel sandwich is. In fact, there are sliced up bagels in the freezer precisely for that reason. He’s gonna eat too—super soldier appetite, and also, he knows you’d rather not eat by yourself—so he microwaves two bagels, two sausage patties, and mixes some cinnamon and granulated sugar together. You make the scrambled eggs—two eggs each, a little milk, salt, pepper, and maple syrup. Yes, maple syrup in the eggs. Trust me. 

Bucky butters the bagels and puts the cinnamon sugar on it. He puts sausage patties on both sandwiches, and you put on the eggs. He carries the plates to the table, where he’s already got napkins waiting. The two of you sit down together, and you take a bite out of your sandwich. “Damn, I was hungry,” you mutter. 

Bucky shakes his head. “You gotta take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

There is no dramatic moment. Bucky’s never told you that he likes you, and you’ve never told him whether or not you like him. But, you do live together, more than Sam lives with you, too. And late one night, past one am, you tiptoe into his bedroom. Bucky is still somewhat awake, lying silently in bed. “Is something wrong?” He mumbles the question, voice groggy.

“I can’t sleep,” you reply softly.

Bucky nods and raises his arm to lift up his blanket, silently inviting you in. You climb into his bed beside him and fall asleep with his arm draped around you.

In the morning, Bucky pretends to stay asleep until you wake up, not wanting you to wake up in an empty bed. It makes him a little late for work, and Tony teases him about his unusual tardiness, but Bucky will withstand any amount of teasing if it’s for you. Sam doesn’t know why Bucky’s late, and Bucky doesn’t tell him.

About a week later, it happens again. You tiptoe quietly into Bucky’s bedroom, he asks you if you’re alright, and you end up sleeping in his bed again. The next night, you don’t bother asking, and just climb right on in. Bucky likes having you so close, and the action becomes normalized to him for a while, that you come in late at night and sleep in his room. 

Until, that is, when Bucky sees you charging your Apple watch on his nightstand, leaving your pillow on your side of his bed, and leaving your sweatshirt on the chair. You’re basically moving into his room. To be honest, neither of you really knows how it happened, you just understand that this is now where you go to bed. And Bucky is realizing that you have moved yourself in. And that he likes that you did. 

Bucky goes to your store the next day. After you finish up with a customer, he walks up to the desk and says, “Hey, I was wondering if you wanna watch a movie tonight. Oh, and if you need anything when I’m at the grocery store.”

“Yes to movie, and apples,” you smile. “Is Sam staying at the Tower tonight, do we know?”

Bucky shrugs. “Why?”

“Just seeing if we have to factor in his movie preferences. You can just grab a DVD from here,” you gesture toward the rack of DVDs in your store. 

“You got anything you feel like?” Bucky asks. 

“Whatever you pick sounds good.” 

Bucky lingers in front of the movie rack longer than he probably needs to. He reads the backs of three different rom-coms before settling on one that Sam would 100% roll his eyes at, but that he knows you secretly love. He tucks it under his arm, grabs a couple of your favorite chocolate bars from the little snack stand by the register, and gives you a look like he's getting away with something.

“You’re gonna make me cry-watch You’ve Got Mail again, aren’t you?” you say, leaning on the counter.

Bucky shrugs. “If you do, I’ll pretend not to notice.”

You grin at him, warm and unguarded, and Bucky has to take a second to process it before he answers. “You’ve Got Mail it is.”

Later, back at the house, you sit curled up on your usual corner of the couch with your legs tucked under you, munching on apple slices while Bucky fiddles with the remote. Sam’s already texted the group chat to say he’s crashing at the Tower tonight. (“Don’t wait up. Also, don’t steal my Oreos again.”) You and Bucky both ignore the last part.

About halfway through the movie, you shift closer. Bucky doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, until your head finds its way to his shoulder and your hand settles gently on his knee.

“I like this,” you murmur, voice a little drowsy.

“The movie?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No. This.”

He swallows hard. “Yeah. Me too.”

He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t have to. Your presence is comfort enough. Later, when you both climb into his bed without a word, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Bucky knows one thing for sure:

You’ve moved in. Not just into his room.

But into him.

You crawl into bed with Bucky again that night. It’s the same as always now, and you fall asleep pretty easily. 

Sam unexpectedly comes back home—after a very late night at the Tower, he decided that he would rather sleep in his room back here with you two. He pops his head into Bucky’s room to let him know he’s home. “Hey, Buck, I— what.” 

Sam stops and stares. You’re tucked into Bucky’s side with your head half on your pillow and half on his chest. Sam looks around the room and sees your Apple watch charger, your phone charger, your sweatshirt, sunglasses, even your lemonade sitting on a coaster on the nightstand. Bucky is still awake and wide eyed now, unsure how he’s going to explain this to Sam. 

“Are y’all dating?” Sam asks accusingly, keeping his voice down enough so as not to wake you. 

“I don’t think so…?” Bucky replies. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “This looks like she lives in here.”

“Yeah, well… she kinda does.” 

Sam snorts. “You should tell her, Buck.”

“Yeah, I know.”

It’s raining the next morning, and the world feels quieter than usual—slowed down and softened by the overcast sky. You’re sitting at the kitchen table in one of Bucky’s T-shirts, legs curled up under you, sipping coffee and reading a worn paperback. Bucky’s at the stove, flipping pancakes, because you’d sleepily mumbled something about them before crawling out of bed, and he takes your cravings very seriously.

He watches you from the corner of his eye. You're home here—completely, comfortably home. And maybe Sam's right. Maybe you do deserve to know that this isn’t just about pancakes and movie nights and Apple watch chargers. Maybe you deserve more than "almost."

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, setting a plate down in front of you.

You glance up and smile. “Hi.”

He doesn’t sit right away. Just stands beside your chair for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I say something kinda stupid?”

You raise a brow. “Always.”

He takes a deep breath. “I think… I think I’ve been accidentally dating you. For a while. Without ever telling you.”

You blink. “Accidentally?”

Bucky shrugs, sheepish. “I mean. You live in my room. You fall asleep next to me every night. You make your eggs weird and I still like ’em. I think that counts for something.”

You set your book down slowly, eyes soft. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he starts, then stops, trying again with a quiet laugh, “I wanna stop pretending I don’t love every second of being yours. And if you want that too… I’d really like to officially call this something.”

You smile at him then, a little shy, but your heart is already wide open.

You reach for your fork, poke a bite of pancake, and say, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Bucky echoes.

You nod. “Yes.”

He looks at you for a moment, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of this one, quiet, perfect moment. Then, he grins. “Okay. Yes.”

You chew your bite of pancake, then pause, tilting your head at him with a mock-serious expression.

“But I do have one condition.”

Bucky leans on the table, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

You point at your plate. “Keep making me breakfast. And when you ask if I need anything…”

His smile deepens, eyes crinkling. “Lemme guess. Apples?”

You grin. “Yes. And apples.”

taglist @spaceycat @vidanand @xo-cench @raikan624 @yeehawgiddyup13 @wpdarlingpan @puer-aurea

[lauufeydottir]

We’re Starting At The End

[part one | part two | part three | part four]

Insomnia isn't special among the residents of The Watchtower. Your relationship— or lack thereof— with John has been at a standstill for months. But late night company turns into talks, and tonight, those talks turn into more, something neither of you are ready to name.

[Reader is a mutant with the power to manipulate blood, and has a serum-induced healing factor similar to Wolverine's. Former Widow and Avenger, current Thunderbolt New Avenger.]

john walker x fem!reader

words: 7.6k

cw: swearing, mentions of death, past abuse/neglect, infertility, smut, oral sex (f!recieving), p in v, creampie, only hints of sub!john, enemies to reluctant allies to enemies to ???, confessions, the idiots are in love, john calls the reader ‘Red’ (because of the blood shtick, he’s very creative) (18+ MDNI)

a/n: wow fucking finally, ive been swamped with a new job and was so worried id never find the time to finish this, but ta-da! i hope you all enjoy my silly little story, and sorry it took so long to make the barbie dolls kiss

alone together - fall out boy

Most nights, you don’t sleep. With your healing factor, you don’t need as much as the average human anyway, but more often than not you keep yourself up until the first rays of sunlight pour through the sprawling windows of The Watchtower.

It makes for a lot of time spent alone, which is fine by you, and a good amount spent alongside whoever else is having trouble that night. There’s always someone; almost a year into being The New Avengers, the team is tight-knit and heavily traumatized. Everyone knows that if they can’t sleep, they can come find you to keep them company. It’s a weekly debate between Bob and Yelena on whether or not you’re actually nocturnal, and it’s not helping the vampire allegations from Alexei.

When it’s Bucky, the two of you catch up on the long list of movies and music that you’ve missed out on over the decades— everything you enjoy he hates, and vice versa. With Bob, you swap books, forcing him to stomach your questionable horror schlock, while you trudge through yet another sci-fi novel about space fascism. You and Ava smoke on your balcony, even if it doesn’t do much for you thanks to your metabolism, but it soothes her pains, physical and mental. It’s rare that Alexei can’t find rest, but when it’s his turn, the two of you split a bottle of vodka and share war stories— he can’t get enough of your Avengers tales, and the anecdotes you have of Nat. Yelena likes video games, technology that escapes you but you partake in anyway to give her the satisfaction of victory that keeps her mind occupied. You have a secret little routine with everyone at this point, something that stays with just you.

And then, there’s John.

It’s been six weeks since your heart stopped and things changed between the two of you. Vitriol and insults traded for longing glances and stilted conversations. You’re learning how to be around him now that it isn’t a battle, your first instinct still to lash out. But you know that’s not what you are anymore, so as the mockery dies on your tongue, the silence settles, because you aren’t ready to acknowledge what you are.

Your midnight routine with him is new, ever evolving, and mostly by accident. It always starts with running into him in the dark, when John is too tired to keep up the pretense of not wanting your comfort. Usually, neither of you speak, sitting in the silence of everything left unsaid, alone together. Sometimes, you muster up enough guts to ask him what’s wrong, and he’s brave enough to answer.

Tonight, you find John in the kitchen, staring aimlessly into the fridge for so long that the alarm for the door starts beeping sharply, and you can’t bear to turn away. He straightens up with a muted curse, shutting the door, and almost jumps when he notices someone. His shoulders relax when a second later he realizes it’s only you, but he still rolls his eyes.

"Jesus, Red. You’re gonna give me a heart attack," he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his forehead. "You hungry, or just here lookin to bug me?"

He’s been feeling the shift too. Sometimes, all he sees when he looks at you is the memory of your cold and broken body. Other times, it’s the glimpse of the real you that you’d given him that night, still only half-alive in his doorway just to make sure he was okay. He doesn’t know what’s harder to grasp; the fact that you rose from the dead or that somewhere deep down you care about him. You made him tongue tied before everything, but it’s even worse now, and he can’t find the line between brushing you off and letting everything out all at once.

“Well, if you go into cardiac arrest, I can stop it.” you quip, fingers fiddling with the tie of your satin robe.

You push past him to lean against the edge of the counter. Despite your teasing nature, there’s not a hint of humor in your irises, only wide-eyed exhaustion. Dark circles line them, and your entire body is tense, muscles taut like a bowstring. It was a night where you’d tried to rest and were made to regret it immediately.

John knows that look.

During the day, you’re all sharp remarks and steadfast confidence, but he’s been watching you long enough to know when you’re not okay. He knows the exhaustion, the way you hold yourself, the fidgeting. It used to be a version of you that he didn’t care for, but with each accidental encounter he longed to do more about what was plaguing you.

"Nightmare, or just insomnia?" he asks, and it feels like knocking down a wall.

“Nightmare,” you answer without hesitation, but don’t elaborate, your voice hoarse. There’s a deep understanding between the two of you, even if neither one knows what to do with it. You meet his gaze, and your grimace softens. “How about you? What was it tonight?”

"Insomnia," John replies with a rough sigh, leaning against the opposite counter, his arms crossed over his chest. He regards you, the silken robe you’re wearing, one shoulder barely exposed to the room. He tears his gaze away reluctantly, focusing on the hectic collection of magnets on the fridge. "Same as usual."

You raise an eyebrow. "You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine?" You hide your request for vulnerability— for connection— behind the teasing. You’ve noted it’s easier for both of you to digest that way.

He lets himself look back over at you, amused by your smart mouth. "You gotta go first."

Your shoulders lift in a languid shrug, the gesture meant to be nonchalant but only serves to make the restlessness more obvious. Your eyes flick up from the alternating tiles on the floor to him, contemplative. You pause for a moment, a brief hesitation before the floodgates open, pushing yourself up to perch on the countertop. It feels like a turning point.

"Dreams of Hydra mostly," you admit, a bitter edge as the words echo in the dim kitchen. "Of waking up strapped down in some cold room, being injected with god knows what. Things I should be over by now."

John is surprised by the rawness. He wasn’t actually expecting a genuine answer, and definitely not one that made his chest ache in ways he can’t rationalize. He remembers your terror in The Void. Seeing you afraid is enough to rattle anyone, but he witnessed it almost firsthand.

"It’s not something you can just be over,” he responds a little too decisively. The idea of you beating yourself up for the crime of being used like that isn’t one that sits well with him. He sighs, shaking his head as if it will clear his racing thoughts. "I still dream about Afghanistan. About… about the orders we followed.” The silence hangs heavily in the room, broken only by the intermittent sound of the freezer rattling in the background. He doesn’t often talk about his time overseas, the story of what he did in the name of defending a country that never once intended to protect him. “Sometimes, Olivia pops up too. Reminds me how much I screwed that up." He glances up. “But the part that makes me feel horrible is the fact I don’t regret it.”

“Why don’t you regret it?” you ask quietly, appreciating the way he’s taken the spotlight off of you.

After several beats, he answers with a weary exhale, his shoulders slumped. “We got married because it was just another thing we were supposed to do. High school sweethearts, family pressure, society. It wasn’t long before we grew apart and both felt trapped. Eventually, it all came crashing down. And I just…” His words trail off into another heavy sigh, the guilt weighing him down, even after all this time. “I guess I got tired of doing what was expected of me. Of being who they all wanted me to be. That’s why I don’t regret letting her walk. Because it felt like the first time I’d done something for myself.”

You’re silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. You understand the weight of expectations; the pressure to be something different. The need to escape the mold other people had created for you. To steal back any bit of control you could, even if it put a wrench in things for others.

John huffs out humorless laugh, shaking his head.  “Just... I wish I hadn’t gotten it all so wrong.”

Your voice is a gentle counterpoint to the weary acceptance in his when you respond. “I won’t deny that you made quite a few mistakes to get here, but when you aren’t given the room when you’re small, you make worse ones when you’re grown. Your country put you under the emotional equivalent of a hydraulic press and then had the nerve to dump you at the first sign of fracture."

The weight of your assertion hits close to home. Your insight into his life—his struggles—is unsettlingly accurate, almost uncanny. You see right through all the bravado and defensiveness, straight to the root of the wounds that might not ever heal.

"I..." he starts, voice hoarse, "I never really thought of it that way." He takes a beat, observing your expression carefully. "Is that what it was like for you? In the Red Room?"

Your focus falls to the floor again at his question. The memories of the Red Room— the pain, the isolation, the never-ending missions— flash through your mind. You take a deep, steadying breath, gathering the strength to give him a piece of yourself in return, something more than a flippant remark.

"In a way," you reply quietly. "I was an orphan in the middle of a war-torn country when they snatched me up, and suddenly I wasn’t alone anymore. I felt a duty to them, even if I didn’t agree with it. They told me who I was, what I was supposed to do, when I was supposed to do it. And I did it perfectly."

John listens intently, the furrow of his brow deepening as you explain. He hesitates for a moment, considering his next words. "But you fought back eventually, didn't you? Broke free." He says it with so much hope, as if he doesn’t already know how your story ends.

"That’s the funny thing," you scoff, "I didn’t. Not from the Red Room at least. I knew I was different, a mutant. And I managed to hide that from them for a long time. I was the best they had then, but the second I couldn’t hide my power anymore, they pawned me off to Hydra. I felt betrayed."

John can’t imagine what hiding must have been like, having to walk through life in fear of being found out, when you’re the strongest person he knows. He’s endlessly impressed by the way you’ve taken the way they trained you and turned it into something that’s all your own. Your brutality is an expression of love. Your criticism is borne out of care. That you give everyone on the team these pieces of yourself over and over, never letting them give in return. You’re so much more than what they made you, but he doesn’t know how to tell you. He realizes he’s been staring too long— captivated by the line of your jaw, the unguarded look in your eye, and the soft curve of your lips— and clears his throat, his gaze dropping from your face.

"Do you ever think..." he falters, the words sticking in his throat. "Do you ever think that maybe if we’d met under different circumstances… we wouldn’t have been such assholes to each other?"

Your eyes narrow curiously. His question hangs in the air, an unexpected deviation. The last time you heard him say anything so sincere was when you were barely cleared from your deathbed. You search him for any hint of falsehood or sarcasm, but find only the same sincerity from that night. You consider his question for a moment.

"I doubt it," you say bluntly, the familiar sharp edge in your tone returning. "We’re both stubborn, and we get on each other’s nerves, and… you make me want to stab you more often than not," you pause, eyeing him up and down, your gaze calculating. "But you know, we don’t have to wait for another life to be different."

He chuckles at your honesty, expecting nothing less, raising an eyebrow at your words. "What, you think some miracle’s gonna happen and suddenly we’ll stop pissing each other off?"

His genuine laugh is the last straw, making your knees feel weak with an emotion you don’t want to stifle by naming. You prop your palms behind you on the counter, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, your robe shifting.

"Or maybe it’s worth looking into a different method to shut each other up," you taunt, low and tinged with that playful sarcasm you’ve mastered.

John scoffs, rolling his eyes, anything to not look at you right now. He’s used to your teasing, your mockery, and at first, he thinks that’s all this is. But then, he realizes you’re looking at him the same way you did that day in the gym, the memory of you underneath him flashing in his head. Still not entirely sure what’s happening, he takes a cautious step towards where you’re sitting on the counter, crowding into your personal space. He leans in, hands braced on the marble on either side of you.

You tense at the proximity, eyes flickering over his face, the disbelief. You’re caught off guard by the raw intensity of the moment, the sudden shift from the solemn conversation to the magnetic pull between you. Then, he drags one hand up your thigh, robe falling out of his way.

"John…" you rasp out, your breathier than you’d like, his given name a halfhearted warning. You can feel your pulse thrumming faster, cheeks flushing. He’s so close, his body warm and solid over you. The sound of his name on your lips, the way your body responds to his touch, ignites something deep within him, and he can’t keep it locked away any longer.

"You gonna tell me to stop?" His hand on your thigh moves higher, his thumb continuing its lazy circles, inching under the hem of your robe. Your breath hitches, heat pooling low in your stomach, mind at war over the urge to either pull back or give in. You know it should be the former, that you need to maintain the boundary, no matter how fragile. But the feel of his touch, the way he's looking at you... it's like you’re caught in his gravitational pull.

"This…" you manage in a low voice, "is a bad idea." John can see the hesitation in your eyes, the battle between desire and sense. But he can also feel you pressing into his touch, see the flush in your cheeks.

“Maybe it is,” he murmurs, his hand drifting higher, his fingers precariously close to your inner thigh. Your legs part for him like it’s second nature. “But does it matter?”

You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, can feel the heat of his breath across your skin. Every rational thought vanishes from your mind, replaced by a rush of heated anticipation so intense that you can’t think straight.

“John,” you whisper again, but it’s not a warning. It’s permission. The sound of his name is like a spark to gasoline.

And he’s gone.

John’s mouth crashes into yours, hungry, desperate, impatient. You’ve been dancing around each other for months— longer than he’s even willing to admit to himself.

The stress practically bleeds from your shoulders as you kiss him back, like you’re relieved, giving him just as much as he’s giving you. It's all teeth and tongue, his grip on your waist tight enough to make you wish the bruises would stay. His other hand tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, cradling your head gently.

He groans as you pull him closer, the sound horribly needy, and he’d be embarrassed in any other situation. Your bow into his touch, legs encircling his hips and pinning him between your thighs. He nips at your bottom lip, catching the sound of your gasp and licking into your mouth. He’s been dying to taste you again since that day on the mat.

Your pulse races as John changes course and his lips move down your jaw, and you can sense how his heart speeds up to match yours. He lingers at the sensitive spot under your left ear, sucking and nipping until you’re pulling him to your waiting mouth. He hauls you up, and in one swift movement he’s carrying you down the hall.

He gets you to his room in record speed, every step fueled by desperate need, slamming the door shut behind you. He wastes no time, pinning you to it, your back pressed firmly against the wood. He captures your mouth in another kiss, hard and needy and you can’t get enough.

Wandering hands explore him further, slipping under his t-shirt and grazing over the ridges of his abs, tracing the trail of hair under his navel to the waistband of his sweatpants. In return, John tugs at the tie of your robe hastily until he can push it off your shoulders, and you shuck it away, revealing nothing underneath but your— very obviously soaked— panties. He crowds you, grinding his hips into yours so you can feel exactly what you’re doing to him.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, Red,” he groans.

“I—" you breathe, little more than a whine as you tug at his sweatpants. “I need you. Now.”

Biting back another embarrassing sound, he turns and crosses the room to his bed, tossing you onto the sheets. He pulls away to just look at you for a moment, staring like he’s committing you to memory. His gaze roams over you slowly, the curve of your waist, the flush of red on your chest, and the hitch of your breathing.

"You're so beautiful," he husks, laced with awe.

Then, he’s straightening out and tugging his shirt over his head, and you’re able to make your stunned reaction to him calling you beautiful look like it’s about him undressing instead. His chest is more sun-kissed than you were expecting, subtle freckles dotted across his shoulders. A set of dog tags rest on a thin chain at the center of his chest, framed by lean muscle on all sides. None of his strength is for show, meticulously honed over his years of service and there long before any serums. His pants are stripped off next, and he wastes no more time before crawling over you. He’s straining in his boxers, aching for you, his mouth finding yours again with fervor.

His hands and lips are everywhere, and it’s so much all at once. You’ve been alone and cold and untouched for so long and now, finally, you’re letting yourself have him. You’ve never been held like this, never felt wanted like this, like he can't breathe without you. You’re not supposed to want this, want him. But God, you do. More than anything else in the world.

Your head falls against his pillows, savoring the weight of him over you. The touch of his lips, his beard scraping your skin, all heighten the buzz running through your body, so much better than any of your fantasies. His cock is hard and insistent against your thigh, practically begging for your attention.

