#To be with him she would learn to love him eventually and that makes him die

[thewritingfairy]

Platonic Batfam where Bruce finds out he has a younger sibling that they didn't know about who grew up in an Orphanage who he only found out after they donated blood at a Wayne sponsored blood drive, except when they meet his younger sibling has the reddish brown hair of their mother and softer build. Like, how the different Batfam members would become Yandere toward them due to their similarities to Martha, and the mellow dynamic they have.

Feel free to make this as long or short as you want, this idea is now yours to run with or anyone else. ✨️

 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 A lost sister has returned home

trigger warnings: shouting, yandere themes, kidnapping, talk about violence, breaking of boundaries, unedited main m.list

Bruce has fond memories of his parents, their love that always inspired him. Love that made him wish he still had their warmth and their love for each other a blueprint he was determined to follow.

A love so strong that his father helped his mother through a still birth that had shaken her to her core. Yet here he is standing in front of an apartment door where his sister lives, a sister he thought he lost.

A sister that he's terrified to meet, yet he still knocks on the door. If he can fight the Joker almost monthly, sometimes weekly, he can confront his fear of your rejection.

But when he knocked and you opened he didn't expect your gaze to be so harsh. He didn't expect the anger you already held for him.

"Bruce Wayne, what are you doing here?" you had hissed. Clearly pissed that he even had the audacity to turn up at your door. "You have no business to show up at my door."

"But I do," he had said, his tone soft. Almost pleading. "you are my sister."

"And I want nothing to do with you," you had instantly told him. Your glare reminded him of the few times his (and your) mother glared at his father. "otherwise I would have contacted you myself."

With that you had thrown the door in his face. It was the first and last time you two had spoken, after that every approach he took towards you were ignored.

His children stepped in from that point, his youngest Damian confused by your rejection was the hardest to ignore. He would bring you art of your mother, of your family and of things you enjoyed without even saying a word. Just wordlessly shoving the art pieces in your hands on your grocery runs.

A conversation only struck when one of the older boys or girls were with him, you found it hard to ignore them. Your anger is with their father, not with them. So slowly, despite the boundaries that you had set, you had let them in. Allowing them to help you on your grocery runs, allowing them inside of your apartment as you pretend that their actions are fine.

That the fact they always know when to show isn't creepy, that they aren't trying to convince you to let Bruce Wayne in your life.

Your brother who wishes to learn about, your brother who wishes to love you.

Eventually it was Jason who asked you why you didn't want to let him in.

"He acts as if he's righteous," you whispered as you washed some rice. "as if he's changing gotham, but truly he's just making the city worse."

Jason hadn't asked what you meant, he was terrified of the answer. Terrified of hearing your reasoning. Yet, that conversation was the catalyst of your current situation.

Bruce had never touched your nursery until that day, he had upgraded the room to find the theme of your apartment (according to Tim and Stephanie, truly they did most of the choosing of furniture and more. Bruce just did the physical labour). He had gotten you a bed large enough for your age, but his children could not deny that the theme was still child-like, littered with little gifts your mother had bought for you for your birthday when she was still alive. Littered with the gifts Bruce got to continue his mother's tradition.

"You know she isn't going to come to the manor, right?" Dick had asked Bruce, concerned with how he was coping with your rejection. "Perhaps you should give her time, we'll probably wear her down. You won't need to do anything drastic-"

"This is the only way!" Damian had defended his father, glaring at his favourite brother and second father. "She doesn't know all Father does for Gotham! She doesn't know how to even defend herself!"

Oh, how you made him swallow those words.

The day Batman had come to taken you from your appartment you didn't go without a fight. No, you went kicking and screaming. You had almost gotten away, but Tim had to stand in the way.

So here you are now, in a room that feels too artificial with a big portrait of a woman and a man that looks like you. Of a woman that is meant to be your mother, yet you feel nothing as you stare at her and her husband.

You are unable to leave this room, trapped inside by your brother who brings you your meals. He sometimes even feeds you, barely batting an eye as you throw vases at him shout obscenities at him. Yet he still doesn't let you return home, but the worst part of it all is the children.

The girls pretending as if everything is alright when they force you to participate in girls night, as they act like you are a psuedo-mother.

The boys pretending as if everything is alright and aiding their father in his delusions.

You are stuck in this manor, limited to your room most of the time where you cannot expect privacy unless you are changing. And even then your brother walks in, he pretends as if you are his little sister that has yet to adult. That has yet to learn how to do the most basic things by herself, it's driving you insane truly.

It makes you want to kill them all.

I know I should be writing for Nobody's child, but listen my og story idea in you form has now officially hit the novellette stage in draft 1! I usually rewrite the first few parts like 6 times. I am actually writing well and enjoying myself with an original idea without feeling the need that everything has to be perfect right away! My creative joy is coming back now, truly.

[javiersvest]

breathe, hold, release (pt. 2)

joel miller x f!pilates instructor reader 

part one here

summary: joel comes to fix the sink and you both finally stop avoiding what's between you.

tags: mdni (18+ only), no outbreak au, no use of y/n, reader is afab/able bodied, has long hair, no other physical descriptors, age gap (joel is 40, reader is 28), catch the mr. darcy reference, kind of a slow burn bc i love tension, dom!joel, praise kink, fingering, mirror activities, oral sex (f receiving), body worship, unprotected piv (be smart), slight voyeurism ig?, creampie (reader is on bc cause i’m nasty), joel is a freak in this omg, please DO NOT attempt sex on a reformer, if anything is missing pls let me know!

word count: way too fuckin long 10.3k 

a/n: first of all, thank you SO much to the response to part one. it warmed my little heart that so many people enjoyed it. i hope this makes up for the long wait! thank you to my three pookies (@naiadonis, @tmpestuous, & @imaginesbymonika) for beta'ing and feeding my delusions. this will be the last part but i would love to write some drabbles for these two, so please send in requests if you have any! also, i'm on twitter! come say hi :) enjoy ♡

Your mornings always started the same: shades up, door open, music low. The soft hum of downtown Austin stretched itself awake in time with you, the city exhaling with the same slow rhythm you followed to start your day. Even the most mediocre sleep melted away when you clasped your hands together and pressed them toward the ceiling, arching your back, breath spilling from deep in your abdomen. 

You weren’t a Texas native – that much had been obvious the second you stepped on the plane. Southern drawls of varying intensities filling your ears, the heat coating your skin with a wrathful flair. California still lingered at the edges of your thoughts, sun-warmed pavement and salt in your hair. You’d built a life there; mornings guiding people through movement, regulars who felt like old friends, a humble studio tucked between your favorite bagel place and a long-abandoned repair shop.

You’d memorized the ebbs and flows of that neighborhood like the back of your hand. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours. And for a while, it felt like enough. But comfort has a funny way of turning stale the moment you let your guard down. In the middle of all that comfort, a crack had started to form – subtle at first, then impossible to ignore.

The breakup didn’t knock the wind out of you – it eroded you slowly. You and him lived parallel lives for months before either of you said anything; passing the coffee creamer, taking turns with laundry, showing up to mutual plans like clockwork. He wasn’t cruel, just tired in a way that made everything feel like effort, including you. Eventually you stopped trying, learned to keep your heart tucked behind a smile. It was safer.

When it ended, it wasn’t explosive. It was practical, like canceling a subscription. You moved out quietly, took on more classes at the studio, pretended you were unbothered. Clinging to your routine made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t fall apart.  But the spark was already dimming, and maybe deep down you’d known it was time for something new long before you let yourself admit it. A couple of months passed in a blur. You picked up more classes, then lost them. By the time the text came in, you were already half-unraveling.

It came through late at night, and you had stared at the blinking cursor of a blank calendar where you’d been drafting next month’s schedule far too long. Of course. Your studio’s owner, who’d always joked that she’d die with a foam roller in her hand, announced that she was retiring with her family. The space sold faster than you thought possible, and within a week, the foundation you’d built everything on was gone. You tried to patch things up with rec rooms, park sessions under swaying palms, but the roots had already loosened.

When Nia called from Austin, practically buzzing through the phone with excitement, the last of your resistance crumbled. Unlike you, Nia had discovered her need to get the hell out of dodge much earlier. She’d always been more adventurous, brave enough to step foot in a new place and carve a spot for her regardless of anyone’s opinion about it. You’d met in training years ago, the kind of instant bond that felt more like a reunion than an introduction. 

She’d caught wind of a space opening downtown, and somehow decided you were the perfect person to take it over. At first, you dismissed it. You’d never been one for cowboy boots or country music, and the thought of leaving everything familiar behind made your chest ache. The more you sat with it, the emptiness of your space, the fading glimmer of your routine, the exhaustion – her offer sounded less like risk and more like possibility. 

So, you said yes. You packed up your life, let go of the familiarity, and tried your best to embrace the unknown. You said goodbye to the Pacific, but most of all to the version of you who thought she'd never leave. You started again from scratch; introduced yourself to strangers, tried to find your new normal, and smiled so much your cheeks hurt. For the first month or so, the smiles were fake. You spent your days rebuilding what you’d lost, piece by piece, and your nights wondering if you’d made a mistake.

But soon enough the days stopped feeling so foreign, and all the things from home that you thought were irreplaceable began to lose their appeal. You built up rapport with new clients, had a new favorite lunch spot, and the barista a few doors down memorized your name and regular order. Week after week, familiar faces returned to the studio, fulfilling your purpose. Your first classes of the day were usually quiet, made up of older clients who enjoyed waking up hours before the sun. They liked your calm and the way it seemed like you were a morning person just like them. You knew who was rehabbing a bad hip, who didn’t like too much tension, who needed extra encouragement. 

It wasn’t about doing a hundred perfect reps or getting people’s stomachs as flat as possible. It was about watching someone walk taller after six weeks, saying they’ve never felt stronger. About a woman thanking you because her back didn’t hurt for the first time in years. That mattered to you, it always had. That’s why you’d started teaching, to show the ways movement could soften even the hardest parts of someone’s day. Pilates was precise, yes, but it was also gentle in a way the world often wasn’t. You���d had students cry during classes before. You never asked why – just helped them breathe through it.

Saturday mornings became your favorite. You weren’t held to the five a.m classes like you were on weekdays, accommodating teachers and early risers who started their day in the quiet of the studio. Saturdays moved slower, giving you time to relish in each stretch, each song, each thought. You had time to sip your coffee between check-ins, time to let your voice warm into the room instead of launching straight into the rhythm of cues and counts. 

Then, you met Joel. 

Met was a generous word – you were more so acquainted with him. His jaw tight, hands stuffed into his pockets nearly the entire first interaction. Clearly he’d be more at ease with those boots in dirt rather than on the pristine tile. You’d thought, at first, he was just being a dad – maybe irritated he had to wake up on his day off to drive her, maybe just tired. 

You greet him the way you greet everyone, with warmth that borders on effortless. It’s second nature by now, this instinct to disarm. You lead with brightness, offer softness in your tone, a joke curled lightly at the edge of your mouth. And it usually works. You’d encountered your share of prickly people around Austin, but most of them put on a performance: a polite smile or a stilted joke. Everyone yielded to it eventually. 

But not him.

Not when you beam at his daughter. Not when you hand him the clipboard with the sunflower pen that you’d made during your lunch break yesterday. What you get is a squint and a dry, unimpressed “Really?” Like you’d just offered him a glittering child’s toy instead of a waiver. He doesn’t play the part, doesn’t pretend to be someone easier to be around. His face is unreadable in a way that feels unintentional – like he’s so accustomed to his indifference that it’s not even spiteful anymore. 

You try – gently, playfully to pull something out of him. A smirk. A single syllable of amusement. Anything. You laugh, easy and unbothered. “I know. But everyone seems to like them.”

Still nothing. His shoulders stay locked in place, pen aggressive on the page like the words themselves are offensive. His handwriting is slanted and uneven, rushed like he can’t get out of there fast enough. 

Sarah is the complete opposite, it seems.

She’s light – bright-eyed, curious, open in a way that feels rare in teenagers these days and even rarer in the people who raise them. You take to her instantly, eased by the amiability in her voice, the bounce in her step. You can’’t help but wonder where it comes from – because it’s certainly not him. You follow the movement of his hands, rugged and large. 

No ring.

You shouldn’t be curious, but you are.

You take the clipboard back, eyes scanning to the bottom of the page. “Thanks… Joel,” you say, softening the syllables like you might smooth over rough fabric. He grunts in response, a low, noncommittal sound. You get the sense he’s not used to taking people up on kindness. Like it costs him something. You invite him to stay, watching him struggle to look for a response. For a moment you think he’s going to say something. 

He doesn’t.

You feel his eyes on you the entire class. At first, you tried to explain it. Maybe he was zoning out like other parents did, counting down the minutes until they could beat the traffic back to their neighborhoods. But Joel wasn’t checking his phone repeatedly, wasn’t tapping his foot, didn’t look around. He just… watched. Not an ambient glance or idle observation. It was intentional. Trying not to notice was futile. You were trained to read bodies; breath patterns, posture, hesitation. And you see all of it in Joel. 

The restraint that lived in the corners of his mouth, the divet between his brows each time you moved. You catch the way his jaw locks and releases when your spine curves, the faint twitch of muscle beneath his cheekbone as your voice dips into instruction. The way his hands, broad and calloused, strained and flexed against his knees like he was holding something back.

It took a lot to throw you off balance, but the autopilot you’d relied on all these years began to short-circuit. You roll your shoulders back a little straighter, suddenly being extra mindful of your posture, paranoid that you’ll trip over a mat, or hit the carriage against the board with too much strength. The weight of his stare clings to you like humidity, slick and unrelenting. It prickles at your neck, curls low in your belly. You keep moving, voice steady, but inside, everything is fraying. 

You blink, adjust a client’s foot bar and try to refocus, fighting the urge to look over. Just once, that’s all you needed. Just a second to confirm if you were making it all up. You were not new to attention. You’ve been watched before, admired even. But this was something else entirely. Joel watches you like he’s trying not to break. Like there’s some quiet part of him that doesn’t believe he deserves to look, but can’t help it anyway.

You’re pulled from the fantasy as you check on each student, moving down the line until you get to Sarah. With your fingers on her ankles you guide her through, encouraging her as she starts to get the hang of it. She looks towards the bench, a hopefulness in her eyes that makes you melt. You follow her gaze instinctively – and see how Joel’s expression softens the moment their eyes meet. Pride blooms across his face and tugs at something in you, and you have to push down the guilt that starts to creep up your throat. 

You don’t mean to look directly at him, you just wanted a glance. A peek into his true nature, not the barricade he’d placed around him. His head turns before you think it will, and you both seem to go rigid. The right thing would be to turn around, check on someone else – anything. But you’re held there.

His eyes move over you with slow precision, and you welcome it. They seem to be mapping your body, the slope of your throat, the line of your shoulders. While he inspects you, your head is fueled with images of him taking you apart with his hands. You wonder what he sounds like when he groans, what his mouth would feel like against your skin. Wonder how many times he’d make you come before showing mercy, or would he? Would he be as merciless as he looks, ruining you and apologizing for none of it? 

You let him see that you see it; let him feel your curiosity inch toward want. Let him know you’re not innocent to it. You blink slowly and pull yourself away like it hurts. You turn your attention back to the class and pretend that he didn’t just strip you bare with a single look.

With each passing Saturday, the two of you moved in a quiet orbit. It stayed innocent enough for your guilt to dissolve under layers of niceties and easy chatter. Joel never volunteered much information, but the little he gave felt like something hard-won. Over time, you both softened. A brush of your fingers against the firm curve of his bicep. Smiles that lingered in the space between you, unhurried and a bit too long. But Joel never crossed the line, and neither did you. 

Some days, you wondered if you'd imagined that first flash of heat. A byproduct of a lonely year, a new city, a fresh start. But then he'd show up again, every Saturday, planted on that bench watching you and Sarah. Sarah. She slipped into your life like she’d always belonged there. There’s a quick intelligence behind her humor, a deep-rooted enthusiasm for life you definitely didn’t have at her age. You take to her immediately, starting to look forward to seeing her just as much as seeing Joel. 