You arch your back, pressing your chest to his, a command for more. There’s something feral in the way he responds, hands cupping your breasts, squeezing firmly. He can’t get enough of you. He kisses you hungrily, his hands gliding across your sides, your shoulder blades, everywhere, desperate to touch as much skin as possible. His lips find your neck again, leaving hot, wet kisses that trail down your torso, detouring only to lap over each peaked nipple with dedication. He continues lower, his nose burying into your navel, inhaling deeply. He glances up at you, his eyes clouded with desire, the question on the tip of his tongue. You beat him to it, spreading your legs wilder, beckoning him closer.

"You wanna taste me, baby?" you purr.

John feels the heat in his gut flare at your words, your voice, your body. His tongue traces a path over your hip bone, down to your inner thigh. He takes a moment to marvel at the wet patch on your panties, pressing a kiss over the soaked cotton before urging them down your legs and flinging them to some forgotten corner of the room.

He’s homed in on your dripping cunt, and you swear he licks his lips. "Oh, I'm gonna devour you, Red."

He gets on his knees at the foot of the bed, pulling you to the edge by your hips, and tosses your thighs over his shoulders. He starts agonizingly slow, his tongue tracing slow circles through your folds, teasing, savoring. It doesn’t take you long to realize he knows exactly what he's doing, and it’s unexpected, but you’re sure as hell not about to complain. Every sound that slips from your lips only encourages him further, determined to prove something to you that he can’t quite put a name to. He alternates between broad, languid strokes and focused, pointed flicks, finding all the right spots that make you grind your cunt into his mouth.

“John,” you gasp again, hands tangling in his hair, your grip unrelenting. “You’re so good at this… so fucking good.” You swear you can feel him fighting a smug smile between your legs. But before you can call him on it, John flattens one hand over your lower stomach, holding your hips down, while the other circles your entrance. He teases only for a moment, sliding one finger, and then another inside. Your thighs clamp around his head as he fucks you with his fingers, curling them at just the right spots, his pace relentless. He watches you through it all, completely mesmerized by the way you look, how he’s the one making you feel so good.

“That’s it, baby—“ you sigh, the endearment slipping out without a thought. “Fuck. Keep going.” You’re a trembling wreck, your senses overwhelmed by his skilled tongue. The coil of pleasure tightens inside you, a breadth away from snapping. It’s so much, minding your reactions slips your mind, the moans and curses coming freely now. You’re incredibly vocal, constantly singing his praises, trailing off into unintelligible cries that only serve to push him further.

“I’m so close,” you choke out, “you’re gonna make me come.”

So fucking close.

And then, he does something with his fingers, a subtle crook as his lips wrap around your clit, and that's it. You shatter, your body arching off the bed, head thrown back, a strangled cry escaping you.

"J-John," you weep, shaking with the force of your orgasm. "Oh my god, fuck, so good.” John doesn’t let up, lapping at your cunt to draw out your high for as long he can. You have to pull him away once the overstimulation kicks in, reluctant to part with the taste of your release. The soft praises, the way you’d cried his name ringing in his ears, his cock uncomfortably hard, just from eating you out.

His eyes roam over your form, taking in the sight of you, debauched and flushed, chest heaving with each ragged breath. He doesn’t deserve this. Deserve you.

You lie there, still gushing through the aftershocks, your mind fuzzy and utterly sated. Every nerve ending crackles with electricity, your breathing shallow, skin damp with sweat. It feels like your body has been wrung out and put back together again in the best possible way.

You glance at John who’s patiently waiting for you to come down, but you catch the hint of doubt etched into his brow. Not regret, but the shadow of inadequacy. It brings a momentary gloom over you, baffled by how he could be insecure after giving you the best orgasm of your life.

“I take back what I said about you going down.” You grab his hand, the one that’s still covered in your cum, pulling him closer before he can wallow any longer. John goes willingly, his body settling over yours, and his eyes go wide as you bring his damp fingers to your mouth, tongue darting out to clean yourself off of them. ���I guess your mouth is good for things other than running it.”

Your lips find his next, tasting more of your pleasure on his tongue and in his beard. He’s wound tight, the hunger thrumming beneath his skin, but the feeling of your kiss— and your characteristically vulgar compliments— settles the doubt within him.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” you continue, pulling him into you with your legs around his waist. He rolls his hips yours, grinding his leaking cock brushing your cunt, both of you chasing that friction.

"You’re so goddamn perfect," he murmurs against your lips, rough with need. His hips speed up, soaking up the wetness at the apex of your thighs, even though the barrier of his boxers.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

You flip your positions suddenly and swiftly, just like that day in the gym, straddling his hips. Your weight settles over him, tugging his waistband down until his length is freed from the stifling cotton. That day, you’d felt him through his sweats, made up a picture in your mind of what he’d look like underneath. But nothing compares to seeing him in the flesh.

Your hands wander over him, appreciating every contour of muscle, every scar— even the one near his ribcage that was very likely your doing— every faint freckle that dots his shoulders. The way you caress him is firm and deliberate, and you’re lost in the moment, the reality of what’s between you settling heavily over your head.

John watches through half-lidded eyes, the rise and fall of his chest shaky as your lips and teeth trail over his chest. You leave little marks in your wake, making sure to leave your brand on him, even if he can’t do the same on you. He feels the shift too, and he’s terrified, but he never seems to know when to keep his mouth shut around you.

"I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” he confesses suddenly. “You wouldn’t even give me the time of day back then." He knows it was wrong, that he was supposed to be happily married at the time, and it was something he never intended to act on.

And then, fate— better known as Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine— shoved you back together and locked you in a bunker and forced you to make nice to stay alive. He never thought it would actually end with you in his bed.

"That was three years ago,” you point out, his admission still sinking in. Your heart hammers in your chest, the reality of this hitting you in full and all at once. The depth of the desires he’s been denying, the need you’ve been ignoring.

"I’ve been holding back for years." John pushes himself up on his elbows, leaning against the headboard to be level with you. You’re both in anticipation as you scramble for the right way to respond, wide-eyed and entirely focused on the other.

“Stop holding back.”

And your wish is his command. He relaxes at the tentative acceptance of his feelings, and it’s more than enough when he’s still not sure how to describe them. He leans into you, and this time his kiss is slower, thorough. Your thighs cage his in, all of you on display just for him, his cock throbbing as you start to move your hips. He almost can’t handle the feeling, and he tries to ground himself as to not come in three seconds, and a different issue occurs to him instead.

“Are you on the pill— or something? Or do I need…” he trails off, wondering if he even has any. There’s been no one since or before Olivia, no reasons to be prepared.

Your stomach drops, John’s question sobering in a way you know he didn’t intend. You hadn’t really considered the fact that he was unaware of the Red Room’s ‘graduation ceremony’. It’s been such a constant in your life for decades— less of a sore spot and more of a mild ache that flares up on occasion— but one that doesn’t often cross your mind anymore. A bitter laugh almost escapes you, but you bite it back. You know you don’t technically owe him an explanation, but you decide he deserves one.

“I’m not— but—“ you start, faltering on how to put it into words without completely ruining the moment. “I can’t— I don’t have the equipment.”

John is struck still by the disclosure, his hands pausing where they were gliding over your sternum. It takes a second for his brain to catch up to what you’ve said, but then his eyes flick down, spotting the faint scar that runs vertically through your lower stomach. He puts together the pieces that he should have realized before now.

“It wasn’t my choice but— it’s fine, it was a long time ago,” you insist. It happened before the serums that made you invulnerable, making it permanent. You want him to trust that it’s safe, but don’t want to talk about it, don’t want to linger on another thing that they took from you— autonomy. 

“Red—“ he starts, and you mistake his concerned tone for pity, interrupting him before he can continue.

“Don’t worry about it,” you plead. “I’m fine. I want to feel you.” You’re desperate for this to not turn into another therapy session, so you try to resume the friction with a shift of your hips, but his grip holds you still.

You say it all so flippantly, like it doesn’t matter, and he has to forcibly stop the groan that’s building in his chest as you rock against him. The need to make you forget everything that’s ever been done to you is overwhelming. His grip loosens, no longer possessive or rough, and he runs his knuckles over the sensitive skin of your stomach, meant as a comforting gesture.

“I’m sorry they did this to you, sweetheart.”

His voice is so warm. Your heart swells at the use of the term— so tender and familiar, so at odds with everything you feel you are— and you want more. But he’s still looking at you with worry, like what happened doesn’t sit right with him.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to think, I just want this… you.”

He can't deny you anything, not now. He has to give you what you need, and it’s this. Him.

You need him.

“You have me, Red. You have me.”

His grip on your hips loosens, no longer holding you in place but lightly kneading your flesh. You’re moving again, but it all feels heavier now, and you keep the pace languid, looking into his eyes. He’s content to give you the control, his body moving on your lead, driven by a need to make it good for you.

It’s not until you decide you’ve reduced him into a desperate mess underneath you that you finally change course, angling your hips so that the tip of his cock catches your entrance. His hips jerk and he can’t help it, driving up into you, groaning into your mouth. His hand tangles in your hair and you echo his sounds as you sink down on him, the stretch euphoric.

"God, you’re perfect," he growls, “you’re so goddamn perfect." The feeling of being inside you, of losing himself in you… it isn’t something he’d ever thought he’d experience, something he can’t put into words.

You lean up to capture his mouth, your tongue sliding over his, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting him as close as you can get him. The world around them disappears, nothing but the feel of him inside you, the taste of his moans on your tongue.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “You feel so good, filling me up so well, so deep."

Your little praises and the curses are more than enough to drive him crazy. He can’t think, thrusting up into your heat on pure instinct. He’s never felt like this, with anyone, like he’s enough. And as you gasp his name, your face clouded with pleasure, it hits him like a ton of bricks.

“I can't get enough of you," he pleads without any clear request. "Can't get you out of my head, out of my system…."

You can feel it building in your body, the heat and sensation coiling tight, pleasure building as you ride him vigorously, thighs flexing, your hands on his shoulders for leverage. You set a rougher pace, lost in him, drowning in the sounds he’s making. He kisses you again, mouth hungry and demanding. You can feel him growing closer, the way his rhythm is turning erratic, his blood is pumping, and you know he’s on the edge.

You cup his face, making him look at you, the words coming out in gasps of breath, “You’re so close, aren’t you? Are you gonna come for me?"

His eyes snap open, his expression raw and primal, his body coiled tight. His fingers dig into the meat of your hip firmly, leaving bruises that heal quicker than he can make them over and over, but it only adds to your bliss.

He cries out your name, thick with emotion. “Please.”

The word hangs in the air. He’s asking for something more than just this physical moment. You trace his swollen, kiss-reddened lips with your thumb.

“Please, what?”

He closes his eyes, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his body trembling under yours.

“Please,” he repeats, a ragged whisper, his lips brushing against your neck, “please don’t leave me… don’t leave me, please.”

He’s not sure he can bear the answer, but he needs you to know, to understand, that he needs you in a way that’s so much more than this moment. You suck in a breath, the words catching you off balance, your heart constricting in your chest. You want to tell him you won’t, that he’s stuck with you, just as much as you’re stuck with him. But the words stick in your throat, the truth feeling too big, too real. Instead, you wrap your arms around him, holding him close, pressed up against him, wordlessly offering yourself.

You’re giving him something he didn’t know he even needed, something comforting and safe and he doesn’t remember ever feeling this known before. He buries his face deeper into your neck, a small shudder running down his body. It’s too much, too intense, but he can’t stop it, can’t hold back.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps, “baby, can I— please…” Your name on his lips, the low pleading, almost desperate edge to his voice.

“Go on. Inside.”

That simple, filthy command— it’s all it takes for him to snap, and his orgasm is crashing over him. It triggers yours a moment later, the way he’s filling you and the gravely way he cries out completely irresistible. Your name is on his lips, foreheads pressed together as you both come.

“Red… Baby, baby… God. You’re — You’re so good, you’re so goddamn perfect.”

John lays his head on your shoulder, snuggled close, the heat between you cooling to a simmer. You’re both still shaking slightly, the last waves washing over, and you stay this way for what could be hours, your fingers gently running through his hair.

You’re so goddamn perfect.

It rings in your head over and over, and you’re not sure if you want him to say it again or if you even want to respond at all. You don’t know what to do about this feeling, this feeling of wanting more.

He’s not moving, not yet, not ready to lose this contact, this moment. He’s always been a straightforward person, but all he can think of is how damn good this feels, your fingers brushing in his hair, the way you hold him, your praises echoing in his mind.

He finally lifts his head, moving just enough so that he can look at you. And he’s not expecting what he sees.

Your eyes are welling with tears.

Red flags are screaming in his head at the sight of your tears, his mind flashing over all of the ways that he could have hurt you, if he’s pushed too hard, if your wounds are still too fresh. He pulls back, panic making him tense. “Baby? Why are you—“

“I’m not sad,” you reassure him quickly, giving him a watery laugh, shaky as you reach up to dab at your eyes. Two months ago, you probably would have killed him for seeing you like this. That time seems so far away right now. “It was just— a lot, that’s all. I’m not sad, I promise.” And you mean it— you’re not sad, you’re completely overwhelmed with a million different emotions you don’t know how to deal with. You look at him, the concern on his face so unusual and sweet that you can’t help smiling.

“I’m not normally like this, I just— I was expecting a quick hate-fuck, not…” you trail off, terrified to be the one to voice the feelings first.

His concern eases slightly at your admission, his brow still furrowed with worry, but he lets out a shaky laugh. He had been thinking the same, a quick roll in the sheets and the usual brush-off he’s used to. He hadn’t been expecting you to let him past your defenses, or for every damn thing you say and do to make him want you more and more.

He reaches a hand up to your cheek, gently stroking away the tears from your skin. His hand is tentative, as if he’s unsure he’s doing the right thing.

“Maybe it’s a surprise for both of us.” His eyes roam over your face, taking in the way you look, all flushed and sated. “Can I— can I hold you?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the question, your heart fluttering like an over-excited kid. You’d never allowed yourself something so soft, not since you can ever remember, and you’re terrified of how much you want it.

Your response is low, like you’re trying to make sure you don’t scare anyone away. “Please. Yes.”

Relief washes over him, the tension in his body disappearing. He gently pulls you into his arms, settling against the pillows, shifting until you’re lying on his chest. Pulling the blankets over your tangled forms, John runs a hand through your hair, his touch so incredibly tender it feels foreign.

You tuck your head under his jaw, wanting to be as close as possible to listen to and feel the beat of his heart. He’s holding you like you’re something precious, something worth caring for, and it makes your throat tight again.

He’s quiet for a long time, his fingers tracing absent lines across your scalp.

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks. “What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?”

You’re caught so off guard by the question that you burst into a fit of laughter. You pull away so that you can look up at him, the question completely unexpected.

“That’s what you want to know right now?” you ask, an eyebrow raised quizzically at the question. “My favorite kind of ice cream?”

The sound of your laugh is like music, sending a jolt through his chest, and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He grins down at you, his gaze filled with something adoration.

“Yup.” He grins wider at your skepticism. “Ice cream. It’ll be important for when I take you out.”

Your stomach does a flip. When.

You’ve never been one to entertain anything like the idea of a relationship, too caught up in life-or-death situations or your own baggage and grief to even consider the possibility.

“Neapolitan,” you answer simply, biting your lip to keep yourself from looking too enthusiastic. He can see it on your face, the way your expression turns sentimental at the thought of it.

“Neapolitan, huh? I should’ve guessed. You seem like the kind to have trouble making decisions.”

You playfully smack his shoulder, scoffing. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Let’s hear your favorite, then.”

His face contorts into a borderline theatrical facade of pain, his hand moving up to rub dramatically at his arm.

“Rocky road,” he says, trying not to crack while feigning hurt. “It’s a classic. And apparently, a sign of a stubborn personality.”

“So, I’m indecisive, but your favorite ice cream is the one with the most crap in it?” You rest fully on his chest, wanting to be closer to him, wanting to soak in the feeling of his touch. “It’s overcompensating,” you tease, tinged with affection.

He lets out a quiet oomph as you lean against him, his arm shifting to wrap more securely around your back as he brings you closer. The boyish smirk on his face grows at your obvious teasing. “It’s not overcompensating,” he argues, full of mock protest, “I think you just experienced firsthand how much I’m not overcompensating, actually. Compensating perfectly adequately.”

You can’t help but snort at that, your head lifting to see the self-satisfied grin on his face. It’s so unexpected, the banter, the lighthearted flirting. But it feels good, so good, in a way you didn’t know you were capable of.

“Oh sure,” you say dryly. “So, when are you taking me out then?”

His hand runs up and down your spine, his touch gentle, touch is so light it’s almost ticklish. “Tomorrow night.” His tone is so soft, so different from how he normally speaks. “There’s this barbeque place not too far from here, pretty good for New York,” he scoffs. “And then, ice cream.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, and for once you have no witty retort. Because he’s making plans. With you. For a real, actual date.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “That sounds… nice.”

He’s not sure how this is happening, but he’s sure as hell not about to question it now. “It’s a date, baby.”

You once thought the strangest thing you’d ever done was go through space and back in time to resurrect your friends. But really, it’s feeling safe and happy wrapped up in the arms of John Walker, and agreeing to go out on a date.

“You know the team is going to never let us live this down, right?”

That gets more laughter to bubble out of him, a wide, genuine smile on his face as the thought of the team seeing you together hits him. You’re right, of course. They’re gonna have a field day with this, and he’s going to have to take the brunt of their trades, because most of them are still   a little bit scared of you.

He presses another gentle kiss to your forehead, smile lingering. “Think we can keep it to ourselves for a little while? Just us?”

You aren’t used to asking for things, but you want this, and you let herself be honest with yourself for once. “They mean well, and probably already have a betting pool running behind our backs— but I don’t want them to mess this up before we can figure it out.”

John nods, his own heart swelling at your words. This. He wants this too, more than he’s ever wanted anything, and he’s not ready to share it with anyone else.

“They’ll notice something is up if we aren’t constantly at each other’s throats, you know,” you add, a reminder that only a few hours ago the two of you had been feigning hate for each other for months.

John chuckles, because if anyone knows how hard you’ve been denying the truth, it’s yourselves. He’s not ashamed to admit that it was a bit like pulling teeth, lashing out at you when all he could think about was kissing you senseless.

“I’m sure we’ll still find enough to bicker over to make it look convincing.”

You’ve never wanted someone, not like this, and you know he’ll be able to see it all over your face if he looks. So, you bury your head into the crook of his neck, trying to hide the way you’re beaming as you respond. “We do a rather good job of hating each other, usually.”

He gently lifts your chin, tilting your face up so that he can see you clearly. He's not letting you hide, amused by how damn obvious you are, a reprieve from your typical cold demeanor.

“Don’t you dare hide from me, Red.”

You aren’t used to feeling so exposed. Your forehead rests against his, John’s hand moving to cup your cheek as you lean in, responding with a kiss gentler than the ones you’ve shared previously.

His breath catches at the soft brush of your lips, at the feeling of you under his hands.

“Say you’ll be here in the morning.”

You can hear his sincerity, the sound of it going straight to your heart. 

You smile, an unfamiliar and tender smile, so delicate it’s like sharing a secret.

“I’ll be here in the morning.”

[featseungmin]

quest complete | bc

bang chan x reader It’s late by the time Chris finally manages to drag himself home. wc: 0.8k genre: domestic fluff warnings: none thanks to @lovetaroandtaemin for the banner 💙 I wrote this at 11pm last night. hope you enjoy

It’s late by the time Chris finally manages to drag himself home. More morning than night, there’s a certain ethereal energy to the night. The beep of the lock as he punches in the code is almost too loud, the jingle of his keys as he places them on the little table in the entry too harsh. It’s a shame to ruin the silence like this, but he’s so tired that there’s nothing he can really do about it. The exhaustion has seeped deep within him, through his muscles and down into the bone. 

He almost feels like he’s crawling through the house, he’s moving so slowly, and when he rounds the corner into the living room, he’s shocked to discover the television is still on. For a second, he thinks that you’ve fallen asleep in front of the tv again in an attempt to wait up for him. There’s a brief moment where he considers just collapsing on the couch beside you. But then his brain catches up, and he realizes that it’s a video game on the screen, not a movie, and that you are, in fact, still awake.

“Jagi?” he asks softly, and his voice sounds hoarse, even to his own ears. 

You tilt your head in his direction, attention dividing automatically between him and your game. “I thought you’d end up sleeping in the studio again,” you admit. 

After a second, you pause your game and reach an arm out to him, beckoning him closer. It would take even less to convince him on a normal day, but right now, his body–his soul–craves your touch, and he’s more than happy to oblige. He hums as you place a delicate kiss to his temple, and there’s a warmth that spreads through him like wildfire.

“What are you doing up still?” he manages to ask. 

Just being beside you is enough to energize him even slightly, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his side. You snuggle in almost immediately, getting comfortable against him.

“I’m so close to the next chapter,” you tell him, unpausing your game. Chris knows you’ve been dedicating huge amounts of time to it of late. It’s the remake of one of your favorite games, and he knows you’ve been trying to do all of the side quests. Your character–he knows the guy’s name, but his sleep-addled brain can’t seem to recall it–is atop a giant chicken, running through a desert. “I only had a couple more side quests to do, but then the story kept happening and I dunno.” You laugh softly. “Just got sucked in I guess.”

He hums, resting his head against your own. 

“Sleepy?” You almost sound amused, your hand coming over to squeeze his thigh.

“Little bit. Long day.”

You pause your game again. “We can go to bed. Let me just save and-”

“‘M comfy here,” he tightens his arm ever so slightly, squeezing you against him. “Get to your checkpoint or whatever.”

He likes to watch you play, sometimes. Your games always seem to have these long narratives, he can’t help but be drawn in. Sure, he misses some of the story sometimes, but he’s usually more than happy to spend time with you while you’re playing, and he knows that you don’t mind filling him in with the story bits that he wasn’t around to see.

Except tonight, he’s exhausted. Normally, his insomnia would have no trouble keeping him awake–there’s been more than one night when you’ve stayed up with him, playing one of your games half-asleep and just going through the motions. Tonight, though? He’s exhausted enough that tonight might actually be one of the nights where he miraculously doesn’t need some sort of sleep aid.

For a moment, you lean to the side and look at him. He’s not quite sure what you’re looking for, maybe you’re just generally looking, maybe you’re checking to make sure he’s okay. Whatever it is, you seem to find it, because you squeeze his thigh again, patting the inside of his leg gently. You cradle the controller in your hands, arm coming to rest half on your lap, half on his own, and you settle back into the game.

It’s sweet, how you try to explain to him the little bit of the story that he’s missed. You’re telling him about how you found the big chicken, and he tries to pay attention. He really does. But you’re so warm, and so soft. And he’s so tired. He can feel himself slipping, his head resting heavier against you as you play.

You hum softly, and he feels your thumb rub gently across his leg where your hand rests. “Good night, my love,” you whisper, soft lips brushing against his cheek.

He falls asleep to the triumphant sounds of a completed quest.

[ladyhoneydarlinglove]

one piece drabble | zosan | pride kisses 2025 challenge

{KISS ON THE NECK}

By this point in his life, Sanji’s body has been conditioned to never let him sleep past five am unless he’s sick or actively dying. But occasionally he’ll find himself waking up even earlier than that, or sometimes never being able to fall asleep in the first place. And since Sanji’s never seen the point of lying around when there’s work that could be done, he’ll rise and get started on his day, even if that means beginning it at ass o’clock in the morning.

In the past, this has never been an issue; it’s not like Sanji’s disturbing anyone while working in the kitchen, and while his crewmates are of course sympathetic to his insomnia, they let him deal with it in his own way. At most they’ll offer to take on some of Sanji’s other daily chores, or ask if he wants to take a nap later—both of which Sanji always declines, because his inability to sleep doesn’t need to be anyone’s problem but his own.

Of course, that was before he and Zoro were (officially) romantically involved. Now every time Sanji can’t sleep and tries to start his day early, he ends up in a protracted battle with the stupid marimo to get him back into bed, which usually goes something like this:

“The hell are you doing up at this hour?” Zoro asks when he comes down from the crow’s nest to find Sanji in the kitchen one morning at four am, already starting on the day’s breakfast prep.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Sanji replies smoothly, even as he keeps his gaze firmly down on his cutting board. Because this is not the first time they’ve done this song-and-dance, and Sanji knows that if he sees the fond, exasperated concern in Zoro’s hazel-grey eye, he’s liable to be guilted into compliance like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Which is so fucking ridiculous it makes Sanji want to kick himself.

“I’m the night watchman; I’m supposed to be up,” comes Zoro’s voice from somewhere behind Sanji. “You, on the other hand, are the cook, and you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Well, I couldn’t sleep,” Sanji says, steeling himself for the part he knows always comes next and telling himself firmly that he will not be coerced into going back to bed this time. He won’t.

But even though he’s ready for it, Sanji’s breath still catches when Zoro’s arms wrap around him from behind, his sturdy bulk pressed all along Sanji’s back while his lips brush the nape of Sanji’s neck.

“You should go back to bed, curly,” Zoro murmurs, voice low and warm in a way that has Sanji fighting not to melt. He has to remind himself that this is not an impromptu show of affection from the swordsman, but rather a calculated move that needs to be countered.

“Why?” Sanji asks, finishing up the dice on his current onion and reaching for another. “I’m not going to be able to fall asleep anyway, I might as well be up.”

“Because your body needs to rest, and even just lying down quietly in the dark is better than nothing,” Zoro replies. The tip of his nose traces along the curve of Sanji’s ear before he drops a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just behind it. Sanji’s body, traitorous sack of shit that it is, shivers in response.

“Where the fuck do you get off lecturing me about sleep, Mr. ‘in bed at four, up by seven’?” Sanji attempts to snap, but the complete lack of anger in his tone renders it rather ineffective.

“I nap,” Zoro points out, in between a trail of slow, sweet kisses down the column of Sanji’s neck that he refuses to acknowledge are making him go weak at the knees. “You don’t. So I’m still better rested than you are.”

“Fuck off,” Sanji tries to say, but the curse gets lost on a gasp when Zoro fucking nuzzles into his neck with a soft pleading noise and goddamnit. God fucking damnit, Sanji hates him. 

”I can’t just abandon these onions,” Sanji concedes with an irritable huff, slamming his knife down against the cutting board. “But if you leave me the fuck alone for now then I will… Take a nap with you later.”

“Mmm,” Zoro hums, considering. “Promise?”

Sanji sighs. “Yes, you manipulative bastard. I promise.”

He can feel the victorious curve of Zoro’s smile against his neck. Fucking asshole.

“Okay,” Zoro says, pressing one final, lingering kiss to Sanji’s nape. “Deal.”

[bekolxeram]

Everyone decides to be sad about Tommy spending the holidays alone today. I just want to say, I hate you all. Especially @mmso-notlikethat with this post. As payback for making me cry my way into insomnia, I wrote this on my phone instead of sleeping.

By the time he knocks on the door, Tommy still has no idea what to expect. “Wear something nice, we’re celebrating tonight,” that’s the only instruction he’s received from Evan, his boyfriend once again. Tommy can’t help but smile at the mere thought of finally allowing himself to say that name.

He has a burgundy dress shirt on with a pair of light grey slim fit pants. Simple, but elegant, hopefully properly dressed for this undisclosed commemoration. March is not known for its holidays, so what’s the occasion that calls for such festivity? They did meet last March at the cruise ship rescue, maybe that was it? Or perhaps Evan is having some sort of career advancement? They’ve been back together for just a few weeks, there’s simply not enough time for Tommy to catch up on Evan’s ever so eventful life. To that, Tommy silently mourn the time they’ve lost, due to his own cowardice.

“Hey — Hey,” Evan takes a step outside of the door to greet Tommy with a quick peck on the lips. Tommy lets the younger man drag him into the loft without much reaction, because he’s still confused by the sight in front of him: Evan in his usual navy blue button up, dark jeans and… a Christmas hat?

Inside the loft is a jumble of sparkly festive decorations. To his left, he sees “Happy Birthday Tommy”; to his right, “Merry Christmas”; and deeper into the living space, “Happy New Year”.

“Jee and Mara helped setting these up,” Evan says while taking half of a roast turkey out of the oven. “This one is from Bobby. He said half a bird is enough for the two of us, if we don’t want to suffer through leftover for the next 7 days.” He then sets the tray next to some roasted vegetables and a casserole. “The casserole is from Chimney, but I’m pretty sure it’s Maddie’s recipe. Hen got you a cake. I think she said something about being sure you would like it. We can have it for dessert. Oh, and the champagne is from…”

“Eddie, because he can’t cook.” Tommy cuts in.

“Exactly!”

“Evan, what’s going on here?”

Evan steps closer, taking both of Tommy’s hands into his own, “You told me the other day that you spent your 40th birthday alone… I only realized later that you were probably on your own for the entire holiday season, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, Valentine’s Day. I know it doesn’t come close to the real thing, but I was thinking maybe we could make up for a few key moments that we missed.” He dims the lights in the loft with a remote control and fiddles with something on the dining table. Suddenly, the whole room is lit up with colorful patterns and twinkling stars. “I couldn’t get any firework around here, so I borrowed this star projector from Christopher.”

“Oh… Evan,” Tommy sighs, eyes already hazy with tears.

“I’m not asking you to move in with me or to make major commitments. I’m not asking for anything in return at all. This is… a promise, from me to you. No matter what happens, what becomes of us in the future, I’ll be there when you need me, we all will.”

Evan says earnestly, with utmost conviction in his tone. The clarity in his eyes reminds Tommy of that day at the café terrace, almost a year ago. “I just want you to know, Tommy, you’re no longer alone.”

A few drops of tears escape Tommy’s eyes, but before he can respond, Evan pulls out a mistletoe from his pocket and dangles it over their heads.

“You have to kiss me now.” Evan says with a cheeky grin. Tommy waits no time to capture those smiling lips with his own, kissing him with all the love and gratitude in his heart.

“I love you, Evan. I’m so lucky to have you.” Tommy pulls him into a warm embrace.

“I love you too.” Now it’s Evan’s turn to tear up.

Tommy pulls back a little and asks, “hey, would you mind if we celebrate Valentine’s Day first?”

“Oh, you mean you’re interested in the Valentine’s Night activity?”

“Depends on what you have in mind.”

“Come upstairs. I’ll show you.”

[scaraobsession]

Categorically Yours⎯ ♡

⎯ 02. oh wow ;-;

Note: If future written parts don't live up to this one, it's because I used 110% of my sleepless brain for this one and the perfect flavour of insomnia is hard to recreate.

~600 words, Scara x reader

You stare blankly at the whiteboard in front of the lecture hall. On there, a blur of bullet points and philosophical trivia. God, this class is already so confusing. And it’s only the first lecture at that. Nice start with a PowerPoint straight from academic hell.

These are only the basic definitions — easily doable if it wasn’t for the professor trying to make it as confusing as possible. This guy really wants to sound smart. Circling the topic but never getting to the point and instead getting lost in his endless tangents. He must’ve explained the same concept in five different confusing ways by now.

Looking down at your messy notes, you sigh. Even your pink gel pen can’t save them from looking like they belong to a crazy person. Crossed lines upon crossed lines, question marks on the side and of course the doodles that seem to happen on their own the less you understand.

You hold back another frustrated huff. Hu Tao should’ve been here. Stupid fever. Not that she’d help you get any of this crap — she’d be even more lost than you, probably — but she would’ve made it entertaining. Or at least bearable. Like, at least she’d suffer by your side. But nooooo she gets to stay at home and sleep in while you have to endure a lecture that should be forbidden from ever being held again.

Since focusing is no longer an option, you take a look around. Your eyes land on the desk to your left.

Nothing.

No notebook, no laptop, not even a pen is sitting on the desk. All you see is the smooth wooden surface. That's strange.

This is one of those classes where the professor feels really important, so much so that he won’t publish the presentation slides, because “you retain more if you take your own notes”. Maybe the person next to you forgot their writing utensils. Or is just as clueless as you about the words the professor is spewing.

Curiosity wins and you glance sideways — and oh.

He’s pale, like he hasn’t seen the sunlight in God knows how long. His dark indigo hair falls over his forehead in an almost perfect way. Despite his sharp features, he has an unplaceable delicateness. Not from his expression, but from his facial structure.

And he’s just sitting there. Unmoving, staring at the professor with an unreadable expression. Either he’s in the zone, holding on to every word the professor utters, or he’s in the same boat as you.

You decide to take your chances and open a new page on your notebook, scribbling a quick note for him onto the paper. After hesitating for about a second, you slide it onto his desk.

It catches his attention and he takes out a pen from his jacket pocket.

You look at him wide-eyed. Is this guy serious? Or mental? Doesn’t need notes for this lecture? What if he means no notes in general? He must think he’s a gift from God to academia himself if he actually believes he needs zero notes for a lecture where we don’t get the presentation slides.

Upon seeing your (rightfully so) puzzled expression, he snorts and turns away quickly. You can’t see his face, but you can feel his slightly condescending snigger taking away the last bit of doubt. This guy is some kind of genius. Or some kind of asshole with an inflated ego.

Either way, you outed yourself as completely clueless. And now he probably thinks you’re some kind of idiot who thinks Socrates is a skin care brand. How embarrassing.

previous masterlist next

summary⎯ It starts with a note in philosophy lecture. They sit together once, then again. Now they’re texting, sharing notes, and maybe something else they won’t admit. Minor in philosophy, major in denial.

Taglist:

@bittersweetmiko @lizzie-harper @hntft @bubblebellaz @vlynynynyn @rumitome @qjvt7 @insomniacdaydreamss @vi0let-writes @bananasquash @9meree

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

Soulmate Au

Yandere Shadowpeach x Reader

Enemies to lovers

Soulmates

Angst

Intro to the au!

You always knew that you had two soul mates., it was crystal clear for you. Between the dual flowers that grew whenever they would get hurt, the two types of writing on your skin, even the shared dreams you had. There was never just one, no there were two one who was a shadowy figure in your dreams and the other closer to being almost too bright.

When you were young you would talk to them in your dreams. You used to spend time sleeping just to catch a glimpse of them. However all of that stopped in its tracks the day you turned six. The day your father who was your mothers soul mate cheated on her and left her for another man.

Nothing could compare to the feeling of betrayal you felt. You thought that being soulmates with someone meant that you would be together forever, that it meant that the loyalty would never wane. Apparently it didn’t, ever since that day you didn’t care how many soulmates you had, they were merely strangers to you.

Strangers that didn’t have anything to do with you and would never catch sight of you. If you had anything to say about it.

That night you went to sleep with tears streaming down your face. You were so mad, so upset, your little mind wasn’t sure weather to scream or just cry. Your dad had just left two hours ago and your mother had spent that time trying to comfort you.

“But your soulmates!” You had yelled with a lisp in your tone.

“… I know sweetie, but… sometimes even soulmates don’t end up together. Life isn’t a fairytale and soulmates are merely strangers who are connected in many ways. That doesn’t mean they will or ever have loved you,” her words cut deep into your young heart.

Maybe it was her words, or maybe it was how your father had left. You couldn’t be sure but what you did know that day was you didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not even your two best friends as you entered your dreams.

"Rose!” a little bundle of light bound towards you followed by a slower and shyer ball of shadow.

You were enveloped in a hug, you could almost feel his warmth. If it had been before today you would have welcomed the hug with open arms. Now… he was a stranger, he didn’t care about you, life wasn’t some fairytale.

Your red cheeks still brimmed with tears were unseen because of the bond. Angrily you pushed the young boy away. He stumbled back falling to his butt, the little shadow running to catch him.

“Rose?” the words were so confused and sad, why did you push him away? You never pushed him away before.

“I don’t like you! Go away!” you were young, you didn’t know what to feel or what to do.

Soulmates were stupid, they made your mom cry. You didn’t like soulmates… Not anymore. You woke up crying in the middle of the night.

Neither of your soulmates took that news well.

“What did you do to her!?”

"I didn’t do anything… s-she left… what do we do-.”

“No what do I do!? I am getting my soulmate back!”

He was wrong. He never really saw her much after that. And while the shadow was still by his side, the temperamental child never thought that he was hurting too. Because of that all three children suffered the loss of a relationship that they had loved so much.

Your life was never the same. You developed insomnia from your newly wrecked sleeping schedule. You stopped doodling on your skin, a hobby that one of your soulmates shared more than the other. You stopped letting yourself get hurt, you didn’t need to burden your soulmates with your injuries, the flowers that were sure to bloom along the skin where you got hurt, if you weren’t going to ever meet them.

You didn’t need a soulmate let alone two. They still had each other, if they were desperate for companionship then they could go to each other. You told this to yourself several times, even so you couldn’t stop the dull ache at the thought of losing them. Even without knowing who or what they even were.

For a few years you would see them searching for you in your shared dreams, you would always hide no matter how often you’d hear them call for you. For their precious Rose, the flower that would bloom on their skin whenever you would get hurt. They didn’t need you, why did they call for you so often?

The writing on yours hands and chest never stopped, asking how you were. And the flowers, oh the flowers that showed you how reckless your sunflower was. Lavender was far more cautious but they too would get injured every now and then. Sunflower and Lavender the nicknames you gave the duo based on the flowers that bloomed along your skin whenever they would get hurt.

Sometimes every now and then you would think that maybe Lavender would hurt them self on purpose. But you shook the thought away surely that wasn’t true there was no reason for anyone to ever do that to oneself.

In middle school and high school the flowered were almost unbearable. You were constantly covered in lavenders and sunflowers. Both of them were constantly hurt, though you weren’t sure why. You could overhear their arguing whenever you would dream, they knew each other and seemed to hate each other. It only settled more how you three weren’t suited for each other, that’s what you told yourself at least.

Eventually nearing the end of high-school the fighting stopped. They started to talk again, they started to laugh and have fun together. Maybe they stood a chance together… you couldn’t be sure with how they normally acted though. You didn’t think that they would last.

The calling in your dreams eventually faded, the writing along your skin now a communication between the duo alone, even though the flowers never stopped they never stayed for long anymore. It appeared they found a way to not longer get hurt for as long or as often.

Now at the age of 20 years old you still refused to talk to them. But by this point they didn’t even try to call for you. Maybe it was because they realized how useless it was, or maybe they thought you were dead. You couldn’t be certain, it’s not like you were able to avoid every single nick and bruise that came your way.

It's not like it mattered, weather they didn’t want to talk or thought you were dead they stopped trying to talk to you just as much as you stopped talking to them.

>>>

“Yo dork! Are you going to stare into space all day?” Spirit’s voice called out to you catching you off guard. You shot to sit up instead of leaning on your hand like you had been.

“W-what!?” You stuttered as your roommate woke you out of your half sleeping state on your shared kitchen table. “Oh shoot, sorry. What was that?”

“I was asking if you were going to work today? It’s the weekend but I wasn’t sure of you were going to pick up some overtime hours,” She said as she set two cups of homemade iced coffee on the table.

You chugged the coffee as soon as you were offered it. She sat next to you dressed in an oversized shirt that reached her knees. At seven am she just woke up and since it was a Saturday she planned to rest and relax. One of you would have needed to go shopping if not for your Roommates Pigsy and Tang who owned the apartment.

They let you and Spirit move in since it was four bedrooms, as long as you paid for a small rent. It was a pretty good deal, the two were your friends for a while before they decided to buy a house together. Tang had found one that was a bit too pricy and asked if you’d help them out and you’d get your own room.

You agreed pretty quickly and moved into one of the rooms they didn’t use. Spirit came along later after she lost her own apartment when the building caught on fire thanks to her reckless neighbors. Something about the golden idiot being a moron, and something about a gang war, you never got the full story.

Then again at the time you met her you were more worried about getting her to the hospital. She had a large gash from her right shoulder blade to her left hip, it covered the majority of her back. The sight of it was gory and horrifying, you wished you never had to see it, but even more so you wished she never got it. Neither of those wishes came true though.

The reason you didn’t have to worry about the groceries is because Pigsy was fiercely protective over the kitchen. He bought all the groceries, and took care of most of the food. The only other person who was allowed to use the kitchen was you who baked something once a week, and even then you had to tell him what it was so he could make sure you got only the best ingredients. Overall it was a good deal for you, Spirit, Tang and Pigsy.

Tang and Pigsy were soulmates so they shared a bedroom and were a little bit too lovey dovey on your opinion. But you kept your mouth shut, they knew your opinions on soulmates and didn’t push you to find your own, as a sign of respect you didn’t bother with their relationship. It wasn’t as though all soulmates failed, it was simply that it wasn’t a guarantee. That’s what you told yourself at least.

“Oh, no not this weekend. I wanted to take a day or two off,” you half lied, you did want a day off, but in truth your boss Sandy said that he would send you home if you came in.

“Hmm… Sandy threaten you again?” she teased and your cheeks flushed before you nodded.

“Yeah, what about it?” You grumbled causing her to chuckle.

The short monkey demoness grinned as she drank her coffee. In front of her was a newspaper, something she looked at every week when they posted it. She preferred it to the TV news that Tang paid for. You didn’t know why but she did.

The two of you remained in silence when you felt the familiar feeling of pen writing along your skin. Elegant writing wrote on the palm of your hand and you glanced down at it. A list of groceries, you would need to wash it off. Getting up you walked over to the sink and started washing your hands once they were done writing. Wait that wasn’t a grocery list it was a coffee run. A black coffee and a crème filled donut with dark chocolate glaze. Eh, whatever it wasn’t your business.

When you were younger you’d wait for a while before washing it off, but you learned after meeting Tang and Pigsy that you could wash it off whenever you wanted. They explained that if you wanted to wash off it wouldn’t affect what they wrote on their own skin. Which was lucky for you so you didn’t have to worry about messing up their lists or plans.

“You got any plans today?” Spirit spoke up when she finished reading the newspaper.

“Probably going to take a nap, and maybe go get something to eat… don’t tell Pigsy I said that last part,” You shivered thinking about how angry the pig demon got when you got fast food.

“As if I would, you’d tell him about my own donut runs. You know how much he lectures me about eating donuts? A lot. I mean I exercise plenty, why judge my donut addiction. It’s better than drugs,” Spirit ranted as she gulped another large gulp of coffee into her mouth.

You chuckled. It was true, Pigsy was a stickler for healthy eating. He was always lecturing you and Spirit on the benefits of a healthy diet. Not that you were complaining too much, he made sure that you had tasty food in the house at all times. So you didn’t have to cook that often unless you wanted to. It was worth one or two of his short lectures.

“Anyways I was gonna try out that new coffee shop that opened two blocks from here. My co-worker was raving about their donuts being the best,” Spirit said with a goofy grin.

“Oh? Did you want company, it’s been a while since I’ve had donuts,” you replied, as much as you baked you could never get donut quite right. They always came out cakey which wasn’t bad, you just preferred light and fluffy donuts to the ones that had the texture of cake.

“Only if you want, you could definitely use the walk. It’s got plenty of sunlight,” Spirit teased and you rolled your eyes, she always wanted you to get sunlight because most of the time you were indoors. But a walk didn’t sound too bad.

“Let me get dressed and we can head out,” you said as you headed to your bedroom, there was no way you were going out in pajamas. Not today thank you.

On the way to your room you ran into a half asleep Tang who looked like he was dragged out of bed. Which wouldn’t surprise you, he loved to sleep in while Pigsy tended to drag him to work with him. Not that it did any good, Tang didn’t do much their. You thought maybe it was because Pigsy wanted the company but wasn’t sure since you never bothered to ask.

“You look awake,” You chuckled at his dismay.

He looked at you with a slight glare, before muttering, “I look better than you.”

You gasped dramatically, it wasn’t your fault that your soul mates slept at regular times. Seriously they took all the good sleeping hours but if you said that he’d just roll his eyes. He wasn’t ignoring and hiding from his ONE soulmate, no you didn’t have a regular sleeping schedule and that never changed.

So here you were dressed in pajamas, with large backs under your eyes and a slouched frame. You waved off the worried man as you entered your room, which was apparently the perfect time for you to yawn. You ignored your friend’s laughter as you slammed your door shut.

A sudden short pain shot through your neck, you looked in your mirror just in time to see a small trail of sunflowers decorate the side of your neck. They were small flowers and a thin trail, that told you it was a narrow and very shallow cut. Still you felt the faintest hint of worry for the reckless Sunflower.

@mehiwilldoitlater

@miifu666

@sleepingdramaqueen

@marcu-bug

I'm trying to start a taglist... I can't promise I'll have it for long. I'm not very good at remembering to tag 😅

Thoughts, opinions? I'd love to hear what yall think!

[inside-lees-mind]

Hello! This is my first ask and it may be very bad but here it is:

Can you do a headcanon of any dr.stone character with an always exhausted and introverted s/o? They’re just always exhausted with no reason why and they don’t like talking to people as that delays the possible time they could’ve been sleeping

If you do this, thank you from the bottom of my heart! Remember to have a great time and take care of yourself <3

P.S: may I be called 🍙 Anon?

Hi, 🍙 anon! Thank you for your request!

Dr. Stone Characters with a Constantly Exhausted! Introvert! S/O.

The characters I chose for this are: Senku, Gen, Chrome, Ryusui, Hyoga, and Francois.