You didn’t ask her to help around the studio, she just started doing it. She’s unfiltered in the best way, and underneath all of it, achingly sincere. She asks questions about your day, offers commentary that makes you laugh from the gut, and more than once, makes jokes about her dad being single. 

Today was no different. The 11:30 class wrapped right on schedule, and Sarah darted to the back to fold towels, unprompted. Joel waited at the front, leaning casually against the desk, ready to talk to you. Today the exchange between you, once cushioned civility, stretched into something charged. You saw it in the way his smile faltered, like he'd strayed too close to a thought he wasn’t supposed to have. In the drawl of his voice, the dry wit, the way his eyes dipped to your mouth and quickly back. You pushed a little further, let your words flirt with implication, and watched the color rise in his face.

“And here I thought you were sitting in here cause you liked the view.” 

He hesitates and you see the moment the mask slips. You let the silence stretch, not to punish him, but to watch him squirm beneath the weight of his honesty. There’s something tender about the way he tries to walk it back, like a man afraid of his own shadow. He offers a stammering apology, but you give him a way out with a smile. Make it clear he hadn’t misread you. His name tastes good in your mouth. 

When he pivots to the sink in the men’s room and offers to take a look, you catch the flicker of something behind his eyes. It’s cute, the way he tries to pass it off as nonchalant. Like it’s not a thinly veiled excuse to stay close – and you say yes.

Not just because the sink needs fixing, but because the thought of him here on a Monday, with no Sarah and no audience, pulls something tight in your chest. Sarah clocks the shift immediately, the shared glance and unpulled string taut between you and her father. Her smirk is sharp and knowing as you offer her a pin, a feeble attempt at distracting her. Joel groans like it physically pains him to be perceived and you know there’s no avoiding it anymore. After that, Joel barely meets your eye. He stumbles over a “See you Monday,” and follows Sarah to the door. 

Your heart thuds with something warm and bright that you haven’t felt since California. You exhale slowly. The studio falls quiet again, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning.

The thing you’d been tiptoeing around was no longer unknown. It had a name now – Monday. 

The air is thick with the beginnings of Austin heat when you step outside of the coffee shop, keys jingling between your fingers and you grasp onto two, not one, cups this time. In your left, the usual overly-sweet latté that you made no exceptions for, and in your right – hot, no cream or sugar. Just bitter and bold. It was a hunch, but Joel didn’t seem like the type to ask for his cup to be drizzled with caramel sauce and topped with sweetened cream. Weeks of him sitting in your studio, gruff and unreadable informed your guess. The barista, knowing your usual, couldn’t help herself as she asked if it was for a special someone. You’d laughed as if it was silly, but it wasn’t. 

The way your body anticipated waking up kept you from getting any meaningful sleep. That, and the fact you’d spent a couple hours imagining Joel’s voice in your head; gravel-worn and measured, your fingers easing yourself open. It was scary how easily you’d pictured it. His weight on top of you, the ache in the pit of your stomach, his lips forming the filthy things you wanted to hear him say once he let go of whatever had him wound up so tightly. There was too much of him beneath your skin.

The door to the studio groaned as you pushed it open with your shoulder, and you set the drinks down on the front desk with care. You busied yourself next, giving your hands something to do until Joel showed up, if he even did. Maybe you had been too forward and scared him away. Maybe he was being polite, appeasing your ego so as not to embarrass you in front of his daughter. 

The soft jingle of the bell sends a jolt through your body and you emerge from the back with too much excitement in your limbs, smoothing your beige tank top like it mattered. Joel stood just inside the door, a heavy tool bag hanging from one hand, the other raking through his hair in that nervous, unconscious way he did when he didn’t know what to say. You had picked up on that, too. 

“Mornin’,” he says, his voice low, roughened with what you assumed was sleep. You looked at him and every line looked the same, but it felt… warped. Like a song you knew well played a few keys too low, breath baited while you tried to figure out what was off. 

“Good morning,” you replied, offering a soft smile.”You’re right on time, that’s good for business.”

He gives a small nod in response. Not unfriendly, but definitely distant. No trace of the quiet fondness you’d seen Saturday. No lingering look, no hush of amusement curling up at the corner of his mouth. Odd, you think. Still, you press on and gesture toward the front desk, the coffee waiting there.

“I got you something, no cream or sugar. I took a gamble,” your fingers grasp the cup and you extend it out to him. His eyes flick to the drink, then to you. There’s a beat of hesitation before he steps forward, his fingers brushing against yours to take the offering. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, unreadable.

You shrugged, smile unwavering as you try to keep it light.

“I know. Dinner might need a little more planning,” you reply, half a shrug rolling through your shoulder. That earned you something. His mouth twitches slightly, almost a smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s better than nothing. 

Joel shifts his weight to his other leg and jerks his chin towards the back. “I should get started, get outta your hair.” 

Your heart sinks into your stomach, but you nod without protest. He doesn’t wait for you to follow, or respond. Just turns and walks down the hallway like it made him ill to be in your presence. You swallow hard, the anticipation you’d felt all day yesterday subsiding. It felt more like dread now – your worst fears starting to be confirmed. You take a deep breath and let your head fall back, willing away the stress building with little accomplishment. 

Unwilling to let the distance, physical or otherwise, settle too thickly between you, you follow him a few moments later. He’s already crouched by the sink, sleeves pushed up and wrapped around his elbows a bit too tight, not that you were complaining. His tool bag lay open at his side, the cup of coffee sitting to the left of the faucet. He doesn’t look up when you settle in the doorway, just keeps fidgeting with the knobs and studying the sluggish flow. You try not to let your disappointment come through your voice. 

“So, gotta toss the whole thing out or can it be saved?” You ask, trying to get a peek at whatever it was he was doing. 

“Pipe’s just backed up with debris. Gotta pull it apart, clean the whole thing out.”

You don’t respond, caught up in watching his hands reach for whatever tool he was looking for. Joel sits back on his heels and starts unscrewing the pipe beneath the basin with a practiced ease. The muscles in his forearms flex with each turn, veins taut beneath sun-warmed skin, and you can’t help but follow the motion, mesmerized by the quiet focus. His knees brace on the tiled floor as he leans in closer, the worn cotton of his shirt pulling taut across his back. You can hear the faint grunt of exertion as he loosens something stubborn, followed by the hollow clatter of old water draining through rusted metal. 

Joel grunts something under his breath, more to himself than to you, and reaches for a cloth, wiping his hands absently before adjusting the trap. He’s all concentration; jaw set and brows drawn. Despite the task in front of him, he knows you’re watching. He can feel it. 

“Don’t know how anything was getting through this,” he says without looking up. He dives into an explanation of what was keeping the drain moving so slow, but your brain is turning to mush the longer you stare. You hum in acknowledgment, but the words barely register. All you can think about is the way his fingers move, capable and deliberate. 

Joel finally glances up at you, but you’re unaware. His eyes linger, still no smile on his lips as he tracks your gaze down. He clears his throat and your eyes snap up, like a camera flash freezing you in the act of wanting.

There’s no teasing in his expression – no smug lift of his mouth or arch of his brow. Just… quiet. You try to speak, some flimsy defense, a redirect. But your throat is dry, your mouth clumsy with words you don’t trust yourself to say aloud. Suddenly you realize how he must have felt on Saturday. He tilts his head slightly, brow furrowing as if trying to make sense of it. Of you. Then his head is shaking and he turns back to his work, but his hands aren’t as steady now. 

“Just here to fix the sink,” he mutters. It sounds like a rehearsed mantra he’d created to keep himself in line. 

“What?” you say softly, watching his brows furrow. 

“You’re not makin’ this easy,” he says louder this time. You exhale slowly. 

“Did I –” The words stick for a moment, and you try again. “Was I too forward? If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry.” 

He shakes his head, slow and almost imperceptible. “No, it ain’t that.” For a moment, it seems like that’s all he’ll give you. He sets the wrench down with a quiet clink. "Thought if I kept my head down, didn’t look too long, it’d go away."