Random fun fact: I have the same MBTI as Senku! INTP! (Joel Gear from the manga also has the same type)

Senku Ishigami

Before you’re even dating, he may notice your constant exhaustion. It likely worries him, and he will probably try to seek out the cause.

He might confront you about how you’re sleeping at night, in order to offer advice, but even then, he makes the kingdom of science pull ungodly feets so he might just assume it’s all that hard work.

He’ll likely assume you have hyposomnia, or maybe insomnia at night, leading to sleeping throwout the day. Or something similar.

If it’s none of those, just how you are. He’ll except that and let you sleep periodically when you need to.

But he’ll likely remind you about how much sleep is TOO much sleep.

He really just means the best for you.

So if you need help sleeping better at night to prevent sleeping so much during the day, he’d make sleep drugs or melatonin.

He’s an introvert too, so he’d understand any of your personality traits pretty well.

If you just want to be alone, he understands that and will give you space.

If you don’t like big groups and need a break, that’s okay. But they need 800 manganese batteries so you can do that while you’re alone :)

He’s not very affectionate, so he’d show his love for you by giving you inventions to help you in any way you need, rather he makes them or asks a friend for a favor. So if that’s a pillow? There is left over fabric, he can ask Yuzuriha to sew it together for you.

Gen Asagiri

He understands, but he, like Senku, would be concerned.

He’d likely be trying to figure out if it’s a mental health issue. Or something typical, but harmful, like “revenge bed time.”

Insomnia can be caused by anxiety, or something of that sort. And same goes for hyposomnia.

If he rules you have neither, or even if you do, he’ll do anything he can to help you. Maybe by convincing you to go to bed earlier.

He likely would know it’s more than just this new world and the work Senku has everybody doing.

If he gets a chance though, he’s taking a nap with you. I think he’d be the type to hold you or let you sleep on his shoulder if you want.

Then he’d tell Senku he simply can’t work at the moment because it’d require waking you. (Senku would invent the megaphone just to wake you to do work)

Gen isn’t an introvert himself, but he has a strong understanding of mentalism, of course.

He’d understand you completely. And if the social life gets to be a lot, he’s got some ways to deal with it to help you.

Overall, he’d understand you don’t really want to be around everybody all the time. And that may include him.

Chrome

Are you… sick?

That was his first thought. But he’s smart. So it puts it together after talking to you.

If you have trouble sleeping at night, he’ll do anything he can to help.

If you sleep fine at night, but just sleep more anyways. He’d be a bit confused, especially if you are from the past. It’s a bit weird to see in a fast paced, grit and grind kind of life style.

He’ll do any work or scavenging or whatever all by himself if you need to catch up on some sleep, he really doesn’t mind! Because, yeah he likes your company, but he values your comfort (and safety, he doesn’t want you to fall asleep in a dangerous situation or to be too tired to think)

Really, he might have one of the least understanding of any of these terms and stuff out of anyone on this list, but he will likely be the sweetest one. He’s a quick learner too, so just tell him about your needs and he’ll respect that and work around that.

If you fell asleep on him, he’d be a blushing mess. Just saying.

He doesn’t have a great understanding of introverted vs extroverted people in terms of like terms and stuff. But he can tell some people are more social and lively, some people are more reserved.

So he doesn’t have a hard time adapting to your life style.

For example, if you want to stay in even though there is a party, he’d likely stay with you. He’s happiest where you are. (He might lightly nudge you towards just dropping by to say hi, especially if it’s a celebration of an accomplishment you both were a part of)

Ryusui Nanami

You’re tired? He’ll ask Francois to prepare you a bed if you don’t have one where they are.

You don’t want to walk? He’s carrying you.

You fall asleep on his shoulder? If anybody wakes you, they owe you 1000 dragos for the inconvenience to you. (He’ll likely wake you up accidentally and try to give you the money he threatened other people to have to give you. Tell him to put the dragos back)

Literally the most excessive man ever. He desires the best for you. (I love this man omg)

He’s not much help for an introvert though.

He’s always doing the most. Literally.

So quiet time usually means time AWAY from him. But don’t get it twisted, he can be quiet for you. If you want him to just spend time with you, but need silence. He can.

He’d be okay with just being in the same space together. He might be building a ship model while you sleep a few feet away. He’ll try to be quiet!

Or if you want a quiet night in, play him at chess. (Sai is shaking in his boots)

Francois

Anything you need is yours.

A drink on your bed side table? It’s yours.

Dating or not, they treat you so well.

If you are dating, they keep professional until nobody is looking. So it’s likely they don’t treat you any differently than everybody else until you’re both away from prying eyes.

You would also be the only one to see Francois rest, and know Francois does in fact run out of stamina. They are no Taiju.

So you’d likely take naps together.

I don’t see them being super physically affectionate, so likely just being within the same space as each other.

They treat you pretty much the same if you’re an extrovert or introvert, but an introvert would likely be preferred for them anyways. Seeing as they likely prefer quiet and peace when they get the chance.

Hyoga Akatsuki

I saved the worst for last :)

Now it depends on when he met you how he treats you, but how he thinks of you remains about the same.

At first, either way, he’d think you’re weak and likely wouldn’t give you time of day.

Now, if you’re strong beyond just being exhausted, now you’re talking.

Or if you’re super intelligent and can use that as strength.

You’d have to have something to make him gain respect for you to even get together.

He doesn’t have much time for your issues, or pity.

He says, at least. But he finds himself doing small things behind your back to make it easier on you.

If you two, for any reason, went out on a scouting or scavenging mission together, he’d stand guard and watch while you sleep. He says he’s stronger so it makes sense, but really he just thinks you should rest.

He’s come to care about you, rather he’ll admit it or not.

He’ll give you a, ever so slightly reluctant, helping hand when you need it.

He’d prefer an introverted s/o, likely, because he doesn’t have any interest in being encouraged to be social and lively.

He’d be the type to just like to be in the same room, at the same time, and that’s bonding.

Thank you so much for the request. I hope I did your vision justice :) have a wonderful day!

[mcrdvcks]

Sweet Dreams - Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Alexandria starts to attend classes while also struggling with insomnia.

Word Count: 15.2k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x Original Female Character (platonic relationship)

Notes: i meant to update yesterday, but imma be real, college is no joke, especially when you're like me and have chronic insomnia and get 4 hours of sleep on a good day.

anyways, quick note. when dialogue is italicized it means alexandria, or other characters, are talking in a different language, usually russian. some words i kept in russian only because alexandria uses them often (they're pretty much just curse words).

i had no idea this chapter was 15k, oops

Series Masterlist - Chapter 1 → Chapter 3

AO3 Link For Chapter

Alexandria looked down at the paper schedule in her hand. There were 4 classes for the day, each to be repeated every day.

She thought HYDRA was bad? This was almost the same thing. Or maybe she was just exaggerating.

After a week of getting used to the environment, Professor Xavier thought it best for her to start classes. Kitty was taking her to her first period, which was chemistry taught by Hank.

“Mr. McCoy isn’t a bad teacher.” Kitty said, as they walked, “if you end up taking any sort of biology or mutant physiology, then you’ll get Dr. MacTaggert. She’s a bit harsher.”

Kitty continued to talk as they walked down the hallway, her tone light and conversational. Alexandria appreciated that Kitty didn’t try too hard to make her feel at ease, but instead just talked about things that might be useful. It was a different approach than what Alexandria was used to, and it made her feel slightly less on edge.

“Mr. McCoy—well, Hank, really—he’s great with chemistry. He’s one of the smartest people I know,” Kitty said with a small smile. “And he’s really patient, which helps if you’re, you know, new to all this.”

Alexandria nodded, though she wasn’t sure how much that would matter. She had a lot of catching up to do, considering she didn’t even know how a computer worked until last week. The thought of trying to keep up with the other students in a subject as complex as chemistry made her stomach twist, but she kept her face neutral.

As they neared the classroom, Kitty paused, turning to face Alexandria. “Listen, I know it’s a lot to take in. I was pretty overwhelmed when I first got here too. But if you need anything—help with classes, or just someone to talk to—I’m around.”

Before Alexandria could respond, Scott walked in between the two of them, placing an arm around each of their shoulders. Alexandria furrowed her brows at the action.

“Don’t worry Kitty. I’ll help her, I have chemistry too.” Scott raised a hand in front of Alexandria as she stared at it.

Was this an American gesture? She doesn’t think she’s seen this in HYDRA before.

Alexandria stared at Scott's raised hand; her expression blank as she tried to decipher what he wanted from her. It took her a moment to realize it was a gesture meant to be friendly, maybe even encouraging. Slowly, she lifted her own hand and awkwardly slapped it against his, feeling utterly out of her depth.

Scott chuckled. “High five! We’ll work on that.”

She didn’t respond, unsure of what to make of the entire interaction. It felt forced, unnatural. She’d spent the last week trying to figure out how to exist in this strange new environment, but every day felt like she was trying to wear someone else’s skin. Nothing fit right.

Kitty noticed Alexandria's discomfort and shot Scott a look that was a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Come on, Scott, don’t scare her off before her first class.”

Scott grinned, stepping back and giving Alexandria some space. “Relax, Kitty, I’m just being welcoming.”

“Yeah, well, maybe ease up on the enthusiasm a little,” Kitty suggested, rolling her eyes before turning back to Alexandria. “Like I said, if you need anything, just let me know.”

“Sure,” Alexandria replied, her voice clipped, but not intentionally. It was just how she spoke—short, to the point, without the usual pleasantries most people added in. She wasn’t used to them, didn’t see the point.

Kitty seemed to understand that and didn’t push for more. “Alright, see you later then.”

As Kitty walked off, Scott led Alexandria into the classroom. The room was filled with lab tables, each equipped with the standard chemistry setup—Bunsen burners, glassware, and various other tools that Alexandria was only vaguely familiar with.

The other students were already seated, some chatting in low voices, others reviewing their notes. Alexandria felt their eyes on her as she followed Scott to a table near the back. She hated the scrutiny, but she was getting used to it. It seemed like everyone here was curious about the new girl.

“Here we are,” Scott said, pulling out a stool for her. “Hank’s a cool guy. You’ll be fine.”

She nodded stiffly, taking the seat and glancing around the room. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She didn’t have any notes, didn’t even have a pencil. The realization made her stomach twist again, but she forced herself to keep her expression neutral. No one needed to know how out of place she felt.

Scott noticed her empty hands and frowned. “You didn’t bring anything?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t given any supplies.”

Scott frowned, glancing at his own neatly organized notes and pens. “Don’t worry, I’ve got extras. Here.” He handed her a pen and a blank notebook.

She took them, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. She hated relying on others for anything, but she didn’t have much of a choice right now. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Scott said, leaning back in his seat just as the classroom door swung open.

Hank McCoy, or Mr. McCoy as everyone here seemed to call him, strode in with a calm and confident air. “Good morning, everyone,” Hank began, his voice reassuring. “I hope you all had a restful night and are ready to dive into the wonders of chemistry.”

The class responded with a mix of murmurs and nods. Hank’s gaze swept over the room, landing on Alexandria for a brief moment before he gave her a small, welcoming nod. She returned it with a curt one of her own, not sure how else to respond.

“We have a new student joining us today,” Hank continued, gesturing towards Alexandria. “This is Alexandria Sokolova. Let’s make her feel welcome.”

There were a few more murmurs, but nothing too intrusive. Most of the students just gave her a brief glance before turning back to their own work. That was fine with her. She didn’t need or want their attention.

Hank moved on quickly, diving into the day’s lesson. He explained the concept of chemical bonding with a level of detail and enthusiasm that would’ve been impressive if Alexandria had any clue what he was talking about.

As it was, she found herself lost within the first five minutes, the terms and equations swirling in her head like a foreign language. She tried to keep up, scribbling down notes as best she could, but it felt hopeless. She’d never had formal schooling like this. Everything she knew was learned in HYDRA’s training facilities, and none of it involved covalent bonds or molecular structures.

Scott noticed her struggle and leaned over, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the class. “Don’t stress about it. Hank’s really good about explaining things if you need help.”

She gritted her teeth, hating that she needed help in the first place. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey, no pressure. Just letting you know you’ve got options,” Scott said, his tone light and nonchalant.

The rest of the class went by in a blur. Alexandria spent most of it trying to make sense of what Hank was saying, but it was like trying to catch water with a sieve. By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, she was exhausted. Mentally, at least.

As the students began packing up, Hank approached her table. “Alexandria, how did you find the lesson?”

She hesitated, not wanting to admit how much she hadn’t understood. But lying didn’t seem like a good option either. “It was... a lot to take in.”

Hank nodded, his expression kind. “That’s perfectly understandable. You’re adjusting to a lot of new things. If you ever need extra help, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m here to make sure you succeed.”

She nodded, though she didn’t quite believe him. Success wasn’t something she was used to, and she doubted it would come easy here.

“Thank you,” she said, the words feeling foreign on her tongue.

“You’re welcome,” Hank replied with a warm smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded again, then quickly gathered her things and followed Scott out of the classroom. They walked in silence for a bit, and she was grateful that Scott didn’t try to fill it with more idle chatter. She needed a moment to collect herself.

Finally, Scott spoke up. “Next up is math. It’s with Ms. Frost.”

Hank she had met when she’d first got here, but this Frost woman she hadn’t heard of yet.

"Who’s Ms. Frost?" Alexandria asked as she and Scott walked down the hallway toward the next classroom. Her tone was flat, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it. After the chaos of the last class, she wanted to know what she was walking into this time.

Scott glanced at her sideways. "Emma Frost. She’s… well, she’s different. She teaches math, but she’s also a telepath, one of the most powerful ones here. She doesn’t exactly have a soft touch."

"Great," Alexandria muttered under her breath. A telepath. Just what she needed.

Scott caught the tone in her voice and tried to reassure her. "Don’t worry. She’s tough, but she’s fair. If you put in the effort, she’ll respect that."

Alexandria wasn’t sure if she cared about earning anyone’s respect, especially not from a teacher who could read her mind. The idea of someone poking around in her head made her uneasy, but she wasn’t about to show that to Scott.

When they reached the classroom, Scott pushed open the door, revealing a sleek, modern room with large windows letting in plenty of light. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and at the front was a large whiteboard filled with complex equations.

The students were already seated, and Alexandria noticed immediately how different the atmosphere was from the last class. There was a tension here, an unspoken understanding that you didn’t mess around in Ms. Frost’s class.

Emma Frost stood at the front, her presence commanding without needing to say a word. She was tall, blonde, and dressed impeccably in a white suit that looked like it cost more than Alexandria’s entire wardrobe. Her expression was cool, almost indifferent, but her eyes were sharp, taking in everything with a single glance.

Scott led Alexandria to a seat near the middle of the room. As she sat down, she couldn’t help but feel like she was under a microscope. Emma’s gaze flicked toward her, and for a moment, Alexandria wondered if the woman was already inside her head.

“Class,” Emma’s voice was smooth, cutting through the quiet murmur of the students, “we have a new student joining us today. Alexandria Sokolova.” She said the name as if she were tasting it, evaluating it. “I expect you all to help her catch up, though I’m sure she won’t need much assistance.”

The way she said it, it was hard to tell if it was a compliment or a challenge. Alexandria kept her face impassive, refusing to give anything away.

“Open your textbooks to page 157,” Emma continued without missing a beat. “Today we’ll be covering logarithmic functions. For those of you who found last week’s lesson difficult, I suggest you pay close attention.”

As Emma began the lesson, Alexandria tried to follow along, but the pace was relentless. It was clear that Emma Frost didn’t waste time with handholding. She expected everyone to keep up, and if you couldn’t, that was your problem. The students around her were focused, scribbling down notes with a speed that made Alexandria feel like she was moving in slow motion.

She gripped her pen tightly, trying to force herself to understand the equations on the board. Numbers and symbols blurred together, and she could feel frustration building in her chest. The last thing she wanted was to fall behind, to look weak, but the material was completely foreign to her.

Scott glanced over at her again, noticing the tension in her posture. “If you need help, just ask,” he whispered, his voice low so Emma wouldn’t hear.

“I’m fine,” Alexandria replied through gritted teeth, her pride refusing to let her admit how much she was struggling.

Emma paused in her lecture and turned her icy blue eyes directly on Alexandria. “Miss Sokolova, since you’re new, why don’t you come up to the board and solve this equation?”

Alexandria felt her heart skip a beat. She wasn’t prepared for this, but there was no way out. Standing up, she walked to the front of the room, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. She stared at the equation Emma had written on the board, trying to make sense of it, but it was like looking at a foreign language.

After a long moment of silence, Emma spoke again, her tone calm but with an edge to it. “Take your time, Miss Sokolova. We’re all waiting.”

The pressure was suffocating, but Alexandria refused to back down. She raised the marker to the board and began to work through the problem, her mind racing to piece together the bits of information she understood. The room was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat, and she knew that every mistake she made was being scrutinized.

Finally, she stepped back, unsure if what she had done was correct but unwilling to admit defeat.

Emma studied the board for a moment, then turned to face Alexandria. “Not quite,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut. “You’ve missed a crucial step here. Let me show you.”

With a few swift strokes, Emma corrected the equation, explaining where Alexandria had gone wrong. The explanation was clear, precise, but there was no warmth in her tone, no encouragement.

“Understand?” Emma asked, fixing her gaze on Alexandria.

“Yes,” Alexandria replied, though she wasn’t entirely sure she did. It was more of a reflex, a refusal to show any more weakness than she already had.

“Good,” Emma said, her expression neutral. “You may sit down.”

As Alexandria walked back to her seat, she could feel the eyes of her classmates on her, judging her performance. She hated the feeling, but there was nothing she could do about it. She just had to get through this class, through the day, and keep her head above water.

The rest of the lesson passed in a blur, with Emma moving quickly through the material, barely giving anyone time to breathe. By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, Alexandria felt like she had been through a battle.

Scott waited for her as she gathered her things, his expression sympathetic. “That was tough. But hey, you didn’t completely bomb it.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, not sure if she believed him. She knew she had messed up, and she hated how it made her feel. But at the same time, is it really her fault? She’s never done any of this in her entire life. Never done math, or science, the only learning she did was learning 10 different languages.

“Next up is English,” Scott said, trying to keep the mood light. “Storm teaches it.”

Alexandria furrowed her brow at the mention of English class. "English? You need a class to learn about the language we're already speaking?"

Scott chuckled, shaking his head. "Not quite. It’s more about literature, reading, writing—stuff like that. Storm—well, Ms. Munroe—teaches it. She’s cool. A lot more relaxed than Frost, for sure.”

She nodded, though the concept still seemed odd to her. In HYDRA, language classes meant learning multiple foreign tongues for intelligence purposes, not sitting in a room discussing stories or essays. But then again, everything here was different. She’d just have to adapt.

Scott led her down the hallway, and soon they were standing in front of the English classroom. The door was propped open, and the room inside was much less intimidating than the previous one. Natural light streamed in through large windows, and the walls were lined with bookshelves filled with various novels and texts. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold, clinical feel of Emma Frost’s classroom.

Ororo was already at her desk, her silver-white hair cascading down her shoulders. She exuded a calm presence that immediately put Alexandria at ease, at least compared to what she’d just experienced.

“Good morning, Scott. Alexandria,” Storm greeted them with a gentle smile as they walked in. She had a way of making everyone feel seen, like they mattered, even if they were just two of many students.

“Morning, Ms. Munroe,” Scott replied with a nod, heading to a seat near the middle of the room.

Alexandria hesitated for a moment before following him. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but at least this room didn’t make her want to turn and bolt in the opposite direction. She took a seat next to Scott, placing her borrowed notebook and pen on the desk in front of her.

Ororo stood up and walked to the front of the class, her movements graceful and deliberate. “Today, we’ll continue our discussion on ‘To Kill a Mockingbird.’ For those who are new or need a refresher,” she glanced at Alexandria, her smile kind but not patronizing, “we’re exploring themes of morality, justice, and prejudice through the lens of this classic novel.”

The title was familiar, though only in passing. Alexandria had never had the chance to read it—HYDRA had no use for novels in their training regimens. She sat stiffly in her seat, trying not to let her unease show. The other students began pulling out their copies of the book, and she felt another pang of anxiety. She didn’t have the book, and even if she did, she doubted she’d understand what was going on.

Ororo seemed to sense her discomfort. “Alexandria, would you like to borrow a copy? I have an extra one right here.” She held up a well-worn copy of the novel.

Alexandria hesitated before nodding. “Yes, please.”

Ororo handed her the book, her expression calm and understanding. “Take your time with it. We’re here to discuss and explore, not to rush through anything.”

Alexandria nodded again, grateful for the teacher’s measured approach. As the class began discussing the novel, she opened the book to the marked chapter and tried to follow along. It wasn’t easy—there were a lot of references and concepts she didn’t fully grasp—but the discussion was lively and engaging, with students sharing their thoughts and interpretations.

Ororo encouraged everyone to speak, even if their opinions differed. It was a strange concept to Alexandria, who was used to a rigid hierarchy where differing opinions were seen as dissent. Here, though, it was almost expected. She remained silent for most of the class, taking in the way others interacted, the way they expressed themselves without fear of reprimand.

About halfway through the period, Ororo posed a question to the class. “How do you think the events in the novel reflect the moral dilemmas we face in our own lives? Are there parallels between the story and the challenges we encounter today?”

The students began discussing, some drawing connections between the novel’s themes and issues of justice or prejudice in modern society. Alexandria listened intently, trying to piece together the context and the relevance of the conversation. It was so different from anything she’d experienced before, where morality was dictated, not debated.

Ororo turned her gaze to Alexandria, not in a way that put her on the spot, but more as an invitation. “Alexandria, do you have any thoughts on this? I’d be interested to hear your perspective.”

Alexandria blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected to be asked to contribute, especially when she felt so out of her depth. But there was no hostility in Ororo’s expression, only genuine curiosity.

“I… don’t really know,” Alexandria began, choosing her words carefully. “I’m still trying to understand the story. The idea of… debating morality like this… it’s new to me.”

Ororo nodded, her expression thoughtful. “That’s okay. It’s a complex topic, and it’s perfectly fine to take your time with it. We’re all here to learn from each other.”

The class continued without any further pressure on Alexandria to participate, and she was grateful for it. As they discussed the novel, she began to see the value in these kinds of conversations, even if they were unfamiliar and a bit uncomfortable for her.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, Ororo gave the students their assignment—a short essay on the moral dilemmas faced by the characters in the novel. Alexandria inwardly groaned at the thought of writing an essay. She wasn’t sure she even knew how to write one, let alone analyze something as nuanced as morality in a fictional story.

As the students began to file out of the classroom, Ororo called out to Alexandria. “Could you stay for a moment, Alexandria? I’d like to have a quick word.”