You blink, caught off guard by his honesty. “I didn’t mean to push,” you say quietly, unsure whether you’re trying to reassure him or justify yourself.

“You didn’t, it was easier to pretend I was just passin’ time staring at you from that bench,” The words weren’t bitter, but they weren’t easy, either. They landed with the weight of confession, like he hated admitting it almost as much as he needed you to hear it. 

“Sarah knew, can’t keep shit from her. Knew the very first day when I shelled out that money like that.” His thumb twitches on the edge of the counter, a small sign of Saturday Joel, the one who did let himself look too long, who smiled when you caught on.

Joel takes a breath and keeps fiddling with the sink. “And now, I’m here fixin’ a sink for a woman I can’t stop thinking about, trying not to say somethin’ I’ll regret.” 

The words fold into the stillness between you. You don’t move, don’t breathe either, it felt like. You’re not sure how much time passes before Joel pushes to his feet, still not meeting your eyes. You wish he’d just look at you, give you any indication as to where this was going. 

Joel turns his back to you and twists the faucet open, letting the water rush against his palms as he washes his hands. His focus stays on the steady stream, testing the pressure and checking his handiwork. Anything to avoid looking at you too soon. The running water stops and he stays there, both palms braced on either side of the sink. Then, he straightens, his shoulders rolling back as he turns to face you. When he does, there’s no mask left. His eyes have softened, and you’re standing face to face with the Joel you’d become fascinated with. His hands settle on his hips and he looks at you expectantly. 

“So tell me what you want me to do. ���Cause I can’t keep standin’ in front of you like this if it’s not gonna mean something.” 

You don’t answer right away. Your throat is tight, heart knocking against your ribs like it’s trying to get free, and the air between you has taken on a weight you don’t know how to carry. But you feel the shift – the choice he’s making, the seemingly timid and hesitant version of him long gone. You’re yelling at yourself to say something, to not throw away the fact he’s willing to present himself so openly to you.

You blink at him, pulse thrumming like a struck wire. “I don’t…you can do whatever you want.”

He shakes his head, not in dismissal, but refusal. Refusal to let you duck behind hesitation like you’d both been doing the last month. He needed a clear answer. Your weight shifts to your other leg as you take a shaky breath, stepping closer with quiet bravery. 

Your voice cracks a little when it comes. “I want you, Joel. But I don’t want you to regret it.” 

No flourish, just fact. 

He exhales hard, like you knocked the wind out of him. “No way in hell I’d regret this,” his voice dips lower. “But there’s no going back after this, no more pretending. You okay with that?” He lifts a hand and lets his fingers brush your jaw, slow and tentative, like he's still restraining himself. 

You were trembling, not visibly, but deep inside – where his words struck chords you’d kept hidden. Where all your what-ifs and daydreams had lived quietly until now.

You meet his eyes without flinching, and you nod.

His thumb grazes your cheekbone, then he leans in, and you can feel your heartbeat throb between your legs. When he kisses you it’s not rushed. His mouth meets yours, warm and sure, a slow press of lips that steals the air from your lungs. 

He pulls back just an inch, his forehead pressing against yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers, voice rough with restraint.

You don’t. You can’t. You shake your head, small and certain. “I don’t.”

And that’s all it takes.

His mouth finds yours again, hungrier this time, and his palm presses to cradle the small of your back. You arch into him, realizing the room feels too small now. His body crowds yours as you feel him take a step forward, trying to guide you out of the bathroom. 

Joel pulls back just enough to speak before his lips are back on yours, his voice thick. “Not here.”

You both stumble a little in your own urgency, breathless as he leads you through the hallway into the open space. Your legs bump against one of the machines, but he never wavers. You get a bit paranoid, wanting to peek and make sure you were, in fact, alone. You wouldn’t survive something interrupting this. One part of the studio is cast in gold from the completed sunrise pouring through the window, the rest of the blinds pulled down. The cold from the mirror’s glass meets your back, sharp and startling – but Joel is there, warm and inviting.

Joel’s hands slide up under your tank top, the compressive material molding to your body. You feel his thumbs dig into your hips as he pulls away. Your eyes are closed as you relish in the fact you now know what he tastes like, a tinge of bitterness mixed in. You take it you were right about the coffee. 

“Take this off f’me,” he requests.

“Gonna need help,” you laugh softly, no time wasted as you move to pull it up, the stubborn fabric unforgiving in your haste. 

“Relax, baby,” Joel steadies your hands, his smile reaching his eyes for the first time all morning. You huff and shake your head, heat rising to your face. You let him take the lead and lift your arms up, momentarily blind as he pulls it up over your head. Joel tries not to stare, but like every time before, he fails. His touch grows more confident, more consuming. You feel it in the way his lips press in a pattern over your neck, the way his fingers deliberately press through your leggings right where you’re aching for him.

“These off too,” he mumbles, already peeling away at your matching leggings. He’d imagined taking these little outfits off of you so many times, and he wanted to take his time, but god he’d been waiting for what felt like years. 

Your breath hitches as he traces his fingertips over your back, body shuddering from the chills he left behind. The fact he’s still completely clothed doesn’t escape you, but a part of you likes that. The fact he’s here, in your space, staking his claim and undressing you. 

“Joel, wait –” You interrupt him, his eyes flickering up at you in confusion. 

“You want me to stop?” He asks, about to stand back up and help you with your clothes. 

You lick your lips, hyper-aware of your heart pounding. A few seconds of silence pass before you’re shaking your head. “No,” you whisper, “I just… I want to see you too.”

That earns a pause.

Joel’s gaze softens, something tight in his expression releasing as his hands still at the curve of your hips. He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. 

“Yeah?” he asks, voice warm. You nod again. 

You reach for him as he moves, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt. The fabric drags up over rigid muscle and sun-kissed skin. Your eyes rake over him – the strength in his chest and arms, the scattered scars, the way his shoulders stiffen with your eager eyes drinking him up. 

You press your palms to his bare chest and feel his heart kick. Then, he takes your wrists and turns you towards the mirror, hovering behind you. His hands trail down your sides, thumbs tracing the skin just beneath your ribs before they settle on your hips. You try not to squirm when you feel his hand dip lower. One is running down the length of your back, the other nestling between your legs. He presses two fingers against your clit, rubbing small circles as your body tenses. He feels it, and glances up at you like he knows you’re in your head. 

You hear your name and look at him through the mirror, lips parted in awe that he was touching you. “I’ve got you, okay? Just relax,” he tells you again. His voice is rough, breath warm against the back of your neck. The rough denim of his jeans scratches against your bare skin when he ruts into you, and you feel all of him – even through the thick fabric. You’re unprepared when you feel his fingers circle your entrance before they’re slipping in up to his knuckles, slow and brushing over every ridge. You gasp and dig your palms into the wooden barre. 

“Look how fuckin’ beautiful you are,” he murmurs behind you, his hand steady at your hip.

His words aren’t lost on you, but you can’t bring yourself to look; can’t watch the way your mouth parts with every stuttering breath as he works you open after months of being touch starved. You squeeze your eyes shut and dip your chin down, flustered, but he notices.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, the hand at your hip shifting to your jaw, moving your chin back up to center. “Let me see that pretty face, wanna see you feel it.”

It’s not a demand – it’s a plea. Joel thinks he should slow down, ease up and let you process what’s happening. But you’d stirred something in him that he thought had gone dormant for the foreseeable future, and he just couldn’t get enough of you. 

A noise of protest sounds from your lips but you listen anyway, looking at yourself and taking in your already disheveled appearance. Then, you look at Joel. Your eyes meet again, and despite his clenched jaw and furrowed brow, he looks back at you with a tenderness you’ve never received. 

“Fuck, Joel –” you whimper, hips rocking helplessly against his fingers. “Feels so good…” Your hips stutter, back arching as you start to match the push and pull of his fingers. Each stroke is measured, not hurried, like he’s trying to memorize how you come undone. 

He feels your pussy clench around his fingers and groans, unable to stop thinking about how much he wishes it was his cock. But this was about you, not him. He listens for every catch in your throat, every tiny twitch of your hips, adjusting his touch like he’s tuning an instrument.

And God, do you feel it – the dragging weight of his fingers as they bury inside you. The nights chasing this feeling felt ridiculous, your own fingers no match for his. Your grip falters on the barre as he moves with unshakable focus. Not a single part of you feels untouched; not with his breath ghosting over your ear, his hand buried between your legs like he belongs there. 

Your thighs clench and Joel can feel it before you say anything, the sound of your moans like music to his ears. Two thick fingers stay buried inside you, curling with maddening precision. They move just right, pressing into the soft spot so deep in your pussy it makes your whole body lurch forward. He tightens his grip on you and chuckles in realization. 

“Shit – there, huh?” he mutters, almost to himself, and the pads of his fingers rub slow, earnest circles against that soft spot inside you while his thumb finds your clit again. He watches you unravel in the mirror, lips parted, skin flushed, straining toward every stroke. 

Your breath stutters when he curls his fingers again, his name leaving your lips like a prayer. “You’re crazy,” you say with a weak laugh, and Joel shakes his head in amusement. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “‘Cause of you.” His fingers go impossibly deeper, like he’s carving his name into you. The mirror captures everything: your parted lips, the desperate crease in your brow, the flushed skin blooming over your chest. His hand never falters, fingers relentless now, faster, messier, wetter – until you cry out, your whole body seizing against him.

Your knees buckle but he’s already there, holding you up as your orgasm rolls through you, wave after wave. Your walls clench around his fingers, and he groans into your skin, biting down gently as if to anchor himself through it.

“Attagirl,” he growls, helping you through the end of it, slower now. “Jesus, baby. Feel so fuckin’ good, makin’ a mess all over my hand.” You sag in his arms, panting, skin damp and shining in the low studio light. Joel doesn’t let go, holding you to his chest.

You’re in a haze, acutely aware of Joel guiding you to sit on the nearest reformer slowly, letting you catch your breath. The carriage shifts under your weight, none of the springs keeping it steady, making you brace yourself on the frame. Immediately, his brow knits.

“How the hell d’you keep this thing from moving?” he mumbles, frowning down at the machine like it’s insulted you.

You let out a faint, dizzy laugh. “You’ve gotta put the springs on, all of them keep it pretty still,” you explain.

Carefully, he reaches under the carriage, fingers brushing over the cold metal until they find the spring hooks. One by one, he pulls them forward with quiet effort, securing them into place until the carriage holds steady. 

“What about you?” you ask, reaching out to latch your fingers into the top of his jeans, wanting to return the favor. Before your hands make any progress, he catches your wrist firmly.

“I’m okay, don’t need that from you, sweetheart.” Joel shakes his head once, his eyes scan over your body like he’s already thinking about what to do with it next. You open your mouth to insist, but the moment falters when he interrupts you.

“Lie down for me.” 

You blink at him, still swimming in the aftershocks. “What?”

He says it again, more pointed this time. “Lie back, on the machine, baby.” 

There’s no edge in his voice – just heat, thick and steady, anchored by the quiet rasp of someone who’s holding back far more than he’s letting on. His palm slides to your lower back, coaxing you down gently until your spine meets the carriage. He moves then, straddling the machine and pausing when it groans under his weight. 

“This thing gonna hold me?” he asks, and you roll your eyes. 

“It’ll hold,” you reassure him. He hums skeptically, but settles down anyway, his back to the footbar. You watch him adjust, and it wrecks you a little. Because you’re not sure when this stopped being about flirting, or power, or just the thrill of wanting someone impossible. You want him. Want him when he’s steady and quiet and full of things he’ll never say out loud; and also like this, in power and unafraid.

“What’s that move you do?” he asks suddenly, interrupting your thoughts. He asks like he’s been saving the question. You blink, caught off guard and he clarifies. “The one with your ass up in the air.”

You lift your head from the headrest and laugh, eyebrows arched up. “You mean bridging?” 

“That’s the one,” he drags out the first word, his hands running up your calves. You smile knowingly. 

“Knew that one would stick, you liked that move, huh?” you ask, and Joel smirks. 

“Couldn’t get it outta my fuckin’ head,” he admits, laughing with you. You both trail off and you meet his eyes, a suspicious glint in them. His gaze lingers, heavy and fixed – and that’s when you realize where he was going with the line of questioning. His thumbs skim the soft crease behind your knees, pulling up gently and you feel your breath hitch. 

“Do it for me,” he says, almost pleading. He guides both of your legs up on top of his shoulders, and you’re completely stunned. How can you say no to him? 

You breathe a little hard from your nose amusedly and lift your hips from the platform with slow precision. You shake a little this time, legs still aching from your first orgasm, but anything Joel wanted – you would give it to him. Your spine peels from the carriage in a slow roll, just like you’ve done a thousand times. You remember when you did it in class, intentionally putting on a show for him while he struggled with his own desire in the corner of the studio. 

His mouth parts slightly, eyes dragging over the new shape of you; exposed, tilted, perfectly on display for him. He’d seen it from that bench in the corner, but now up close, he was losing his mind. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. You go silent, every nerve pulled tight like the springs beneath you. 

And then he leans in, no more hesitation, like he’s got something to prove – with his mouth, this time.

The first brush of his tongue is featherlight, but it’s enough to steal every thought from your head. When he hears you whine, he flattens his tongue and licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, slow and considerate, like he’s memorizing the taste of you in case he never gets to have this again. He stays there, focused, with one hand steady at your hip while he wraps his lips around your swollen center, a soft cry echoing this time. 

“Jesus, Joel –” you choke out, head thrown back, both hands clutching the side rail. 

He pulls back just a touch, teasing now, cruel in the only way Joel can be, with praise that tears your heart open. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” his voice is thick and guttural. “Knew you’d sound pretty like that when I finally got my mouth on you,” he tells you between soft kisses to your thighs, his beard scratching the skin.

Before you can reply, he lowers his mouth to you, his tongue parts you, warm and searching. Your hips twitch under his hold, toes curling as he pulls you tighter against his mouth. Thankfully he knows you can’t hold yourself up, one of his hands gripping your hip and the other supporting you just under your tailbone. Your body bows, thighs tensing around his neck. 

You say his name repeatedly, chest heaving, and that only seems to drive him deeper. His hand brushes behind your knee and he grunts, sending a vibration through to the pit of your stomach. He draws circles, then suckles gently, alternating pressure until your grip on the frame turns white-knuckled. He hums low in his throat, pleased with the way you respond, the way you buck your hips towards him. Joel’s in a trance, his brows furrowed with concentration while he devours you. 

“Oh my god,” you whine, the air in the studio starting to feel stuffier. His only reply is a soft growl of encouragement and the tightening of his grip as he pulls you closer, lapping up your wetness like he’s been waiting his whole damn life for the chance. Like you’re the center of the fucking universe. 

He pulls back just enough to talk, his voice rough as gravel and thick with praise. “So fuckin’ good, can’t get enough of you.” The sound of his voice alone makes you whimper, head tilting back. 

“Please don’t stop,” the words tumble out before you can catch them, raw and aching with need. They crawl under his skin and burrow there, hopefully for a long time, he thinks. Hopes. The coil in your belly tightens with every pass of his tongue, your body beginning to shake for the second time. He hums, hungrily and intentional, sending a pulse through you that makes your vision blur. You’re back on that ledge faster than you anticipate. 

“Joel,” your voice breaks, a warning more than anything. 

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t pause. If anything it only fuels him. His mouth seals over your clit while two fingers slide into you again, immediately finding your sweet spot after memorizing it like scripture. 

Your hips jerk, thighs trembling around his head, but his grip holds you firm – one hand on your ass now, the other working in time with his mouth, and it’s too much. Too good. The pressure builds fast, white-hot and blinding. He groans again, savoring it, and the vibration is what does it.

Even when your cum coats his tongue he doesn’t stop, holding you through it, mouth and hands steady, guiding you through each convulsion until all that’s left is the soft, trembling aftermath. Your leg threatens to slide from his shoulder, but he steadies it, finally pulling back only when your head falls back onto the headrest with a thump. 