Scott gave her an encouraging nod before leaving the room, and Alexandria walked up to Ororo’s desk, trying to keep her nerves in check.

“You’re doing well, Alexandria,” Ororo said, her tone warm and reassuring. “I know this is all new to you, but you’re adjusting. I wanted to offer you some additional help if you need it. We can work together after class or during free periods to go over the material. Whatever you need to feel more comfortable.”

Alexandria was silent for a moment, her pride warring with her need for help. She didn’t want to appear weak, didn’t want to rely on anyone, but she knew she was out of her depth. Finally, she gave a small nod. “I… might need that.”

Ororo smiled, a genuine one that reached her eyes. “There’s no shame in asking for help. We all need it from time to time. Just let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll go from there.”

“Thank you,” Alexandria said, her voice quieter than she intended. It felt strange to be treated with such kindness without any ulterior motive. She wasn’t used to it, but she was beginning to see that maybe, just maybe, not everyone was out to use her.

“You’re welcome,” Ororo replied. “Now, don’t worry too much about the essay. Just try your best. We’ll work on it together if you need to.”

Alexandria nodded, feeling a bit lighter as she left the classroom. This day had been overwhelming, but at least she knew there were people here willing to help her navigate it all.

As she stepped into the hallway, she was met with the gruff voice of someone she’d rather not have run into at that moment.

“Looks like you survived Frost’s class.”

Alexandria turned to see Logan leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His usual scowl was in place, but there was a hint of something else in his expression—maybe concern, though she wasn’t sure he was capable of it.

“Barely,” she replied, her tone flat. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking in,” he said, though it didn’t sound like something he’d normally do. “How’s it going?”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious of his sudden interest. “Why do you care?”

Logan shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Don’t, really. But Chuck asked me to keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re not causing trouble.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes. He always seemed to be right in front of her when all she wanted was to be alone. Instead of coming up with a retort to his ‘causing trouble’ quip, she went with something else. “I have to go to my,” she took the folded piece of paper out of her jacket’s pocket, “US History class.”

“Come on then, kid.” Logan pushed himself off the wall and started to walk down the slowly emptying hallway.

Alexandria blinked in response before walking to catch up to Logan. “Kitty already showed me where the class was,” she said.

Logan grunted, glancing at her sideways. “Yeah, well, I’m sure Kitty did. Doesn’t mean I can’t walk you there.”

She looked at her schedule as they walked, noticing the letters next to the class periods where the teacher’s names were. Alexandria looked up from her schedule, her gaze meeting Logan's. "You teach history?"

Logan’s expression didn’t change much. “Yeah, I teach history. Got a problem with that?”

“No,” Alexandria replied, her tone clipped. “Just surprised.”

Logan shrugged. “Most people are. History’s not exactly a popular subject around here.”

As they walked down the hallway, Logan's steps were quick and purposeful, and Alexandria found herself having to match his pace. “You might want to pay attention. History’s not just about dates and events. It’s about understanding what led to those events.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Alexandria said, though her voice was laced with sarcasm.

Logan didn’t seem to notice or care. “Yeah, well, just don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Alexandria shot back, her tone challenging. “I’ve had enough of that.”

Logan grunted, glancing at her sideways. “You know, you might actually fit in better around here than you think.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How’s that?”

“You’ve got that look,” Logan said. “The one that says you’ve been through some crap and come out the other side. People here have been through their own share of it.”

Alexandria didn’t reply immediately. She’d always prided herself on keeping her emotions in check, but there was something in Logan’s observation that made her pause. “And what makes you think I’m interested in fitting in?”

“Just a hunch,” Logan said with a shrug. “Sometimes it helps to have someone who gets it.”

The hallway ended, and they reached the door to the history classroom. Logan opened it and motioned for Alexandria to go in. “There you go. Don’t get too comfortable. History’s not going to be any easier than the rest of your classes.”

Alexandria stepped inside, glancing around the room. It was less intimidating than Emma Frost’s classroom but still had an air of seriousness to it. Logan followed her in and gestured to a seat near the front.

“Take a seat,” Logan said gruffly. “Class should be starting soon.”

Alexandria sat down, feeling a bit more settled now that she was in a familiar environment. Logan walked to the front of the room and began arranging his notes. The classroom started to fill up with students, their chatter a low hum in the background.

As Logan started the lesson, his gruff demeanor didn’t change. He dived right into the topic, talking about significant historical events with a no-nonsense attitude. Alexandria tried to focus, but her mind kept drifting back to the earlier classes. The pace of everything was overwhelming, and she was still trying to catch up.

“Alright, enough with the small talk,” Logan said abruptly, drawing Alexandria’s attention back to him. “Today we’re starting with the American Revolution. Anyone want to tell me why it was significant?”

A few hands went up, and Logan called on a student to answer. Alexandria found herself struggling to keep up with the discussion. She’d never had to study this kind of history before, and the different context made it even more challenging.

Logan’s eyes flickered toward Alexandria occasionally, as if assessing her. “You’ll need to do your reading,” he said at one point, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “The textbook’s on the shelf in the back. Grab it if you need it.”

“Thanks,” Alexandria said, though her voice was tinged with frustration. She stood and walked to the back of the room, grabbing a textbook and flipping it open to the right section. She tried to immerse herself in the material, but the words seemed to dance around on the page.

She didn’t even know who these people were: George Washington, Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams- why did they all look the same?

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, Alexandria felt a sense of relief. She packed her things and prepared to leave, but Logan stopped her before she could walk out.

“Hey,” he said, his tone a bit softer than usual. “Stick around for a minute.”

Alexandria paused, turning back to him. “What is it?”

Logan leaned against his desk, his expression slightly less gruff. “You’re struggling, and that’s fine. If you need any extra help or if you’ve got questions, just ask. I’m not gonna hold your hand, but I’ll make sure you get what you need.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so she stuck with a nod before leaving the classroom.

---

After 4 days of school, the weekend came along. Which was great because she was exhausted. Who knew school could be more exhausting than 20-hour torture and experimentation sessions?

A knock came on her door around 11 o’clock on Saturday as she opened it to find Natasha and Wanda outside.

“Want to come on a shopping trip?” Natasha asked, her arms crossed but a small smile on her face.

Wanda looked into Alexandria’s room, “you don’t have many clothes, and it would be good for you to get out.”

Alexandria glanced around her sparse room, taking in the few clothes she had and the bare walls. She knew Wanda was right. She was still adjusting, and her wardrobe was a testament to that. But the thought of going out, especially on a shopping trip with Natasha and Wanda, felt daunting.

But she did like their company more than some of the others she had met.

“I don’t know,” Alexandria said, her voice a mix of uncertainty and irritation. “I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Natasha’s expression softened a bit, though she still had that usual edge about her. “We won’t be gone all day. Just a few hours. It’ll do you good to take a break.”

Alexandria hesitated, feeling torn between her need to keep up with her studies and the urge to escape her small, confining room. She knew she should take a break, but the thought of facing the outside world, even for a short while, made her uneasy.

Wanda chimed in, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s not just about clothes. It’s a chance to get to know the place better, to get out of your head for a bit.”

Alexandria sighed, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “Alright, fine. I’ll go.”

Natasha and Wanda exchanged a quick look of relief, and Natasha’s small smile widened slightly. “Great. Let’s get going then.”

As they walked out of the mansion and headed towards Natasha’s car, Alexandria couldn’t shake the feeling of apprehension. The streets outside were bustling with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet, controlled environment she was used to. She kept close to Natasha and Wanda, trying to ignore the growing sense of discomfort as they made their way to a nearby shopping district.

The shopping center was filled with people, the noise and activity almost overwhelming. Alexandria’s eyes darted around, trying to take it all in. She felt out of place, like she was on display in a world that was too vibrant and unfamiliar.

But, she felt a small amount of excitement ramping up. Last night, after Jean and Kitty helped her with homework, they showed her a website called Pinterest, and told her to look up whatever she wanted. Clothes, nail designs, outfits, hair styles. It was definitely a weird and new experience, but considering two weeks ago she didn’t know what a computer was, she supposed it wasn’t that weird.

Alexandria pulled out her phone, one Tony had shipping over a few days ago and logged into the account she made with Jean and Kitty’s help before showing a few outfit pictures to Natasha and Wanda.

“That’s a wide variety, kid.” Natasha commented.

“I… wasn’t sure what would look good on me. I’ve never been shopping.”

Wanda and Natasha exchanged a glance, the corners of Wanda's lips twitching into a small, sympathetic smile. "You don’t have to worry about that. We’ll figure it out together," Wanda said, her tone reassuring.

Natasha nodded, her voice steady and matter-of-fact. "The first time can be a bit overwhelming, but it's not as complicated as it seems. Just think of it as trying on different versions of yourself until something feels right."

Alexandria hesitated, feeling a bit awkward admitting her lack of experience. "I just… I don’t want to look stupid. I’ve never had to do this before."

Natasha’s gaze softened slightly, though her expression remained cool. "No one's judging you here. And if anyone does, they’ll have to deal with us," she added, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

Wanda chuckled, her laugh light and warm. "And trust me, nobody wants to mess with us."

Alexandria found herself relaxing a little at their words. She was still on edge, but at least she wasn’t alone in this. “Okay,” she said, her voice steadier. “Let’s do this.”

The three of them walked through the mall, navigating the crowded corridors with ease. Natasha led the way, her sharp eyes scanning the stores while Wanda stayed close to Alexandria, offering quiet reassurance when she noticed her discomfort. They eventually entered a large clothing store, racks of clothing and mannequins on display creating a maze-like environment.

Natasha motioned to a section of the store that was filled with casual clothes—jeans, t-shirts, hoodies. "We can start here. Try picking out a few things that catch your eye."

Alexandria looked around, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of options. She took a deep breath and started walking through the racks, her fingers brushing over the different fabrics. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she tried to focus on what felt right.

Wanda watched her for a moment before stepping closer, holding up a dark green hoodie with a small design on the front. "What about this? It’s simple but has some character."

Alexandria took the hoodie from Wanda, inspecting it closely. “I like it,” she admitted, surprised at how easily the words came out. She usually kept her thoughts to herself, especially when it came to things like this.

“Good,” Wanda said, her smile widening. “Let’s grab a few more things and head to the fitting rooms.”

Natasha was already holding a couple of items she’d picked out—a pair of black jeans and a gray t-shirt. “Try these too,” she said, handing them over. “You’ll need basics like this.”

Alexandria took the clothes, her arms now full, and followed Natasha and Wanda to the fitting rooms. Once inside, she hesitated for a moment before stepping into one of the small cubicles. She tried on the first outfit, the dark green hoodie and black jeans, and looked at herself in the mirror.

The reflection staring back at her was unfamiliar, but not in a bad way. She looked… normal. Like a regular teenager, not the trained operative HYDRA had molded her into. It was strange but also oddly comforting.

“How’s it going in there?” Natasha called from outside.

Alexandria took one last look at herself before opening the door. “I think I like it,” she said, her tone uncertain.

Wanda’s eyes lit up as she saw the outfit. “It looks great on you, Alexandria. You’ve got a good eye.”

Natasha nodded in agreement. “Solid choice. Comfortable but still stylish.”

Alexandria felt a small flicker of pride at their approval. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a little more confident. “I’ll try the other stuff now.”

She went back into the fitting room and tried on the other outfits they had picked out. Each time she emerged, Wanda and Natasha offered their thoughts, always encouraging but never pushy. By the time they were done, Alexandria had a small pile of clothes she actually liked, a mix of comfortable basics and a few pieces that added a bit of personality to her wardrobe.

As they walked up to the register, Alexandria couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t just about the clothes—it was about finally taking a step towards something that felt like her own choice.

Natasha glanced at the clothes in Alexandria’s arms and raised an eyebrow. “You did good, kid.”

“Yeah,” Alexandria said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I guess I did.”

After paying for the clothes, they left the store and continued walking through the mall. Alexandria was carrying a few bags, and though the weight of them was light, the significance felt heavy in her mind.

Natasha seemed to notice, her sharp eyes catching everything. “You okay?” she asked, her voice neutral but with an underlying note of concern.

“Yeah,” Alexandria replied, her tone thoughtful. “Just… I don’t know. This feels weird.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly, her expression gentle. “Weird how?”

“Like I’m doing something normal,” Alexandria admitted, her voice quiet. “I’m not used to it.”

Natasha nodded, her face unreadable. “That’s understandable. But you’ve got to start somewhere.”

Wanda reached out and gave Alexandria’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re doing great, Alexandria. Just take it one step at a time.”

Alexandria nodded, not entirely convinced but willing to try. “I will,” she said, her voice firmer than before.

As they continued walking through the mall, something caught Alexandria’s eye- a different store with a black shirt that she found… cute.

After picking out a few things from that store, Alexandria looked over at the card Natasha was using. "Whose card is that?"

Natasha looked over at her, “Tony’s.” She said, with a small smirk.

Alexandria gave a small huff of amusement before taking the card Natasha held out to her. She read over the numbers on the back, committing them to memory, which she knows Natasha approved of based on the smile still on her face.

Before she knew it, they drove back to the school with 7 bags of clothes and shoes for Alexandria.

When Natasha, Wanda, and Alexandria pulled into the driveway of the mansion, Alexandria was struck by a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. The shopping trip had been a whirlwind, and though she’d felt overwhelmed at times, she was glad she’d gone. It was a small victory in her new, unfamiliar life.

“Thanks for today,” Alexandria said, her tone genuine despite her usual reserve. “It really helped.”

Natasha gave her a small smile. “Glad you think so. Just remember, don’t let it all go to your head.”

Wanda nodded in agreement. “And if you ever need a break or more shopping, just let us know.”

Alexandria nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. “I will. Thanks again.”

As they headed inside with the bags, Natasha and Wanda left her to unpack and relax, promising to catch up with her later. Alexandria made her way to her room, feeling the weight of the day lift as she finally reached her sanctuary.

She started unpacking her new clothes, trying to organize them into her limited closet space. The process felt oddly satisfying, and for the first time in a while, she allowed herself to relax, letting her thoughts drift as she worked.

---

As much as she would’ve loved the weekend to last forever, it didn’t. Because it was once again Monday which meant more classes and more work.

This place definitely seemed worse than HYDRA. At least there she didn’t have to learn about useless things like chemistry, math, history, or English.

One good thing did happen during breakfast, where she begrudgingly sat with Kitty, Scott, Jean, and a few other kids. Her and Jean had happened to walk through the lunch line together when Jean had complemented her outfit.

It was the shirt she liked in the window at the mall, with a cut-out in the shoulders, tucked into jeans, and paired with black combat boots.

She liked compliments, Alexandria realized. But she wasn’t sure she was willing to give any out yet herself.

When she walked into her third period, English, Ororo was already at her desk, chatting with a few students. Alexandria took a seat towards the back, pulling out her notebook and trying to focus on the lecture. The class was discussing ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ again, and while Alexandria had made some progress in understanding the book over the weekend, she still felt out of her depth.

In fact, she never had to read much in English. She usually read in Russian. So, some of the words on paper seemed odd.

The class went by in a blur of discussions about morality and justice, and Alexandria found herself half-listening while trying to jot down notes. It wasn’t until the bell rang that she realized just how tired she was.

During the brief break between classes, she found herself in the cafeteria with Scott, Jean, and Kitty. They were gathered around a table, chatting and laughing about the latest school gossip.

“Hey, Alexandria,” Jean greeted her warmly. “How’s the new wardrobe working out?”

“Good,” Alexandria replied, feeling a bit self-conscious but also pleased by the attention. “Thanks for the compliment on the shirt.”

“You looked great,” Jean said with a smile. “It really suits you.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Scott added. “You’ve got a good sense of style.”

Alexandria shrugged, not used to receiving such positive reinforcement. “I guess. I’m still figuring things out.”

The conversation shifted to other topics, but Alexandria found herself feeling slightly more comfortable in their company. The casual banter was a nice change from the more intense atmosphere of her classes.

When the lunch period ended, she found herself heading to her next class—US History, which Logan taught. She was dreading it a bit, knowing that Logan's gruff demeanor might make the class even more challenging.

As she walked into the classroom, she saw Logan at his desk, already preparing for the lesson. His usual scowl was in place, and he didn’t look particularly thrilled to be there.

“Morning,” Alexandria said as she entered, trying to sound casual.

Logan glanced up from his desk, his eyes briefly meeting hers. “Yeah, morning. Take a seat.”

She sat down in her usual spot, trying to ignore the lingering sense of unease. The class was about to start, and Logan began discussing the American Revolution with his usual no-nonsense attitude.

Alexandria struggled to keep up with the rapid pace of the lecture. The details about the Founding Fathers and the various battles felt overwhelming. It was hard to wrap her head around the significance of it all, especially given her lack of background in this kind of history.

The rest of the class continued with Logan’s usual blunt style, which made it difficult to relax. By the end of the period, Alexandria felt mentally exhausted.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, Alexandria quickly packed up her things and headed out of the room. She wanted to avoid any more interaction with Logan if she could help it. But as she made her way to her next class, she found herself unexpectedly intercepted by Logan.

“Hey,” he said, his tone more subdued than usual. “Stick around for a minute.”

Alexandria glanced at him, her brow furrowing. “What’s up?”

Logan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. “You seem like you’re struggling. Just wanted to see if you need any help.”

“Here we go again.” Alexandria muttered to herself, her frustration slipping out in her native Russian. She turned back to Logan, her expression a mix of annoyance and wariness.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You got something to say?”

Alexandria shrugged, trying to hide her irritation. “I just… this isn’t what I’m used to.”

Logan nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I get it. History's not everyone’s cup of tea. But if you’re struggling, it might help to get a bit of extra help.”

She eyed him warily. “Why do you care?” She feels like she says this every time she sees him.

“Look, I’m not in the business of coddling students,” Logan said, his tone gruff. “But I’m also not in the business of letting them fail if I can do something about it.”

Alexandria shifted uncomfortably, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just don’t get why it’s so important.”

“It’s important because knowing where you come from helps you figure out where you’re going,” Logan said. “But if you’re not getting it, then let’s see if we can fix that.”

She hesitated, torn between her pride and the reality of her situation. “What would you suggest?”

“Extra help sessions after class,” Logan said bluntly. “I can give you some resources to read up on and go over stuff with you. If you’re willing to put in the effort.”

Alexandria sighed. “Alright, fine. When’s the next session?”

“Tomorrow after school,” Logan replied. “Meet me in my office. I’ll give you some material to work through.”

“Got it,” Alexandria said, though she wasn’t thrilled about it. In fact, she didn’t want to go at all. “Thanks, I guess.”

Logan gave a curt nod. “Don’t mention it. Now, get to your next class.”

Alexandria turned and walked away, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. She didn’t really know if she should be grateful or annoyed, but at least she had a plan now. She hoped it would help her catch up, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease about the whole situation.

As she walked down the hallway, she saw Scott, Jean, and Kitty waiting near the entrance to their next class. They greeted her with friendly smiles, and she tried to shake off the lingering tension from her conversation with Logan.

“Hey, Alexandria,” Jean said. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just had a talk with Logan,” Alexandria replied, trying to sound casual. “Got some extra help lined up.”

Scott gave her an encouraging smile. “That’s good. Sometimes a little extra help can make a big difference.”

Kitty nodded in agreement. “Yeah, don’t stress too much. We’ve all had subjects that we struggled with at some point.”

Alexandria managed a small smile. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

---

Using Tony’s card, she found an online course on English. Specifically, how to read it.

She thinks that’s where her problems are coming from, she can speak it perfectly fine, but she can’t read it for shit.

Alexandria might’ve not slept at all that night, mostly due to the fact she was doing the online course, and also due to the fact she can’t sleep properly since she sees what everyone’s dreaming about.

But at some point, her luck had to hit an all-time low. There was a saying she heard in HYDRA a few times, “bez truda ne vytashchish’ i rybku iz pruda.” No pain, no gain.

A loud pounding sounded out from her door, jerking her awake. She was hunched over at her desk, the video she swore she was just watching now a quiz to test her learning.

She rubbed a hand down her face, noting the time was 9:02 am.

“Blyat'.” Alexandria cursed. Somehow the time turned from 6:47 am to 9:02 am. Meaning, she slept through her first period chemistry class taught by Hank.

She looked at the dates in her journal that she wrote down to note how long she went without sleeping.

Two weeks and 4 days. Two days away from a record.

The banging resumed as she blearily stood up from her desk to open her door.

She yanked open the door to find Logan standing there, his expression a mix of annoyance and concern. The faint smell of coffee clung to him, suggesting he’d been awake for a while, possibly dealing with his own set of issues.

“Nice of you to join the living,” Logan said, his tone sharp but not entirely unkind.

Alexandria’s face flushed with embarrassment and irritation. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Logan said, his eyes scanning her disheveled appearance. “You missed chemistry. It’s not like you to just skip out.”

She shrugged, trying to ignore the sting of his words. “I was working on something else. I didn’t mean to—” She trailed off, her head feeling light. But she was able to brush it off as best as she could to seem normal.

Usually after not sleeping HYDRA would give her some sedatives and put her out for a few days before repeating the process.

Just because she was in a specialized cell doesn’t mean she could sleep. In fact, she suspected that sometimes they toyed with her and shut off the power in her cell so she would see everyone’s dreams.

Those sedatives they gave her were her version of candy. She would have done, and did do anything for those sedatives.

Logan’s expression didn’t soften as he surveyed the scene. “Look, Alexandria, you’ve got to get your act together. Missing classes is not an option, especially when you’re already struggling.”

“I know,” she snapped back, her tone defensive. “I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. “It better not. If you’re falling behind, that’s on you. I’m here to help, but I can’t do everything.”

Alexandria bit her lip, trying to quell the irritation bubbling inside her. She knew he had a point, but it didn’t make his bluntness any easier to handle. “What do you want me to do about it? I’ll catch up.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got extra help after school, remember? And I’d suggest you use it. I’m not going to baby you through this.”

She glanced at the clock on her desk, noting the time. “Right. I’ll be there. Just—” She stopped herself, unsure how to finish. Her usual responses felt inadequate, almost childish in the face of his gruff demeanor. And it didn’t help that she had to use her hand to cover up a yawn.

Logan seemed to sense her struggle, though his expression remained stern. “You’re not the only one with problems. But the world doesn’t stop spinning because you’re tired or overwhelmed. You need to figure out how to handle it.”

Alexandria nodded, feeling a mix of frustration and acceptance. “I get it. I’ll do better.”

Logan gave a curt nod and turned to leave, but not before casting one last, assessing look over his shoulder. “Make sure you do. I’m not going to keep reminding you.”

He left her room as she looked around. Guess she was going to have to wear the clothes she wore yesterday to make it to Ms. Frost’s class before she’s late.