When your eyes flutter open, he’s already there; watching you like you’re the only person in the world. Lips glistening, eyes dark and endlessly soft. There’s nothing cocky in his expression, just something reverent – like he’s grateful to have been the one to bring you there. You force yourself to sit up, dabbing at your forehead with the back of your hand. Joel’s hands are there at your sides, helping you up. 

There's too much to say, too much swelling in your chest that you’re not ready to name. So instead, you let your fingers curl around his shoulder, dragging him in close, and kiss him. He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth meets yours hungrily, tongue pushing past your lips so you can taste yourself on him. You groan against his mouth, and Joel grunts, like it’s taking every ounce of control he has not to press you back down and fuck you right there on the reformer – if that was even possible. 

“You with me?” he asks, voice low, hands cupping your face now.

You nod, barely able to speak. “Fuck �� I mean, yes. I’m with you.” You correct yourself with a shake of your head, and Joel smiles. 

“Good,” he says, and his eyes don’t leave yours, not even when your fingers trail to his waistband again. This time, he lets you pop the button free and his shoulders relax when the zipper follows. His breath catches when your hand brushes against him through the fabric, warm and straining – waiting for you. The sound he makes is nothing short of wrecked.

“Lift a little,” you whisper, and he does without question, just enough for you to ease the denim down his hips. His legs spread slightly for balance and you move to straddle him, calves pressing against the wooden frame. 

You shift forward on your knees, reaching between your bodies until your fingers graze his cock. He’s already hard, sucking in through his teeth when you wrap your fingers around it and squeeze. With your hips lifted you guide him to your dripping core slowly, pushing only the tip through your slick folds. 

Joel’s hands wander; up your back, on your waist, to your thighs – like he doesn’t know where to touch first. They only settle with his fingertips digging into your hips the moment you begin to sink down, lips parting as you relish in the stretch. It isn’t too uncomfortable, thanks to Joel’s incredibly thorough services. His hands are there, guiding you not to take too much at once, letting you go at your own pace despite the overwhelming temptation to fill you up the rest of the way. 

“Here,” he mumbles, helping you angle your hips. You wrap your fingers around the footbar behind him for balance, eyes locked on his as you take the rest of him. He’s big, thick and hot and perfect. You both exhale like it’s a relief to finally, finally feel this. The moan he lets out is guttural and desperate. You grin, teeth dragging lightly across your bottom lip as you start to move. A quick drag up, a slow slide back down onto his cock. His breath shudders out, and you feel that he’s still tense, like he's holding himself back. 

“Christ,” he rasps, and you can feel his thighs tense under yours. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Like you were made for me.”

The words make you clench around him, his head tipping back for a second before he’s looking at you again, unable to miss another second of it. “Don’t stop,” he begs, and you don’t – you can’t.

Your rhythm stays steady; a slow grind that leaves you gasping each time you take him a little deeper. Your grip tightens on the footbar, the metal cool under your palms, grounding you as the pressure builds. He lets you take what you need, lets you move at your own pace, but his hands never stop roaming; thumb stroking your thigh, palm sliding up your back, hands guiding you  while you tuck your face into his neck. The closeness allows you to feel every breath he takes, hear every strained noise he makes. 

The reformer creaks beneath you with each rise and fall of your hips, the tension cords beneath the frame stretching in tandem. His mouth grazes over your collarbone, warm and wet, and then without warning, he starts to fuck up into you. It makes you sit up straight, and Joel’s hand comes up to your neck, his fingertips grazing your throat. He’s all concentration as he looks between your bodies, watching you take him like it’s his last chance. 

In his fervor, you feel his fingers dig into the side of your neck, but he’s so absorbed in you he doesn’t notice. His fingers flex softly at your pulse like he’s feeling how hard your heart’s racing. Your legs work to meet his thrusts, one of your hands leaving the bar to rest on his shoulder. The muscle contracts each time he moves, and the sight of him so focused, jaw tight and brows tense, makes you melt. Your pace quickens, the sound of your skin slapping together echoing in your ears. 

And then, his fingers tighten. Your breath catches in your throat, and your pussy clamps around him even tighter like it’s been waiting for it. Joel feels it instantly. His eyes rip up to look at you, catching the pleasure written in all of your features. 

“Oh, you like that, baby?” he asks, brow ticking up in amusement at yet another discovery. You can only nod in response, breath slipping out in a fractured moan.as he continues bucking up into you, deep and sharp. 

The pressure in your belly builds fast again, molten and consuming. His hand tightens, just holding you there and squeezing the sides in a way that makes your mouth practically water. A firm reminder that he’s the one guiding you now, that he’s been controlling you this whole time, bending you to his will. Your hips stutter, thighs shaking, and Joel speaks up, voice rough at the edges. 

“Gonna cum for me again?” he whispers, voice rough at the edges. Your hips stutter, thighs shaking, and Joel keeps his grip on your throat secure. 

“I can’t –” you whine, the words fragile and disbelieving, more plea than protest. Your body is heavy with the weight of sensation, the sharp edge of overstimulation skimming close to pain, but it only winds you tighter.

“Yes, you can.” His lips brush your cheek, his words sounding more like a demand than encouragement. “Ain’t so easy when someone else is in charge of your breath, is it?” His voice is thick with satisfaction, power lacing every syllable, and something about the way he’s so in control, so certain – it only makes you burn hotter. 

You laugh, breathless and wild, but it turns into a whimper as he bucks into you again, perfectly timed with the curl of his fingers at your throat – and the tension snaps. Your head falls forward against his shoulder as your body jerks in his lap, thighs shaking uncontrollably. A third orgasm rips sharp and stunning through you, a strangled cry lost against his skin. Your remaining grip on the footbar slips, both hands squeezing his shoulders instead, clinging to him. 

Joel holds you through it, easing the pressure at your throat immediately, his other hand stroking up your spine as he murmurs against your neck. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers. “So good. So fuckin’ perfect.”

Your whole body sags into his, boneless and raw. He cradles your back like you’re something precious, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. You can feel he’s still inside you, still hard – but he makes no move, doesn’t chase his own release. He just holds you. You lift your head slightly, eyes fluttering open to find him already watching you with something that guts you. .

“Still with me?”

You nod, barely. “Yeah. Just… need a second.”

“Take all the time you need,” Joel says earnestly. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You smile, heart hammering, breath still shaky. You press your forehead to his, grounding yourself. His touch never falters, just warm and steady like an anchor. He notices you’re still shaking and traces shapes on your back, trying to assist. 

“Gotta breathe, darlin’," and you do, letting him coax air back into your lungs one breath at a time. His thumb strokes your cheek in soothing circles. His cock is still pulsing inside you with need, begging for something he’s ignoring. 

You shift slightly in his lap, your thighs still trembling but pliant now. You feel the way his breath stutters when you clench around him, slow and gentle. It makes him grunt softly in disapproval, his head shaking once. 

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You don’t gotta do that.”

“Let me,” you whisper, insisting. Joel pulls back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, forehead creased with something deeper than pleasure. He cups your face like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth. 

Your hips roll forward with care, not rushed this time, but steady; giving him what he wouldn’t take for himself. His hands twitch on your hips, not guiding anymore, but bracing. He buries his face against your neck like he’s trying to hold on, trying not to break too fast.

“Took such good care of me, you deserve it too,” you say, barely audible above your shared breath. That undoes him. He finally lets go, hips thrusting up into you again in slow, devastating strokes. You meet each one, nails digging into his shoulders as you let him bring himself to the edge with your pussy. You're still reeling from your own high, breathing through it the best you can.

You feel the tension winding tighter in him, the way his breath falters, each sound caught between a groan and a prayer. His hand trails down, settles at the base of your spine, pressing you down to meet each thrust.

“Fuck, baby, I’m –” His voice breaks off as his head falls back, jaw slack. You ride him through it, holding him steady, giving him the same patience he gave you.

“Give it to me,” you whisper against his mouth. 

It’s a full-body thing; a shudder that takes him over completely, pulling him under in waves. He lets out a broken moan as he spills inside you, hips stuttering, one arm banding tight around your back while the other cradles the side of your face. You stay with him through it, stilling only when he does, pressing your lips gently to the line of his jaw, then his cheekbone, then his temple. 

His heart is racing. So is yours. Joel lets out a long, shuddering exhale, forehead dropping to yours again. His voice is soft, breathless. “Fucking hell,” a shaky laugh catches in his throat. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

You smile, stroking a hand through the sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck. “The feeling is mutual.” 

His arms still holding you close, bodies still joined and glittering with sweat. 

“Was that three?” he asks after a beat, eyes fluttering open. You nod with a faint, dazed grin, and he groans, like that knowledge alone is enough to destroy him all over again. “Shit, I’m sorry.” 

It makes you pause, your forehead touching his. “Sorry?” you echo. “If that’s what sorry looks like, I hope you mess up more often.”

He smiles, corners of his eyes scrunching and you can’t help but stare. For just a moment, the world outside of the studio doesn’t exist. There’s only this. Neither of you moves, not wanting to be anywhere else. 

Joel breaks the silence with a tap on your thigh, motioning for you to stand up. He helps you, steadying you until you find solid ground again. You’re still dazed, but start to pull your clothes back on – the thought of his cum filling you makes your heart soar. You catch him watching you like he’s half expecting you to disappear.

He dresses himself while you spray down the machine, unable to bite back the smile on your face. Every damn class, he’d be imprinted on your mind, the machine taunting you with reminders and flashbacks. Then, as you toss the towel in the bin, you hear him speak behind you.

“I ain’t good at this,” he says. “Talkin’ like this, feeling like this. But I swear, it’s been damn near impossible to think of anything else lately.” His brows twitch like he wants to smile more, but something vulnerable tugs at the edge instead.

You close the distance, instantly reaching up to caress the edge of his jaw, catching the coarse stubble there. You can see something hovering over him, almost like he’s still waiting for permission from you, to have you outside of the studio walls. 

“I’m not asking you for anything you can’t give,” you say reassuringly. “I just didn’t want to pretend like it wasn’t there. And… I really like you.” You admit it out loud, and he lets out a stunned chuckle. He’s floored, not quite able to believe you’re equally as fascinated with him as he’s been with you. 

“I really like you too,” he says, quiet but sure. “More than I probably should.”

That earns a real laugh from you. “We’re way past shoulds, don’t you think?”

He huffs, amused but in agreement. His head dips just enough to brush his lips against your forehead. 

“Should’ve said this before I had you ridin’ me on that damn machine,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely toward the reformer, like the memory alone short-circuits his brain a little. “You maybe... wanna get dinner sometime?” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but your face for a second.

You smile so wide it hurts. “Joel Miller,” you chide, tilting your head, “Are you asking me on a date?”

He smirks, eyes crinkling in that way that already feels like home. “Think I might be.”

You lean in close, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Then yeah, I’d like that.”

That charged, delicate silence that always hummed between you two is still there, but neither of you feels strange about it now. He squeezes your hand once reluctantly before stepping back, going to the bathroom to collect his tools – but not before you give him your phone number. 

As he opens the door, sunlight spilling into the quiet studio, he pauses with one hand on the frame. He glances back at you, lighter now, like the weight he’s been carrying finally lifted.

“See you Saturday?”

You meet his eyes, warmth blooming in your chest. “Yeah,” you say, light but certain. 

“See you Saturday.”

Joel steps through the front door just after lunchtime, toolbox in hand, shirt wrinkled and clinging faintly to his back. He’s quieter than usual, like he’s moving through a dream he hasn’t quite woken up from.

Sarah doesn’t look up from the couch right away – she’s mid-scroll, headphones half on, but her eyes flick toward him when the door shuts.

“How’d fixing the sink go?” she asks, one brow arched.

Joel sets the toolbox down on the floor with more care than necessary, grunting as he stands up straight. “Went fine,” he says plainly, avoiding her eyes. 

Sarah’s eyes narrow, and before she can comment back, they zero in on the back of his shirt: the tag sticking out and wiggling as he walks past the air conditioner to the kitchen. A slow, knowing smile takes over. 

“Your shirt’s inside out,” she remarks, smirking triumphantly when Joel freezes mid-step. 

His hand lifts automatically to the back of his shirt, fingertips brushing over the telltale edge of the tag. He frowns, mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “God damn it.” 

Sarah watches him retreat toward the stairs, his inside-out shirt like a billboard for guilty as charged. His boots thud heavily against each step, and before disappearing, he throws a glance over his shoulder; a sharp look that’s more of a warning than denial.

“Don’t start,” he mutters gruffly. 

“I didn’t say anything!” she chirps, clearly enjoying herself. The bathroom door clicks shut a second later. Sarah barely holds in her laughter as she pulls out her phone, putting the other headphone back over her ear. She opens her text messages and clicks on the thread with Vic. 

dude... i think my dad just hooked up with our pilates teacher.

[ladyloveandjustice]

Seeing people say they get more attached to the male characters the female characters because they're "badly written" is always such a weak excuse but pulling it for the Batfamily is so wild. Because all comics characters are badly written at one point or another. Batman has some of the most inconsistent characterization and worst writing of ALL TIME, everyone has their conflicting vision of Batman and how much of an asshole he should be so it's a mess. He's done some outrageously unforgiveable shit you have to ignore if you want to keep liking the character??? Stuff that makes absolutely no sense where you can't even fathom why he'd do that??? But then other writers ignore it, and you ignore it.

Jason Todd's characterization was a fucking contradictory mess when he was first resurrected (and is probably still bad and inconsistent sometimes I imagine. I haven't sampled enough of the new comics but he does seem to flip flop a lot) but he is THE most popular character to write fanfic about based on the number of kudos search I did, and all those fanfic I read either just quickly glosses over the stuff he did in Battle of the Cowl etc, or completely ignore it, or blames it on the Lazurus Pit or whatever. Because it was all pretty stupid! Because that comic was bad!

Nobody could agree on how to write Damian when he first debuted either and it's kind of hilarious going back to those comics to see how inconsistent he is. (especially how Morrison wrote him as like, so good the best unbeatable and others were like "no. doesn't matter how highly trained he is. he's ten. Tim could absolutely fuck him up in ten seconds if he wanted to" (and does, eventually. after getting tired of being constantly attacked). Steph can fight him evenly and she's definitely holding back bc he's a child, so she'd win too if she weren't. He's ten." it's honestly very funny to contrast them.)

All the characters have great writing too though, and that's why people love them! And this is just as much the case for the girls! Babs has tons of excellent writing as Oracle. Steph has tons of good writing too. Cass has honestly hands down one of the best solo comic runs of all time, and it lasted 70+ issues. Selina has some excellent comics...and so on, and so forth.

All of them has extremely angsty crunchy often compelling backstories that the fanfic community would be all over if they were guys.

And they are all just as traumatized and sad as the boys, and fandom loves trauma. Anything Dick or Jason or Tim have gone through they've probably also had an equivalent experience. Being tortured by a villain and dying after being fired as Robin and then relentlessly victim blamed? oh hey Steph's had that happen too. Being poor and surviving on the streets as kid? Selina's been through that. Being raised as a child assassin? Cass did that way before Damian.

There's overall less comics about them (preboot at least I'm not keeping up post that) but like. there's still a LOT of comics they were in, it really should not matter.

"the women aren't written as well/aren't as interesting and that's why" is such a pathetic claim in a fandom like comics where everyones been written well, horribly, and everything in between, and I really think people should learn to admit they just don't care about female characters as much, it's easier on us all. you don't have to force yourselves to write about them if it's a chore, I'd rather you not because that writing will suck. But be honest, come on.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

I just read through all the Welcome Home headcanons you wrote, and I love the amount of attention that you're giving everyone, especially Frank! I feel like he's one of the few people in Welcome Home that doesn't get mentioned often.

Anyway! I read the one where he listened to our heartbeat, and I was wondering, if maybe he'd make it a slight habit to ask to listen to it sometimes since there aren't many things that have a heartbeat. It's calming, if not a little personal/intimate. Who knows, maybe he even falls asleep like that.

Now I'm wondering who else would like to listen to our heartbeat..