---

By the time algebra was done and she had got to English with Ororo, she was more exhausted than when she woke up.

She hates even acknowledging that she needs something, let alone something as simple as sleep, but she was going to have to deal with. There were so many people in this mansion, closing her eyes and getting sleep would be impossible. It was like being a radio station with too many inputs.

Alexandria remembers Scott mentioning something about Guinness World Records. She wondered what the record was and if she had possibly beaten it.

English with Storm went by faster than she thought, and before she knew it, it was lunchtime. Jean, Scott, and Kitty were at their usual spots, and Alexandria quickly took her seat, trying to appear as normal as possible despite her exhaustion.

“Hey, Alexandria!” Jean greeted with a smile. “You look like you could use a nap.”

She gave a small smile, “maybe.”

Jean raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. “You should take it easy if you can. You’ve been running on fumes.”

Kitty nodded in agreement. “Yeah, no need to push yourself too hard. There’s no shame in taking a break.”

Alexandria shrugged, trying to brush off their concern. “I’ll manage. I’ve got stuff to do after school.”

“Extra help with Logan, right?” Scott asked, looking at her with a mix of sympathy and curiosity.

“Yeah,” Alexandria said, not really wanting to delve into the details. “I’ll be fine.”

They fell into a more casual conversation, discussing weekend plans and upcoming tests. Alexandria found herself drawn into the chatter, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she engaged with her friends. For a brief moment, the weight of her responsibilities seemed lighter.

They split up once again, Jean coming with her to their US History class.

Jean and Alexandria walked into their US History class, both of them looking like they had just come from a particularly intense discussion. Alexandria still felt the weight of exhaustion pressing on her shoulders, but she managed a small smile as she took her seat.

Logan was already at his desk, thumbing through a stack of papers. He glanced up as the students settled in, his eyes briefly meeting Alexandria’s. He didn’t say anything, just went back to his papers with that ever-present scowl. The usual tension hung in the air, thick and unspoken.

Jean slid into her seat next to Alexandria, giving her a sympathetic look. “You sure you’re okay? You look like you could fall asleep right here.”

Alexandria shrugged, trying to dismiss the concern. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

Jean didn’t look convinced but let it go, turning her attention to Logan as he began his lecture. The topic of the day was the aftermath of the American Revolution, and Logan jumped right into it, his voice gruff and unyielding. He scribbled dates and names on the board, making quick, sharp notes as he spoke.

Alexandria tried to keep up, her mind struggling to focus. The material was dense, and her lack of sleep wasn’t helping. Every time she thought she was catching on, her attention would drift, and she’d have to refocus. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay engaged.

The class went on, and Alexandria found herself counting down the minutes until the bell rang. When it finally did, she packed up her things and glanced at Jean, who seemed to sense her exhaustion.

“Need any help with the material? I know Logan can be a bit much,” Jean offered.

Alexandria appreciated the gesture but shook her head. “I’ll manage. I’ve got the extra help session after school.”

Jean gave her a concerned look but didn’t press further. “Alright. Just remember to take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alexandria said, giving her a half-hearted smile. “I’ll be fine.”

After history, which was as hard as before, she headed to her last class of the day before meeting Logan. The hours dragged on, and by the time the final bell rang, Alexandria felt like she was running on empty.

She made her way to Logan’s office, her steps heavy with fatigue. When she arrived, she found Logan sitting behind his desk, his eyes focused on a pile of papers.

“On time,” Logan said without looking up. “Guess you’re not completely useless.”

Alexandria rolled her eyes but kept her tone even. “I’m here. What do you need me to do?”

Logan finally looked up, his expression as stern as ever. “We’re going to go over some of the material you missed. I’ve got a few readings for you to go through and some questions to answer. We’ll start with that and see where you’re at.”

He handed her a stack of papers, and Alexandria took them with a nod. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment further. He pulled out a chair and started going over the material with her, his explanations blunt and to the point. Alexandria struggled to keep up, her exhaustion making it hard to focus. But she tried her best, determined not to let her fatigue get in the way of her progress.

As the session went on, Logan’s tone remained gruff, but there was a noticeable shift in his demeanor. He was less harsh than usual, focusing more on helping her understand the material rather than just berating her for not knowing it.

After an hour, Alexandria looked up from her notes, her eyes tired but determined. “I think I’m starting to get it. This stuff is just… a lot.”

Logan nodded, giving her a brief, approving look. “Yeah, it is. But you’re getting there. Just keep working at it.”

Alexandria nodded, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. “Thanks for the help.”

Logan gave a curt nod. “Don’t mention it. Just make sure you don’t fall behind again.”

As she packed up her things and headed for the door, Alexandria couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. The extra help session had been tough, but it had also been a step in the right direction. She was starting to understand the material better, and that gave her a glimmer of hope.

---

A week later

Alexandria learned a way to study better. Since she wasn’t good at reading in English, she found videos online, thanks to Scott’s suggestion, of Russian people talking about algebra, chemistry, and even US History which was surprising.

She still hadn’t gotten any sleep, which meant she passed her previous record and was at 3 weeks and 4 days of no sleep.

But Scott put her onto coffee. Or rather, she tried plain black coffee and didn’t like it, but Kitty and Jean suggested iced coffee which she enjoyed. Her favorite so far was an iced white chocolate mocha. The other thing Scott showed her was energy drinks.

So, thanks to the two new things she discovered, she hasn’t felt tired in days.

She even got a compliment from Ms. Frost about her algebra homework, saying that she did good. It wasn’t a lot, but it meant the world to Alexandria, which was a new feeling.

Alexandria was currently reading a Russian version of the book ‘Brave New World’, which she bought using Tony’s card.

She’s sure he won’t mind, hell, he’s Tony Stark, he’ll probably never notice.

Earlier tonight, Kitty, Jean, and Jubilee came over to her room to help her with some math for chemistry, and they put her onto a few musical artists.

So, at 3:45 am, she had her headphones on listening to a Taylor Swift song, humming along while doing a paper for Ororo’s English class, and drinking a pink can of Monster.

Logan, on the other hand, had noticed that Alexandria hadn’t come out late at night for her nightly smoke breaks for the past week. And while there was a small part of him that was glad she wasn’t smoking, she was eighteen after all, he couldn’t help but be curious as to how she had caught up in all of her subjects.

Even Emma had made a small comment about how she was impressed how Alexandria seemed to have learned all the material she’d taught and more. She had only come by once for after hours and seemed to be doing fine in all of her work in his class as well.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he walked down the quiet hallways to her room, a warm light shining underneath the door.

He knocked lightly and got no response. Logan pushed the door open a crack, peering into Alexandria's dimly lit room. The soft glow of a desk lamp illuminated her focused face, framed by large headphones.

She was hunched over a spiral notebook, her pen scribbling furiously as a faint melody played through her headphones. The energy drink on her desk was half-empty, a pink can with a flashy design that contrasted sharply with the starkness of her surroundings.

Logan sighed softly, his curiosity overcoming his usual gruffness. He knocked again, a bit louder this time. "Alexandria."

She barely flinched, her concentration unwavering. Logan knocked harder, the sound finally penetrating the bubble of her focus. Alexandria looked up, pulling one headphone off her ear and squinting at the doorway. Her expression shifted from confusion to mild irritation.

"What?" she said, her voice tired but sharp.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "What are you still doing up? It's three-forty-five in the morning."

She sighed and took off her other headphone, rubbing her eyes. "Working on some assignments.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to the energy drink and then back to Alexandria. "I thought you were supposed to be resting. You haven’t been out for your usual smoke breaks lately."

Alexandria shrugged, a gesture that seemed half-embarrassed, half-defiant. "I don’t need them anymore."

Logan raised an eyebrow, more intrigued than he cared to admit. "And why's that? You’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard. What's with all the late-night studying?"

"It's not just studying. I’ve got a lot to catch up on," she said, her tone defensive. "And the coffee and energy drinks help. I’m getting through it."

Logan’s expression softened slightly, though he tried to keep it hidden behind his usual scowl. "You've been doing well in class, I’ve noticed. Emma mentioned you’ve been on top of the material. Still, burning the candle at both ends isn't sustainable."

Her brows furrowed, that wasn’t a phrase she had heard before. “What does that mean? Is that a…” she grabbed a different notebook on her desk, flipping through the pages, “an idiom?”

“Hell, if I know kid, it’s just a saying.”

Logan's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Alexandria flip through her notebook. He could see the strain in her posture, the exhaustion she was trying to mask with her intensity. He wasn’t exactly the nurturing type, but seeing her push herself so hard without any apparent concern for her well-being did stir something in him.

“You know,” he said, shifting his weight, “there’s a limit to how much caffeine and energy drinks can do. Your body needs more than just stimulants to keep going.”

Alexandria gave him a skeptical look, her fingers tapping impatiently on the edge of her desk. “I’m fine. I’ve managed this far. Why are you so interested, anyway?”

Logan shrugged, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. “Just curious. You’re doing better in class, but I’m not about to ignore you turning into a caffeine-fueled night owl. It’s my job to make sure you’re not just learning the material but also taking care of yourself.”

“Right,” Alexandria said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because you’re such a model of self-care.”

Logan smirked. “Don’t mistake me for a role model. I’ve got my own issues. But if I can get you to not collapse from overwork, maybe I’ll sleep a little easier.”

Alexandria sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I’m just trying to catch up. I know it’s not healthy, but I don’t have a choice right now.”

Logan tilted his head, studying her. “Look, kid, you can push yourself to the brink, but at some point, your body’s gonna say enough. You might be able to keep going for a while, but eventually, it’ll catch up with you.”

She rubbed her face, clearly fatigued but trying to stay alert. “I can’t sleep.” She finally admitted.

He snorted, “well, that’s obvious.”

Alexandria didn’t want to add on and tell him it was because of her powers. So, she let him think that it was just pure determination to do better.

Though that sounded fucking stupid. She wasn’t some do-gooder like Captain America. Wasn’t always trying to get everyone to smile. In fact, she wanted to punch his perfect face and teeth to make him look at least a little messed up.

Logan’s gaze lingered on her, his expression a mix of skepticism and concern. “Listen, Alexandria,” he said gruffly, “if you’re not gonna listen to me, at least listen to your own body. You’re pushing yourself too hard, and it’s gonna catch up with you sooner or later.”

“Yeah, well,” Alexandria said, trying to muster a nonchalant shrug despite her exhaustion, “I don’t exactly have a choice. I need to get this stuff done. It’s not like anyone’s gonna wait for me to catch up.”

Logan’s eyes softened a fraction, though he quickly masked it with his usual gruff demeanor. “I get it. But that doesn’t mean you should drive yourself into the ground. You might think you’re managing, but one day, you’re gonna crash.”

Alexandria looked down at her notebook, a frown tugging at her lips. “I know. I just… I don’t really know how to stop.”

“Maybe you don’t need to stop entirely,” Logan said, crossing his arms. “But you should at least try to find some balance. Even if it’s just a few hours of sleep a night. You’re not a machine.”

She sighed, her frustration evident. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just shut it off. And it’s not like I have anyone to help me with this.”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, his expression thoughtful. “Look, I’m not saying you have to figure this out alone. If you need help, you can ask. But maybe start by taking a break now and then. Just to recharge, even if it’s for a short while.”

“I’ll think about it,” Alexandria said, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced. “But for now, I’ve got a lot to get through.”

Logan nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he turned to leave. “Alright. But don’t ignore what I said. It’s not just about doing well in class. It’s about keeping yourself in one piece.”

Alexandria watched him go, feeling a mix of relief and irritation. She knew he had a point, but she wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge it yet. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly four in the morning.

With a sigh, she turned her attention back to her work, though Logan’s words echoed in her mind. Maybe she was pushing herself too hard. Maybe it was time to reconsider her approach, even if just a little.

The next day, Alexandria found herself in the cafeteria with Jean, Scott, and Kitty again. Her fatigue was still there, but she was trying to keep up appearances.

“Hey, Alexandria,” Kitty greeted her, her usual enthusiasm tempered with concern. “How’s the studying going?”

“It’s going,” Alexandria replied, taking a sip of her iced white chocolate mocha. “Just trying to keep up.”

Jean gave her a sympathetic look. “You’re still looking pretty tired. Maybe you should consider taking a break.”

“Not really an option right now,” Alexandria said, trying to keep the conversation light. “But thanks for the concern.”

Scott and Kitty exchanged glances but didn’t push further. Instead, the conversation shifted to weekend plans and upcoming events. Alexandria tried to engage, but her mind kept drifting back to her work and Logan’s words.

After lunch, she had a few more classes, and by the time the day ended, she was ready to collapse. But she had promised herself she’d make progress, so she headed back to her room, determined to keep going.

“Sashulya.” A voice sang from behind her. It was a nickname buried deep within her memories. She remembers her mother calling her that, a nickname only she was supposed to say.

“Sashulya, come.” The voice came from a woman wearing a large coat of sorts, draping over onto the hardwood floor.

Alexandria followed, holding her folders to her chest. “Mama has something for you.” She followed the woman to the front doors of the school. The hooded figure turned around, but she couldn’t see her face. It was black, maybe a shadow from the hood.

“Mama is that you? They killed you.” Alexandria finally spoke. It felt almost freeing to speak in Russian again.

The hooded figure opened the door to the school, the sun was setting, casting a pastel glow around them. “Sashulya, everything will be fine. Come with me.”

Alexandra smiled softly at the figure and stepped closer. As soon as she did the figure changed.

“Your mommy is dead, child. Don’t cry. We will take care of you.” The HYDRA scientist, the first one she ever saw appeared in front of her, holding that large needle she hated with a passion.

She suddenly felt cold, “Where is she? Where are they?”

“Dead. Now let's go. The more you resist, the more it hurts, Alexandria.” The scientist tilted her head, “They'll give you a sedative. Makes my job a lot easier.”

Alexandria felt a sting at the back of her head, but it reality it came from her falling down onto the cement, rain pouring heavily around her. “Tili tili bom. zakroy glaza seychas. Kto-to khodit vozle doma. I stuchit v dver'. Tili tili bom.” She felt someone brush hair off her forehead,“nochnyye ptitsy shchebechut. On vnutri doma. V gosti k tem, kto ne mozhet usnut'. On khodit. On priblizhayetsya... blizhe.”

The lullaby brought up old memories, it was the lullaby her mom used to sing to her, because even when she was 3 years old, she had trouble sleeping. That song always seemed to lure her to sleep.

Even though the rain was pouring down around the school, Alexandria fell asleep easily.

The rain, the memory of her mother’s lullaby, and the figure of the HYDRA scientist blurred into a surreal mix that dragged her deeper into unconsciousness.

She hadn’t felt this kind of exhaustion in a long time.

---

Logan found her hours later. The rain had soaked her through, her hair plastered to her face, and her clothes clinging to her frame. She was shivering, her lips slightly parted as she mumbled something incoherent, still half-caught in whatever nightmare had gripped her.

"Kid," Logan growled as he crouched down beside her. He gave her shoulder a rough shake. "Wake up."

Alexandria didn’t respond. Her eyes twitched under her closed lids, and she muttered something in Russian. Logan’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the words, but they were too garbled, too distant.

"Damn it," Logan muttered under his breath. He scooped her up with surprising gentleness, cradling her limp form against his chest. "What the hell are you doin' to yourself, kid?"

Her head lolled against his shoulder, and Logan felt a strange pang of concern. It wasn’t like him to worry about anyone, especially a kid like her, but there was something about the way she’d been pushing herself that gnawed at him.

He carried her back to the mansion, the rain still pouring down around them. By the time he reached the front doors, he was drenched too, but he hardly noticed. His focus was on Alexandria and the way her breath hitched every now and then, like she was stuck in the throes of a bad dream.

"Hank," Logan barked as he pushed through the front doors. "I need ya!"

The sound of Logan’s gruff voice echoed through the halls of the mansion, alerting anyone within earshot that something serious was going down. He didn’t waste time waiting for a response, striding purposefully down the corridor, Alexandria’s limp form cradled in his arms.

Hank appeared in the doorway to his lab, he took one look at Logan and the girl he was carrying and immediately shifted into action mode.

"What happened?" Hank asked, his voice calm but tinged with concern as he stepped aside to let Logan in.

Logan grunted, his face etched with frustration. "Found her outside, unconscious in the rain. She's been pushing herself way too hard. Barely slept in weeks, if at all."

Hank's brow furrowed as he quickly cleared a space on one of the examination tables. "Lay her down here."

Logan carefully placed Alexandria on the table, her soaked clothes clinging to her body. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow and irregular. Hank immediately started checking her vitals, his fingers moving swiftly and expertly as he assessed her condition.

"Her heart rate is elevated," Hank murmured, more to himself than to Logan. "She's dehydrated, and her temperature is dropping. How long has she been like this?"

Logan crossed his arms, watching Hank work with a tense expression. "She's been running on fumes for at least three weeks, maybe more. I told her to take it easy, but you know how stubborn she is."

Hank nodded, not taking his eyes off Alexandria. "I see. We'll need to get her warmed up and stabilized first. Then we can address the underlying issue." He glanced at Logan, his blue eyes sharp. "She's been pushing herself to stay awake, hasn't she?"

"Yeah," Logan replied, his voice laced with frustration. "Said she can’t sleep. Didn’t go into detail, but it’s clear something’s been messin’ with her."

Hank frowned, his mind already racing with possibilities. "If she's been unable to sleep for that long, it could be more than just physical exhaustion. We might be dealing with a psychological or even a neurological issue."

"Get her fixed up, Hank," Logan said, his tone gruff but underlying it was a note of genuine concern. "She needs help, but I’m not the one to give it to her."

Hank nodded, his focus returning to Alexandria as he prepared to administer a sedative to help her body relax. "I'll do what I can, Logan. But if she's been pushing herself to this point, there may be more going on than we realize."

As Hank worked to stabilize Alexandria, her breathing started to even out, and her shivering slowly subsided as her body began to warm up. Logan watched, his expression hardening as he thought about what Alexandria had been through. He wasn’t one to get emotionally involved, but seeing the kid in this state stirred something deep within him—a mix of anger at her stubbornness and a grudging respect for her resilience.

After a few minutes, Hank spoke up, his voice calm but firm. "Logan, we need to figure out what’s causing this. If it’s a neurological issue, it could be dangerous if left untreated."

Logan nodded, his jaw clenched. "Got any ideas?"

Hank hesitated for a moment, then said, "I'll need to consult with Charles. If there’s something more complex going on, like interference with her mind or dreams, he might be able to help. We also might need to reach out to someone with expertise in neurological conditions."

Logan frowned. "You think it's somethin' like that?"

Hank met Logan’s gaze, his expression serious. "It’s possible. If she’s been avoiding sleep because of nightmares or intrusive thoughts, it could be related to her powers—or something else entirely. We need to investigate all possibilities."

Logan didn’t like the sound of that. He knew Alexandria was tough, but if there was something messing with her mind, they needed to handle it carefully. "Alright," he grunted. "Get Charles and do what you gotta do."

Hank nodded, already reaching for his communicator. "I'll get Charles down here. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to keep her stable."

As Hank sent the message to Charles Xavier, Logan lingered by Alexandria’s side, his usual tough exterior cracking just a bit as he looked down at her. She was a fighter—he could see that—but even the toughest fighters needed help sometimes. He just hoped they could get to the bottom of this before it was too late.

---

Charles arrived within minutes, his expression calm but alert as he wheeled into the lab. "Hank, Logan," he greeted them, his eyes immediately going to Alexandria. "What happened?"

Logan gave a brief rundown of the situation, his voice clipped. "She’s been pushing herself to stay awake, and now she’s out cold. Hank thinks it might be more than just physical exhaustion."

Charles nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I see. If she's been avoiding sleep, it’s possible that her mind is reacting to some form of trauma or external influence. I’ll need to delve into her thoughts to see if I can determine what’s causing this."

Hank stepped back to give Charles room. "I've stabilized her physically, but if there's something affecting her mind, we’ll need to address it quickly."

Charles closed his eyes, reaching out with his telepathic abilities to gently probe Alexandria's mind. He moved carefully, not wanting to cause any further distress. As he delved deeper, he encountered a chaotic swirl of emotions, memories, and fragments of dreams—some of them dark and unsettling.

After a few moments, Charles opened his eyes, his expression grave. "There’s significant mental strain here. She’s been suppressing her ability to rest due to a fear of her own dreams—or rather, the dreams of others. Her telepathic abilities are interfering with her sleep, causing her to experience the dreams of those around her."

Logan’s frown deepened. "So she’s been seein’ other people’s dreams instead of her own?"

"Yes," Charles confirmed. "It’s likely that her powers have become more sensitive, perhaps due to stress or recent trauma. She’s been overwhelmed by the influx of other people's subconscious thoughts, making it impossible for her to rest."

Hank's eyes widened slightly. "If she's been experiencing the dreams of others, that could explain why she's been so desperate to stay awake. It would be incredibly disorienting and exhausting."

Logan ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "So what do we do about it?"

Charles looked at Hank, then back at Logan. "We need to block the telepathic interference so she can get the rest she needs. Hank, I suggest you work on a device that can shield her mind from external influences while she sleeps. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to calm her mind and help her enter a restful state."

Hank nodded, already formulating a plan in his mind. "I can modify a version of the telepathic inhibitors we’ve used before. It might take some time, but I can create a device that will allow her to sleep without being affected by the dreams of others."

Logan exhaled, relieved that they had a plan. "Alright. Do it."

Charles turned his attention back to Alexandria, his expression softening. "I’ll begin now. Logan, would you mind staying with her? Your presence might help keep her grounded."

Logan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. I’ll stay."

As Charles began his telepathic work, Logan pulled up a chair beside the table and settled in. He wasn’t the comforting type, but if his presence could help in any way, he’d do it. He owed it to the kid, after all she’d been through.

For the next few hours, Logan watched as Charles and Hank worked tirelessly to help Alexandria. Charles used his telepathic abilities to calm her mind, creating a mental barrier to keep out the intrusive dreams. Meanwhile, Hank tinkered with various devices, modifying and fine-tuning them to ensure they would work as intended.

Finally, as dawn began to break, Hank approached Logan with a small device in hand. "This should do it," he said, holding up what looked like a sleek headband with several intricate components embedded in it. "It’s designed to block out telepathic interference while allowing her to enter a normal sleep cycle."

Logan eyed the device skeptically. "You sure it’ll work?"

Hank nodded confidently. "It’s based on existing technology, but I’ve made some modifications to suit her specific needs. Once we put this on her, she should be able to sleep without being affected by the dreams of others."

Logan sighed, his fatigue starting to catch up with him. "Alright. Let’s give it a shot."

Hank carefully placed the device on Alexandria’s head, adjusting it to fit snugly. Charles, who had been monitoring her mind, nodded in approval. "It’s working. Her mind is starting to settle into a normal sleep pattern."

Logan watched as Alexandria’s breathing evened out, her expression relaxing for the first time in days. She looked peaceful, almost as if she was finally finding the rest she so desperately needed. The tension in the lab seemed to ease slightly with the sight of her calm.

Charles looked over at Logan, his expression softening. "It seems the device is working as intended. Her mind is starting to settle."

Logan nodded, though his eyes remained focused on Alexandria. "Yeah. She looks like she might actually get some real sleep for once."

Hank, busy with the final tweaks to the device, glanced up. "She needed it. The lack of sleep was probably making her hallucinate. It’s a miracle she was still functional."

Charles turned to Logan, a thoughtful look on his face. "You stayed with her the entire time. That’s not like you."

Logan shrugged, his expression a mix of irritation and fatigue. "She’s a kid who’s been through hell. Didn’t want to leave her alone."

Charles nodded, understanding but keeping his comments to himself. "Well, it’s good you were here. Sometimes, people need more than just physical care—they need reassurance."

Logan grunted in response and stood up, stretching his stiff muscles. "Right. Guess I’ll leave you guys to it."

Hank looked up from his equipment. "Logan, you should probably get some rest yourself. You’ve been working hard too."

Logan gave a curt nod. "Yeah, I’ll grab a nap. Let me know if she wakes up or if you need anything."

As he made his way out of the lab, Charles’s voice followed him. "Thank you, Logan."

Logan didn’t turn back, just gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Whatever."

---

When Alexandria woke up hours later, the first thing she noticed without even opening her eyes was a metal headband around her head.

Immediately she started to panic.

She was back at HYDRA, and they were going to punish her with electroshock. Track her brainwaves while doing it.

Hank noticed her waking up and in a hazy, frantic movement, she grabbed a nearby screwdriver and jabbed it into his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Logan was in his quarters, trying to catch up on some much-needed sleep. He barely managed to drift off when his communicator buzzed. He groaned, rolling over and picking it up.

"Logan," came Hank’s voice, slightly distorted through the device. "Alexandria’s waking up. You might want to come back to the lab." Logan heard a clanking sound coming from Hank’s side. “Now.”

Logan sat up immediately, throwing on a shirt and heading back to the lab. The fatigue from his earlier shift was still heavy on him, but he pushed through, knowing Alexandria’s well-being was more important.

She tried to pull off the headband from her head, but her hands were far too shaky to accomplish that goal. And for some reason, she was freezing. Alexandria was used to the cold, thanks to the HYDRA base being in snowy Russia.

The cold was biting, and her teeth chattered despite the warmth of the room. Her heart raced, the memories of her captivity with HYDRA clouding her mind.

“Hey, easy,” Logan’s voice cut through the fog of her panic. He entered the lab, his expression a mix of irritation and concern. “Put that down. It’s not what you think.”

Alexandria’s eyes darted around, trying to piece together the situation. Her gaze locked onto Logan, and she could barely make out his gruff features. The familiar face was not comforting; it was just another reminder of how out of control everything felt.

Hank, wincing from the screwdriver jab, was already on his feet, his eyes shifting between Alexandria and Logan. “She’s disoriented. We need to calm her down.”

Logan approached slowly, keeping his hands visible. “Kid, listen. You’re not in HYDRA. You’re safe here. That headband is just to help you sleep without those... dreams messing with you.”

Alexandria’s breath came in sharp, shallow gasps. She tried to sit up, but her body felt heavy and uncooperative. “No... not safe... they’re coming for me...”

Logan sighed, his patience wearing thin. “It’s not them. No one’s coming for you. You’re at the mansion. Hank’s here to help.”

Hank took a cautious step forward, his demeanor calm but his voice firm. “Alexandria, I need you to listen to me. You’re in a safe place. The headband is to block out any external telepathic influences. It’s helping you get the rest you need.”

Alexandria’s gaze flicked to Hank, then back to Logan. Her mind was a whirlwind of memories and confusion. “But... I...”

Logan’s tone softened, “I know it’s hard to believe right now, but you gotta trust us. We’re trying to help you. You need to calm down.”

Alexandria’s hands trembled as she struggled to push the headband away, her vision blurring with tears. “I don’t want this... I don’t want their dreams...”

Logan took a deep breath, his frustration giving way to a rare moment of empathy. “I get it. I really do. But this is the only way for you to get some damn rest. You can’t keep going like this.”

The sound of the door opening caught their attention. Charles wheeled in, his expression serene yet serious. “How is she?”

Hank, still nursing his shoulder, looked over. “She’s awake and disoriented. She’s been pushing herself too hard, and now she’s struggling to accept the help we’re offering.”

Charles nodded, approaching Alexandria with a gentle presence. “Alexandria, I need you to focus on me. You’re safe, and we’re here to help you. Can you try to calm down and listen to what we’re saying?”

Alexandria’s eyes met Charles’s, and she could see the sincerity in his gaze. It was hard to ignore, despite the whirlwind of her emotions. Slowly, she began to ease her grip on the headband, though she still trembled.

Charles continued in a soothing tone. “We need to make sure you’re comfortable and can get some restful sleep. This headband is a part of that process. It’s not a punishment or a trap. It’s a tool to help you recover.”

Logan stood by, his arms crossed, watching Alexandria with a mix of annoyance and concern. He was used to dealing with his own issues but seeing her like this stirred something different in him. “Look, you don’t gotta like it. Just try to relax, alright? We’re on your side.”

Alexandria’s breaths began to slow, her mind still foggy but gradually clearing. She hated the headband on her head, hated the fact that she felt like a lab experiment once again being surrounded by and all-white room and medical equipment.

Charles watched her with a soft expression, hoping to convey reassurance despite the sterile environment. "You're doing well, Alexandria. Just focus on calming down. We’re not here to hurt you."

Alexandria’s eyes met his, though her expression remained guarded. "Why... why are you doing this?"

Charles took a moment before answering, his voice calm. "We’re trying to help you. The headband is designed to block out any telepathic interference so you can sleep without being disturbed."

She shook her head slightly, her eyes still darting around the room. “I don’t want to be a burden...”

“You’re not a burden,” Charles said gently. “You’re part of this team, and we want to make sure you’re healthy. If you don’t get proper rest, it’s going to make everything worse.”

“Listen, kid. We don’t do this for fun. You’re here because you needed help. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll start feeling better."

Alexandria looked at Logan, her expression a mix of wariness and frustration. “Why do you even care?”

Logan’s face hardened, though there was a hint of something softer in his eyes. “I don’t do this for everyone. But you’re pushing yourself too hard, and it’s not gonna do you any good.”

Hank, having finished tending to his shoulder, approached the table with a fresh gauze pad. “I need to tend to this wound,” he said, gesturing to his shoulder. “We’ll be here to keep an eye on you while you adjust.”

Alexandria nodded, though her body was still tense. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, and she was shivering despite the warmth of the room.

“Hey, we need to get you warmed up,” Hank said, moving toward a cabinet to fetch some blankets. “Logan, can you help me with this?”

Logan, who had been standing by with his arms crossed, grunted in response. He moved closer to the examination table, his eyes scanning Alexandria’s shivering form. “You alright, kid?” he asked, his voice gruff but laced with concern.

Alexandria looked up at him, her expression a mix of fear and exhaustion. “I’m cold...”

“We’re gonna fix that,” Logan said, grabbing a blanket from Hank and draping it over Alexandria’s shivering shoulders. “Just try to relax.”

Hank quickly followed suit, adding more blankets to ensure she was adequately covered. “It’s important that we keep you warm while you adjust to the device.”

Alexandria’s gaze flickered between Logan and Hank, her eyes still filled with unease. “How... how long do I have to wear this?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Hank offered a reassuring smile, though it was clear he was still concerned. “Just until we’re sure your mind is calm and stable. It might take a bit for you to get used to it.”

Charles, still monitoring her condition, spoke up gently. “Alexandria, the headband is designed to block out the telepathic interference you’ve been experiencing. It will help you get the sleep you need without being disturbed.”

She nodded in response before looking over at Hank, “can we make it smaller?” she asked quietly. “I… don’t like the headband.”

Hank gave another reassuring smile, “of course. I can have it done by the time you wake up.”

Alexandria nodded, though her eyes remained wary. The blankets were warm and comforting, but she still shivered from the cold that seemed to seep into her bones.

“Try to relax,” Hank said as he finished adjusting the blankets around her. “It’s going to be alright.”

Alexandria’s eyes fluttered shut, her exhaustion winning over her anxiety. Charles gave a final nod of reassurance before stepping back to monitor her condition from a distance.

Logan, having witnessed the entire ordeal, leaned against a counter, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. “You sure this is gonna work?” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

Hank glanced over. “It’s our best shot. We’ve got to get her mind settled and give her a break from all this telepathic noise.”

Logan grunted, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Just hope it doesn’t take too long. We’ve all been running on empty lately.”

Charles wheeled closer, his expression serious. “We need to be patient. Alexandria’s been through a lot. The sooner she can rest, the sooner she’ll start to recover.”

Logan sighed and rubbed his face with one hand. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Just wish she’d stop makin’ things harder on herself.”

---

A few hours later, Alexandria began to stir. The headband was still on her head, but it felt less intrusive now that she was used to it. Her breathing was steadier, and she was no longer shivering.

“Hey, kid,” Logan’s voice broke through her haze as he approached. “How’re you feelin’?”

Alexandria’s eyes opened slowly, meeting his gaze. “Better,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse. “The cold is gone.”

Logan nodded, looking around the lab. “Good. Hank said he’s workin’ on makin’ that headband smaller for you.”

Alexandria gave a slight nod. “Thank you.”

Logan grunted. “Don’t mention it. You were givin’ us a scare. Figured I’d check in.”

She managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

Logan’s expression softened just a bit. “You’re not a burden. Just try to keep it together, alright? We’re all in this mess together.”

“Yeah,” Alexandria said, her voice still weak. “I’ll try.”

Charles, who had been observing quietly, spoke up. “Alexandria, you’ve made great progress. We’ll continue to monitor your condition, but for now, try to get as much rest as you can.”

Alexandria nodded, closing her eyes again. “I’ll do my best.”

[mymegrokosmos]

another little no tears drabble bc i guess i like hurting my own feelings or something.

ex bsf mark x reader - your best friend comes back suddenly after 10 years of living abroad and acts like nothing has changed between you. you feel like a stranger, blindsided after no contact since high school, and don't really know what to make of the grown man your silly little twig of a teenage crush has turned into.

"y/n!"

You spin around from where you've been standing, rocking back and forth in place as you wring your hands. You take a deep breath. You were purposely staring at the floor. If you don't look at him this moment isn't real.

You don’t even know why you agreed to meet him here today.

"Mark." Your voice is dry, tone so carefully neutral that he blinks in surprise at your cold delivery.

It doesn't totally deter him. Your best friend stops a few steps away, setting his bags down and pulling you into a hug. You just stand there, frozen, as he holds you like the last ten years never happened. Like he didn't pick up his entire life and leave you behind without a word for an entire decade. If it wasn't for the smile that hasn't changed since you first met him, you wouldn't even have recognized him.

He's grown up well. It hurts to admit that. To see how much of the lanky awkward teenage boy you remember that he’s lost. This isn't the Mark you used to spend nights in your backyard watching the stars all summer or on the phone with at 2am listening to his even breathing because the insomnia was winning again.

This was a man. He had changed so much and all of that time, you hadn't spoken. You don’t even know if he still likes the same things, if his favourite colour is still red and if he still likes spicy food. If he still talks in his sleep or watches horror movies or skateboards everywhere. You already notice the way he doesn't default to his left hand as he steps back and reaches up to brush your hair out of your face.

You should have tied it up today. Damn him for acting like nothing has changed.

His face falls as you take a step back. You need to put a little distance between you. You might have known him like the back of your hand once but you haven’t spoken in longer than you've known him. You've graduated college, landed your first full time job and moved into your own apartment. You have so many memories that you don’t share anymore. So many years where you didn't get so much as a text or a phone call.

Until he reached out last week, saying he would be back in town and wanted to get coffee and catch up, you thought he'd moved on and forgotten you completely. It had been a long time. You wouldn't have blamed him for leaving all of this behind. He had done well for himself, from what you'd heard from mutual friends that had stayed in touch, and you were happy for him. Or, at least, you wanted to be.

"Hi."

"Hey."

Mark slipped his hands back into his pockets and grabbed his bags. You tried to plaster on a smile as he got his suitcase in hand again and nodded towards the exit.

"Come on, my car is outside."

He nods, following as you lead him towards the parking. You don’t know what possessed you to offer to pick him up from the airport like this. It’s an hour drive in close quarters on the highway back to your place. About the same to the airbnb where he's staying. You haven’t asked too many questions. You're not sure you want the answers.

"How's your family been? Your sister graduates this year, doesn't she?"

You're not sure how he remembers these little details. You nod

"She's finishing her last semester, yeah. They're good. My parents are actually on vacation right now so she's house sitting for them."

You should have kept it to the bare minimum but you never could shut the fuck up around Mark. Everything you hold in with everyone else always seems to come spilling out when he's with you. You shake your head and pop the trunk as you get to the level your car is on.

"Here, this is me. Do you need any help with anything?"

"Nah, it’s okay, I've got it."

He waves off your offers to help and you sit in silence most of the drive. You don’t really know what to say. You don’t need to ask about his family, you and Joey still talk. You know how they've been. Mark reaches over to plug his phone in and you let him pull up some music. You're surprised to see him click on one of your playlists.

You've made one every year since high school. He used to tease you about it. You didn’t know he still listened to them. You’re not sure if it’s on purpose that he picks the one from the year you graduated, the last time you'd been in touch, but you force yourself not to react. It has to be a coincidence, maybe being home is just making him nostalgic.

When you pull up to the building where he's staying, he waves off your offer to help again and leans over to press a kiss to your cheek when you roll down the window. You knew you weren't going inside, he'd mentioned having to rush to get ready for a schedule as soon as he got here which was part of why you had offered to drop him off when his ride had fallen through. You didn’t have time to linger and you'd thought the drive would give you time to figure out how you felt about him being back without the commitment to sit down in his space and be trapped together for a while afterward. You were glad of the excuse to leave, waving as you pulled back into the street.

You probably should have just let him find another ride and stuck to coffee tomorrow. The entire drive home you were in your own head. You hadn't even asked what he was back for, why he had returned after so long. You'd been too distracted to say a lot of things. Maybe that was for the better.

[juliwuzhere]

Got any Max headcannons?

I think one of the headcannons I often include in my daydreams or writing is the idea of his parents, before camp had been something they could sign up Max for, making him do a TON of other activities. And it didn’t stop after Max meet the age requirement for camp Campbell. When Max isn’t at camp, he’s doing all the other activities he is forced to do after school or on weekends. Sure, most of them his parents probably signed him out of due to them being too expensive or because Max complained too much, but for the most part, he has done an extensive amount of activities. The first activity that came to mind after reading this post? He’s probably done it and mastered it.

I mean seriously, this kid has only been doing gymnastics for a couple months. He had from august all the way to June to practice gymnastics, and he’s already so good at it the show writers had to make him do the obstacle course off screen?! (Actually it was probably because of the budget, but you get my point.)

And not just that, did you see the way he wielded that spear back in season 1 when Ered took over camp? I’m sorry, but that kind of skill with a spear isn’t just built into baby’s from birth.

Im also of the firm belief that most, if not all, of Max’s clothing is either too big or too small. Listen, I don’t think his parents are extremely abusive, physically or mentally. I think, like Max said, they don’t care. They give him the bare necessities a kid needs, food, clothes, a roof over his head; however, they do just that, the bare minimum. Let’s be frank here, they probably don’t know his size in any piece of clothing. A hoodie is actually a pretty good nod at that fact. Hoodies aren’t very tight like a t shirt, so they could get him an Medium or large and it’s not that obvious how big the hoodie is.

This also leads to my third head cannon. Of course, his parents give clothes and food, but most of the time it’s leftovers or just ingredients. Which means that Max most likely cooks really well.

Another one I have, and this one may get me burned at the stake, is that Max’s hair doesn’t look that bad in the morning. Now, hear me out! I get it, imagining Max having a birds nest in the morning is pretty funny. But I honestly think that after the events that occurred at Spooky Island, Max, Sasha, and Pikemen, whether they want to admit it or not, did grow a friendship. Sure, it isn’t a very nice friendship and Pikemen still attacks the camp, but they are a lot more friendlier towards each other. Because of this, I know that Sasha definitely helped him develop a skin and hair care routine. (The skin routine is more eye bag related since they’re like 11) Before the events of season 4, yeah he probably looked like shit most days, but the year after that? You could give Max shit about his attitude, but definitely not his appearance. For all I know, Sasha bought him some cologne or some crap.

He definitely has insomnia, I mean cmon. This kid has saved the camp from a cultist, the woodscouts, etc. I’m sure he has at least SOME issues sleeping. I sure would if I knew the guy who had brainwashed me and my friends and tried to kill us was still OUT THERE. (In Antartica possibly, but still.)

This technically applies to my previous head cannon but whatever. He can play guitar, just doesn’t want David to know because he will 100% force Max to play at the campfire. Max would thrust himself into the bonfire before you saw him agree to do that.

Max is really good at sports and in term is very competitive. But like, he’s both of these things but…terrifyingly so. Sorry, gonna go on a tangent to explain my thought process but hear me out for a second. I’m actually planning on writing a fanfic about Nerris learning hypnotism (they think it’s the closest thing to real magic) and accidentally actually doing it to Max after failed attempts on all the campers while at a sleepover. David catches them because it’s past there curfew and, to get out of trouble, Nerris decides to compromise with him. They tell David that if he lets all of the campers go without having to clean the messhall or whatever punishment he’s going to give them, Nerris would make Max actually participate in the camp activities. One thing leads to another and Max ends up actually doing all the activities with no complaining. But turns out, he’s way too good. None of the campers can actually beat him in anything, not even there own activities. Soccer, basketball, tennis, pickleball, archery, rock climbing, he can do it all. But like, imagine playing with someone who beats you every time and in less than a couple seconds. Obviously, everyone is mortified and decide to never give Max crap for not participating.

TLDR, Max doesn’t participate in activities because a) He doesn’t feel like playing games with people who can’t serve a volleyball, because you have to remember that most of these kids are probably really un athletic or nerdy, and b) Although he doesn’t want to admit it, he doesn’t want to be that kind of dick. After the events of the last summer, he’s not as rude. But of course, he still talks shit about their skills.

Sorry it took me so long to reply, if you couldn’t tell I got too excited writing this. Thanks for asking! I love answering and talking about story ideas and camp camp headcanons. Especially Max since he’s my favorite character (basic, I know, shut up imaginary hater.)

[pardonmydelays]

Okay so this might get long and you absolutely don’t have to read this bc it really might get long and kekdk but yeah my lore theory is that everything is in Tyler’s head. A mechanism to cope with his trauma. And it all began with ode to sleep. Its the beginning and construction of Dema due to bad insomnia and mental breakdowns. In this song he also several times talks about demons telling that he will be gone.

Dema itself as we know it starts with the blurryface album with Heavydirtysoul. We see Tyler in a car (a symbol of his mind) driven by blurryface on the way to Dema. So Tylers fears and insecurities drive his mind to the depressing state that Dema is. The car, his mind, breaks down and catches fire. Tyler begs for someone to save his soul. Maybe he is wishing death yet he also fears it like the line "death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit" indicates. So he tries to flee yet his mind can't take it anymore the car completely burns but then Tyler suddenly sits in the car again as if nothing happened. He can't escape the trauma and he has to go trough it no matter what. His mind forces him to cope and his insecurities (Blurryface) tries to drive him to Dema again and again yet Tyler's unconscious refuses to give up and Tyler burns out.

After HDS we get songs were Blurryface appears. My theory is that Blurryface is Tyler's defense mechanism, yet a negative one. Blurryface talks anything Tyler does bad. And if Tyler believes it no one can hurt him with words or acts because he already knows what he did is bad. So its a defense in a sense. An example for this theory would be Fairly local.

Immediately after the HDS Jumpsuit sets place. Tyler suddenly wakes up in Trench. This is the song were we first encounter the Banditos and the Torchbearer as well as Nico. Trench is outside of Dema. You should not walk alone trough Dema since it changes reality. As I also said in the HDS theory, Tyler's subconsciousness tries to fight. This is why Torchbearer and the Banditos appear. Tyler's mind knows he is ready to fight against his Trauma again. I say again because I believe the Banditos are former cycles of Clancy who is not Tyler yet, but a mere part of him who lost against the trauma (a fall back in the process to heal from his trauma). So Tyler does also not know anything about Torchie or the Banditos, or Nico and the niners, or trench. He knows nothing but Blurryface. He is lost. He is also at first seemingly scared of the Banditos but also Nico since he doesnt know anything of them. He runs away, he tries to flee from Nico, the Banditos try to help him, Nico still manages to capture him and take him to Dema. A minor fall back in the process of healing and overcoming his Trauma.

But this is not the end of this cycle. Tyler finds letters and yellow petals in his room in Dema. Very likely from Clancy his previous cycle who managed to collect informations. Letter_Clancy was under bishop of Keons but Tyler is under Nico. Letter_Clancy lived nine years in Dema. But Tyler newly arrived with no knowledge. Yet trough the letters he learns how to escape and possibly defeat the bishops. East is up. Torchie and the Banditos help him escape. Trough the letters he also have gained memory (see the handshake and familarity btw Tyler and Torchie)

Morph is were we learn about Nico Bourbaki. Irl Nico Bourbaki did not exist. It was a group of mathematicians and one of these groups faked his ID into Nico Bourbaki. This is why I believe that Blurryface is all of the Bishops together as the album cover also indicates, and Nico is the cheap copy of the big thing that Blurryface actually is, yet Nico also is Tyler's biggest fear.

Okay i am lowkey getting like sleepy to type more

But basically Letter_Clancy is a former cycle like the Banditos, and Tyler takes on the name Clancy as a form of Rebellion. Torchie is his belived friend and his huiding light who always appears when Clancy needs him most. Blurryface is Tyler's insecurities, his defensemechanism and therefore the dog of HDS. Nico is part of Blurryface yet also Tylers biggest traums, therefore death of HDS. Clancy himself has to to battle everything and is afraid of Nico, therefore he is the rabbit of HDS.

After Paladin strait it is very likely that Clancy absorbed Nico, triggering Blurryface to come up and making Clancy forgetting everything, a nee cycle sort of begins and Blurryface album restarts but Clancy is still there he is not completely gone, he is deep inside but all he hears are Nico‘s and Blurryface voices. So we get Dark‘!Clancy who unawarely becomes a tyrann. The Banditos all think they defeated the bishops, and fail to notice that smth is wrong with Tyler. Torchie does notice, yet his words do not reach Clancy.

But he very likely will find a way to help his friend❤️💛❤️💛

Anyway this became so fkin long i am so sorry💀💀💀💀

oh my god ness my mind is blown, this is incredible and so very detailed i'm going insane 😭

thank you so much for sharing this with me!!! i'll be thinking about it all day now. such a great theory. oh my god. oh jesus.

[jisungsbff01]

.1.

.like i need you. 1.

...pairing…Chan x reader

...w.c... 2.7K

...genre…slice-of-life, college au!

...warnings...swearing, mentions of insomnia, stress

...characters...Y/N, (OC) Lilith, (OC) June, Chan, Hyunjin, (Han and I.N mentioned)

...synopsis...No one ever really knows what they wanna do in their 20s, but Y/N has always known what she was going to do. So, she began the journey to her dream and is so close to reaching it with no distractions at all. Until she is thrown into a project with Hyunjin, a fellow senior in college, and he introduces her to a few of his friends...connecting with one in particular...

Her whole plan is soon thrown off the track she’s had it on for 21 years….

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“So, how many exams do you two have left for this week?” June voiced across from Lilith and me as she sipped on her latte. 

I snort sounded out to my left and my red-haired friend spoke a little louder than she probably meant to, causing a few pedestrians to glance in our direction, “FOUR, and Professor Leslie is riding my ass for my grade…I do have a life outside of college!”

The three of us chuckled to another as we continued to talk about how our classes have been since we last saw another, our trio has been wrapped up in perfecting each of our majors to even think about a time-out. With Lilith having a major final in her choreography class; she has to choreograph her own dance with a person from a producing and songwriting class. This trio-final rests heavily on all three of their grades. June has been up in the kitchen cooking up storms of various dishes for her major final, Lilith and me being her taste testers. Me on the other hand, I’m in a similar boat as Lilith, only…my choreographer,Hyunjin, was short a songwriter.So, I have to both produce and songwrite for this project. I somehow managed to wrap the him into helping me write the lyrics as well, giving the pair of us extra credit rather than just myself. Hyunjin has proved himself competent enough, both of us have spent more time together than I am able to sleep these days. He’s even brought me in to the choreography area of it, letting me add in a few touches of my own. 

I swear I talk to him more than I’ve talked to either of my friends in front of me. Although, the two of them have heard the many stories between the pair of us, and vice versa with Lilith. Whom of which has found herself hating the hell out of my partner, even though her two partners are both best friends with him and roomates as well. So, she sees quite a bit of him…

I have yet to meet any of Hyunjin’s roommates or friends, I’ve only met a couple of his friends, one of them being my brother…the other being their youngest of the group who took us out for coffee since we pulled an all-nighter the other day. 

I let the two of my friends converse with each other about how close each of them are to finishing their major finals…while I feel like Hyunjin and I are so behind. Just then, I get a text from the devil himself:

H: What class block do you have today?

M: I’m done with everything I need done for today, what’s up?

H: I was checking in to see when you wanted to link for the final?

M: I can meet you in about 30, I’m catching up with my girls right now.

H: Take your time, I know you don’t meet them much lately! I’ll meet you at the studio lobby so we can check in our time.

M:Sounds good, I’ll see you then!

H:Tell Lilith I said ‘hi’ ;)

I smirk as I slide my phone into my bag as face the ladies in front of me,”Lils, Hyunjin said ‘hi’, by the way.” 

Lilith rolls her eyes as she takes a chug of her boba through the thick straw, “What is with him? I’ve told him sooo many times already I don’t like him and to leave me the hell alone, I already hear the stories of him getting around, I’m not about to be another notch on his bedpost.”

I look at June and give her a glance through my lashes, a knowing look. Lilith loves to say she won’t give in because she’s heard the stories, but I’ve also heard the truth…Hyunjin has hooked up with one girl and it didn’t go well because he got so nervous that he ghosted her. Since then, he’s just thrown himself into perfecting his craft and he’s definitely been perfecting it. June and I have spoke on several occasions about it, rooting that one day Lilith will let my new found friend in, she’s been hurt too many times by many people and I know Hyunjin would be a good match for her. So, on the down low, I’ve been doing my best to play ‘Cupid’. 

“He’s really not all that bad, I’ve never had this much fun and ease collaborating with another class before and he’s really good at what he does-and a gentleman about it most of all.” I state with a teasing tone. 

“That’s because he has that face…you know, that face…can-make-you-believe-anything-kinda-face.” Lilith struggles to find words as she tries so hard to sound confident letting this out in a quick breath.

I break the blinding silence we sit in for a couple of minutes by suddenly speaking, “Speaking of, I actually have to meet him in a few minutes in the studio, you two, if you need anything just call me-one of us will answer. I love you, get back to the apartment safely please!” 

I give each girl a quick kiss on the cheek as I dash out to the bus stop a couple of blocks down. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

I get to the studio lobby with five minutes to spare, finding Hyunjin on one of the study chairs with his headphones over his ears-grey hoodie covering his long hair. I check-in with the receptionist on the last studio slot available, grab him and head to the door. Once we get to the door, he drops his headphones to his shoulders and asks me how my time with my girls went. I swipe the entry card as I span through our brief time together with a wistful smile. I sit in the producer’s chair as he makes himself comfortable on the couch behind me, “You miss them, huh?” 

I nod and turn to my counterpart, “Yeah, we always usually eat dinner together at the apartment and every week we usually have a night out or game night where we don’t do much…but lately we’ve all been too stressed or busy. Granted each of those were my ideas, so who knows…maybe they’re glad they don’t have to do those until we aren’t busy anymore.”

He violently shakes his head, “If either of them love you just as much as you clearly love them, then they miss you just as much.”

A hum makes it’s way out of my throat and I turn back to the workstation and begin to run back through our work once I pull it up. 

We are working for two hours before he offers a break, he can tell I am not satisfied with what we have and that I am getting irritated with myself. 

“Hyun, I can’t stop where we are, I have so much to edit, I kind of wanna scrap this section. It just doesn’t sound good. A song should not take as long as I have spent on this one.” I let out as I massage the base of my skull, about to press play for a full run-through of what we have. Hyunjin grabs my hand, restraining it and before I can protest, he speaks, “Okay, I get it, trust me…but we need food at least, yeah?”

I nod in response, “Why don’t you go grab something to eat and maybe I can get somewhere with this?”

He mocks my response, but gives in…takes my order and leaves the room so I can chug this slow-moving train along. I honestly feel so bad that he got stuck with me, I’ve dabbled in a few songwriting classes, but never wanted to commit to them. He swears that I’m a genius with the pen, but I think he was just buttering me up to play nice. After a few edits on the soundboard, I step into the studio and begin recording soft adlibs. My throat starts to feel tight and dry from lack of hydration, so I step out and grab a sip of water before restarting the recording and redo the short clip. Once I hear the music stop in the single headphone I had pressed to my ear, I hear cheering over the mic from Hyunjin, “Yes,” he drags out, “it sounded so heavenly, so lovely…and I hope you don’t mind me bringing in a friend of mine, he’s a couple studios down and I asked for his advice. You know what they say about an arist not seeing the beauty in their work, so I brought the audience, so maybe you will finally believe my words.”

He can be so dramatic sometimes, grabbing his chest and making a pained face like I just stabbed him. I see someone to the side, but am unable to see their face due to the glare in the window. I step out of the recording booth and am met with a wide smile and a handshake from a man that is about a head taller than me. He sports a hoodie similar to Hyunjin’s-just in black-a ball cap, and sweats. I recognize him from my Producing class, he sits just a row in front of me and I’ve had a slight crush on him for a few months now-too scared to approach him. There’s no way he’s single…

I firmly grasp his hand in return and introduce myself, “I’m Y/N, I’m Hyunjin’s final partner.”

He responds with a squeeze of my hand, “Chris, Hyunjin’s friend and roommate…well one of them.”

I giggle slightly, the sound almost foreign to me, “Nice to finally meet you, Chris, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

If looks could kill, Hyunjin would be dead. My friend holds his hands up, a sign of his innocence and I grab Chris’ attention again, “No, Hyun has only told me who you are to him, you’re actually partnered up with one of my best friends for the final, Lilith.”

That lights up his face, “Ahh, she’s a good one, we cut up well. Her and Han fight like brother and sister so often, I feel like a father.” 

I raise my brows in a not-so-suprised expression, “Sounds about right, I’m gonna apologise on her behalf, I know she can be a handful. You should see how she is about getting up in the morning, I feel like a mom,” I laugh…missing the company of my friend, “granted, she doesn’t sleep well, if at all. Now my other roommate, I swear she sleeps enough for all three of us.”

It’s at that moment,  I realize that our hands were still clasped in front of us. I suddenly let go and turn around, trying not to meet either of their eyes and sit in the chair in front of me as I change the subject, “ So if you’re up to it, I can show you a few seconds of the track.”

Chris brings up the other chair from the corner of the room and sits to the right of me. I press play and let the R&B inspired beat flow through the speakers. Hyunjin and I both agreed, after looking at thousands of dance videos, that his dance style would look beautiful with a sensual r&b vibe and we went from there. I gauge Chris’ reaction and I am horrified by how openly disgusted this man looks about the track. I stop it where it feels right and his face then changes suddenly, “This is so raw and beautiful…why do you hate it? Hyunjin said you thought about scrapping the whole thing-do you realize how good he’s gonna look dancing to this?”

I am stunned for a moment, does he need a mirror? Did he know the face he was making five seconds ago? Before I can get my words out, Hyunjin interrupts me, “Y/N, he likes it, trust me-the face you saw…that’s his “this shit’s really good” face. I know, I’ve talked to him about it, he’s made that face to my dancing before and I almost cried. He’s not lying, promise.”

I spin around, “Hyunjin, it’s not that hard to make you cry.” 

He made a gesture to me and Chris put his hand on my shoulder as he got up, “Trust me, it’s good, I’m not a very good liar-ask him.” He begins to walk away and he leans in my ear, speaking low enough that only I hear him, “Don’t throw it away, if anything, put it out.”

And he walks out the door, closing it gently behind him. 

Hyunjin all but jumps on me, “You like him, yeah?”

I shook my head and begin stuttering, “ Hyunjin, I don’t even know him.”

He cackles for a moment before speaking breathily, “I mean the way he works! You perv!!”

Now embarrassed, I turn and just respond with a short ‘mhm’ and he and I continue working. I strictly speak about the project, but he consistently brings up Chris and somehow I redirect it back to the track. He eventually drops it and we go back and forth for another two hours after we eat.

Being the gentleman he is, he drove me to my shared apartment and made sure I made it in okay since it was pretty dark out and out corner streetlight was out until further notice. I bid my friend good-bye and grabbed my eyes off my belt to unlock the door to my home. Suddenly I am being bombarded by my two friends with so many questions as soon as I walk through the door. Holding my hand up, palm facing them, I take off my coat and my shoes before going to the kitchen in silence to grab a quick drink. Lilith and June stand on the opposite side of our kitchen island and both speak at the same time again. 

“Okay, okay, one at a time please!” I shout, a headache coming on from the chaos.

June gestures for Lilith to speak first, “Bitch, you didn’t tell us you met with Chris today!”

“He soooo likes you, Y/Nnie.” June speaks up.

I look at the two across from me in confusion, “What? He was in the studio for all of 8 minutes…I was in there for about four and a half hours, he doesn’t know me enough to like me.”

They both look at each other with the same expression, then back to me as Lilith begins again, “Really? Because those 8 minutes must be seared into his brain then, because he was late for our little choreo session…I mean HAN of all people was there before him, Chris is never late. And when he got there he was all jokey and smiley. I’ve spent enough time with this man to know he isn’t always like that, in fact, he’s rarely like that unless he is with all his boys, so shut up. You two are made for each other.”

8 minutes. That’s all we spent together and these two lunatics are jumping to a relationship, they truly are crazy…

I scoff, “Yeah, and you and Hyunjin are gonna get together. It was 8 minutes, guys. If the man spends even a fraction of his time doing what I do, then it was probably his first time seeing a girl in weeks, chill.”

The both of them hold their hands up, knowing I’m done with the conversation and they each go to their rooms in silence. Suddenly my phone goes off and it’s Hyunjin:

H: So how do you feel about our friend groups meeting this week? 

M:I’d have to talk to the girls, but I’m sure they’re already down…

H: Good, all three of you need a break and to spend time together again. Also…Chris has mentioned you a total of three times since I’ve been home.

M: You’re funny, Hyun. Go get some sleep and I’ll let you know when we’re all free in the morning.

H: Say what you will, but if anyone else came to compliment your work, it would’ve taken a lot more time to convince you how good it is already.

M: He’s in my Producing class, and I know that he knows what he’s talking about, he’s really good at what he does, so I’m taking his advice.

H:Mhm. Say what you will…I say a month.

M:??

H: You’ll see, I’ll see you in the morning for choreo, angel!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Let me know what you thought! I was really nervous about posting this one...hoping to make it a series!! Thank you so much for reading!

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Dazai's a jerk when he's sick.

From last year's Sicktember prompts.

Chuuya's Perspective:

Something slams into me and I jolt awake. I sit up and look around but the room is dark and the only other person around is my partner, and he’s fast asleep. Damn brat must’ve kicked me!

The clock says there’s still an hour before I need to be awake, but once I’ve been woken I don’t fall easily asleep again so I might as well get ready, while I can still have my coffee in peace before Osamu wakes up.

Before I can finish it though my stomach starts growling fiercely. Normally as soon as we get up Osamu starts making breakfast, but today he’s still asleep.

Huffing I walk back into our bedroom to wake my husband, I do feel a little bit guilty for waking him early but I need food.

I shake his shoulders, but he stays perfectly still. I do it again, but still nothing. It’s strange, because of his insomnia, he’s always easy to wake up.

Finally, I resort to yanking the covers off. He wakes immediately. 

“WHAT?” His voice positively drips with annoyance and anger, he glares daggers at me. It catches me off guard and I don’t answer. “Oh, so you just woke me up for nothing, is that it?”  He takes the duvet from the floor and begins to lay back down.

At last, I unfreeze, whatever guilt I had before gone, “Hey! Asshole, wake up, I need breakfast, and you owe me because you kicked me out of bed!” The words come out harsh, my tone matching his.

“I don’t care.” is all he says his eyes not even open.

We go back and forth for a while before I end up dragging him out of bed and into the kitchen.

“I can’t cook, it’s too cold in here.”

“It is not! It’s 22 degrees, you’re fine, now please hurry up, I’m starving.”

“I’m not hungry, why should I cook if I’m not going to eat?”

“Osamu, stop being a lazy bastard, we’re going to be late.” The words are exasperated more than angry.

“Hmph!”

With a sigh that sounds suspiciously like the word slug, he starts cooking. Breakfast takes way longer than usual and is a little burnt but I’m hungry so it’ll do. True to his word, Osamu doesn’t eat with me, opting instead to go back to bed. Maybe whatever grumpy monster possessed him this morning will have left his body when I wake him up next.

While he sleeps I dress and ready myself for work, when I look presentable I go to poke the beast.

-

I thought he might be less of a demon after a bit more sleep but, apparently not.

When I shake him this time he wakes immediately.

“Can’t even a dumb Chibi like you see that I’m trying to sleep!”

“What did you just say?” annoyance boils under my skin, I don’t want to do this again.

“I said you’re dumb,” he says curling back up.

I yank away the duvet and extra blanket he added, “Say that again, I dare you?”

“Chibi is dumb, as in stupid, and clearly has hearing problems, now go away and let me sleep!” His voice is cold, it ticks me off.

“You have to wake up. You have a job you know. I mean I don’t know how they haven’t fired you yet, but you at least need to go in.” 

“Leave me alone, Chuuya.” his tone is the same one I use when I’m warning an enemy not to try me. What’s with him today? I mean, he’s always kind of a disrespectful dick but, damn.

I make my tone just as cutting, “Well I can’t leave you here, you’ll probably burn down the house and kill yourself or something. Now get up and get dressed, you’re late.”

“I said LEAVE ME ALONE, CHUUYA!!!” his voice sounds like a roar, so loud it scares me.

“Jesus, Osamu, what’s with you today, it’s unlike you to be this shitty? You know what, don’t answer, it’s fine. I don’t even care, go to sleep and die, that’ll make me really happy. I’m going to go to work like a contributing member of society.” and with that I walk out, locking the door behind me.

—

When I get back the house is completely silent, Osamu must be out in the river or wherever he plans to stage his latest attempt on his life. My words from this morning come back to me, I told him he should just die. . . . No, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t take that seriously. He knows how much I love him, right? It’s fine, he knows I didn’t mean it. The self-assurance doesn’t work very well.

I start to get up to go look for him when I hear loud coughing and then a thud of something human-sized hitting the floor. I run towards the origin of the sound, our bedroom, and throw open the door.

Osamu lays on the floor, on his back, looking rather disoriented. He must’ve coughed so hard he fell.

“Huh?” he sees me, “Oh, Chuuya, how long have you been here, are you going to help me, or not?” His voice is still bitter but the scratchiness of it cuts down the intimidation factor. . . and then he breaks into a coughing fit, and it doesn’t stop the coughing continues and continues a seemingly endless supply of wet hacking coughs bursting out of him so quickly it even looks painful.

I rub his back, my anger long forgotten.

When the fit finally ends his nose is runny and he scrubs it on his sleeve. I can practically feel the heat from his pale body by just being next to him, but I put my hand on his forehead anyway. He’s burning. 

Guilt sweeps through me, when I shook him and when I yanked him out of bed he’d felt warm but I’d assumed that it was just from the blankets.

“You’re sick.”

“No, really?” he croaks

“Come on, let’s get you something for that cough.”

“No, I don’t wanna move.”

“Fine. What have you taken today? Have you even eaten anything today?”

“You think I’ve been able to get out of bed like this?” his sarcasm remains strong even as his voice slowly crackles out.

I ignore it, knowing an argument is the last thing he needs right now. “Okay, I’ll take it that’s a no. Well, you need medicine as quickly as possible so, I know it isn’t really ‘sick person food’ but can you eat some tonkatsu? It’s all we have in the fridge, and you gotta eat something before I give you medicine. Your stomach’s okay, right?”

He nods, I think his voice must be completely gone now.

He pokes at the breading of the pork, slightly soggy from being in the fridge, and pouts, shoving it away.

“Well, sorry, Your Royal Highness, shopping day is tomorrow and I didn’t have much to work with.” I huff, trying not to get annoyed.

With a scowl, he pulls the plate back towards him and begins to peel the breading off.

-

When he’s finally finished, (I swear he ate so slowly just to annoy me, his hatred for medicine aside) he pouts again.

“You’ve gotta take this. You’re warm as hell, this isn’t just something you can sleep off.”

He shakes his head. His voice is long gone, but I can read his lips: “Nu-uh.”

“Yuh-huh. Open up. And don’t you dare act like this is the most disgusting thing you’ve tasted, I‘ve seen you eat year-old canned crab.”

He narrows his eyes, testing me. At last, he huffs, nodding sharply and holding up a finger. One.

“Yeah, just one big sip. I’ll make coffee after, kay.”

He takes the cup, sniffs it then mock gags. 

“Arse.”

-

Five minutes of convincing later, the cup is empty. I groan, my anklebone sore from sitting on the hardwood floor like that for so long.

“You’re a jerk when you’re sick, you know that.”

He nods again, then waves me off towards the kitchen, muttering, “Coffee.”

-

When I return he’s fast asleep.

I can’t help but laugh. “Jerk,” I whisper to no one.

[edge-oftheworld]

I don’t really talk about it much on here because I’m extremely lucky to be able to understand exactly what’s going on in my body, but it’s scary to live for years as someone who Gets Things Done in a way your peers don’t really understand, be putting effort into so many things you care about, and then suddenly lose the ability to do not only that but also basic tasks overnight after a deadline, and bit by bit after many. it’s scary getting really irritable sometimes to the point of violence, just when you were meant to be celebrating the rewards from your hard work, the only impact of the work you did that you can see is that you overdrafted your ability to do anything. including have a basic conversation without getting grumpy or crying. and your body is going to make you pay it back with interest, you already know that, but you don’t know how to start filling yourself back up. you’ve only ever enjoyed being on the grind, hard at work on exciting things.

I don’t know how many of you have been through the kind of burnout that’s years of needing 12hrs of sleep a night but with terrible insomnia, waking up to what feels like a hangover for weeks on end with little relief then rinse and repeat without having a single drink, feeling too sick to eat and needing to exercise to emotionally regulate but being unable to, anxiety that doesn’t come from worry but you’ll pick that up too at some point, dissociating every time you try to do mentally taxing tasks that you’re PAID for so it takes an hour of grounding yourself just to get five minutes worth of productive concentration, falling asleep the minute you feel a little safe by being in the presence of loved ones. but I suspect I’m not the only one.

I’ve had songs for the energetic and angsty times leading up to this. for the exasperated times and the brain fog and the times where all my limited energy is tied up in feeling things. that I need to, need to acknowledge, but it’s overwhelming and I live in a haze for weeks as a result of. songs telling of the kind of youth I wish I had, even when I was sold something else. songs for the months spent as a teenager trying to be there for my friends, worrying for them, distracting me from worrying for myself, trying to cling on to positivity and hope amongst it when I had to choose to make a discipline of always seeing that. I’ve had songs for healing and when healing is harder than expected and songs that have the right level of musical complexity to capture the layers of everything that’s happening in my head, making it sound good, telling me it’s gonna be okay.

I don’t know how I could ever say thank you for this. but I do know that I see parts of myself in the people behind these songs, of course I do, and I worry for them as a result and ache for them because it’s hard enough to feel this way when no one knows me or feels the need to control me or mould me into what they think I should be. I’d do anything to keep them all healthy and happy and all of their loved ones too and I don’t think it’s strange as a fan to take that seriously. I hope we can understand the need to treat them gently, and to while not questioning their privacy and the fact that they’re never going to tell us everything they go through, listen to our intuition when we catch something we relate to and treat what they’ve shared with us or hinted at with the dignity we would if someone we love told us something vulnerable. be kind in our expectations and be intentional in the fan culture we create because it does make its way back to them.

and the same goes with all of you. we’re bonding over the same things. I know a lot of this fandom is in the stage where interpersonal relationships are hard. we don’t mean to be grumpy of frustrated but we are. and I’m sending love to all of you. we can get through this together. it’s what they’ve always longed for isn’t it?