I added some other neighbors learning about your heartbeat!

Frank listening to the readers heartbeat.

Heartbeat

★ When he wants to hear it, he pretends it's for his research. Frank asks politely. "I would like to hear it again. For science, of course." But over time it becomes a little routine. When he talks with you about biology, entomology, or whatever he finds interesting, it's usually done with him close to you. So he can hear your heartbeat.

★ The first time he fell asleep while listening to it was an accident. Letting his eyes close for just a second to focus on the sound. You just let him rest. Enjoying the moment of peace. When he wakes up, he's embarrassed. "Oh! I'm very sorry!" Feeling like he crossed a boundary.

Wally

★ Wally won't say much when he notices it. Simply enjoying the sound while thinking of a way to mention it. Eventually, he says something. "That sound you make, it's nice..." His words making it speed up. "Oh! Now it's faster. What does that mean?"

★ He finds it very calming. Never asking many questions and just accepting it as a part of you. Sometimes, when he listens, he taps a finger along. Trying to match the rhythm. "It reminds me of a clock." He tells you.

Sally

★ She is by far the most clueless person in home when it comes to matters of biology. Even more than Home. And that's saying something. The first time she noticed it was by accident. You had lifted her up to reach a prop for her latest play. Then she froze. "Wait. What is that?!?"

��� Sally presses a hand against your chest as you move to put her down. Then, she gasps loudly. "Neighbor, what in this wide world is moving inside you!" This was the moment you knew you were about to spend the rest of your afternoon explaining things to her.

★ When she realizes your heart never stops, Sally gets concerned. "Well, that simply sounds exhausting! Even I need to take breaks. What if it get’s tired?" If it picks up too much for her taste, she panics. "No no! I will not allow this! Go sit down."

Barnaby

★ I've mentioned this before. But Barnaby gets freaked out over the noises your body makes. Like your stomach growling. Your heart, however, is quite soothing. The soft sound of your pulse reminds him of a dogs tail wag. Barnaby associates it with happy memories.

★ But if your heartbeat starts to pick up, he gets confused. What do you mean it changes? An ear twitches as he listens more closely. "Hey, hold on a sec. What's happening in there?" It catches him off guard.

Julie

★ The moment she notices it, Julie asks a million questions. Treating it as a fun little game. "Do you make it tick? Oh! It's getting faster!" Bouncing up and down as she speaks. Why didn't you mention this to her before?

★ "Okay, okay -now try running. Let's see how fast we can make it go!" Each time it changes she giggles. Pressing a hand to the side of your neck where she can feel it best. "It's kind of like a clock, huh? Or a drum." Comparing it to things she knows.

★ Your heartbeat starts to slow down as you relax. Like when you get exhausted from one of her games. This is how she knows when you need a break. Reminding you to drink some water and grab a snack. Try telling her your fine and she wags a finger at you. "Nope! I can tell when you need to rest! Sit down. I'll go grab you a soda."

Poppy

★ At first she was worried. The idea of such an important organ needing to run constantly, inside of you, makes her nervous. Especially when she thinks about what might happen if it were to stop. "Oh dear... That's a lot of responsibility for one little part of you."

★ When it speeds up, she gets panicky. Assuming that something went wrong. "Oh no! Is something wrong? Do you need tea? A blanket? Tell me what's amiss, dear!" Her feathers all fluffed up. Checking you over despite not understanding your body completely. 

[sideysvault]

⋆˚࿔ Venomous Surrender ⋆˚࿔

Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader ₊ @hotd2025bingo ₊

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱ • ⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

wc. 0.7k

tags. [sfw] toxic relationship, poisoning, slight mentions of sex and dub-con, angst, dark love.

────────

The woman could have sworn that she was different from him. She really would have. She would’ve gambled the soil at her feet, her ability to enjoy the warm water of the stream that the Red Keep hides and her favorite winter duvet. 

Eventually, though, she had to come to the realization that she would have made a fine Targaryen. It must have rubbed off, after all those years of marriage. 

It started as a funny, harmless idea at first. 

She saw the way his eyes darkened when he spoke of the throne, noticed the cruel, judgmental gaze upon everyone but himself, heard the rumors about her husband’s plotting with Ser Criston Cole. And, she got a glimpse of Aegon’s decaying body, too. 

When the news reached his wife’s ear, in a moment of blissful innocence, she allowed herself to thank the Gods for Aemond’s safety. But when she saw the King’s burnt, fragmented body, it hit her. Who else could have possibly done that? And while her husband had always been devoted and kind, and she had grown to be madly in love with him, she still feared the old Targaryen legend that folks told. 

A coin, flipped, tossed in the air. Was his husband turning? If that was the fate he had prepared for his own brother, —albeit a cruel sibling—, his own blood, what could be thought of her? If she ever strayed in his path?

It frightened her, of course. She threw a fit of quiet panic as she watched him turn into something monstrous. But it was something strangely familiar. She supposed she had always known what type of man he was, but it did not matter, as long as he loved her. What harm could someone do if they are devoted to your cause? To your future together?

The problem expanded when his attentiveness branched out into a distant land, foreign to family matters, foreign to marital matters. A rather vain reason, perhaps. But it was the honest truth. Aemond’s wife feared that he loved the thrill of power more than he loved her, and that he, suddenly enlightened, would decide that forming a family and spending time with his wife had become inconsequential matters, unfit of a wise, unattainable ruler. 

And it’s not like she did not try other options. She really did. The woman orchestrated passionate appeals to his late promises, to old memories of devotion. These often ended with her falling down on her knees, with shameful tears running through warm cheeks. 

She desperately tried to kiss the malice off his skin, making silent pleas to the meat that covered his heart. She tried to reason and compromise, taking an oath to never interfere with his antics, if it meant that they could have those long conversations again, if they could dance and laugh again, if she could feel his tender gaze and feel his protective hugs just once more. 

None of it worked. 

Had all those moments, all those years been a lie? 

And then she saw them grow in the garden. Insidious, small, poisonous. The thought of hurting him had never crossed her mind, but she did wonder what it would be like to slow him down for a split second, just enough for him to have the time and energy to lower his gaze and look at her again.

A part of the woman even hoped that she had been mistaken, that they wouldn’t have the intended effect. But oh, they did. And for a couple of days, Aemond was hers again. All of him. He turned into the boy that she had learned to love so many years ago. And she turned into the girl who would stop at nothing to see him content. 

Of course, the guilt was extreme and it was there. And she made up for it. Or, at the very least, she tried to. 

She would not pry in his atrocities, she would be a decorative statue, but now and then, when she missed him, when she wanted him to feel some semblance of humility, she’d slip a tiny dose of belladonna in his drinks, in his food. And he’d be pure again. Like it was supposed to be. 

Naturally, Aemond knew. He was anything but stupid. And Aemond let her. He loved getting nursed back to health, he liked relenting control, he liked how intense her devotion was afterward. Although she did take it out on her. Whenever they went to bed after he’d been sick, he’d be particularly rough. But when the poison would settle in, she’d used him as a prop and ride him until she was satisfied. It was a dance. One of balance.

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Notes. Another prompt done! I was super inspired by the Fathom Thread. This is far from finished but i promised myself i would post again

— Sidey xo

[fxtalitygod]

Wasteland. I: Routine

Synopsis: Your life revolves around your betrothal to the Gojo clan's gifted child, Satoru Gojo. However, despite the circumstances of your marital status, you continue to contest the boundaries of your social role.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

Genre: Angst (eventual fluff), mature, suggestive, arranged marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Slowburn

Warnings: Dark Themes/topics, misogynistic themes, toxic household, mentions of night terrors, betrothal since birth, swearing/language, implications of pregnancy, inappropriate lessons given to a child (nothing is explicitly said, but it is alluded to)

A/N: I'm sorry ya'll! With school and work, finding the time to sit down and write has become increasingly difficult; however, with the summer term, I have more flexibility to write. I'm still quite busy, but I really want to get this story out and make it available. I've had it in mind for a couple of years and have always wanted to flesh it out. If you're still here after all this time, thank you! Please enjoy!

Word Count: 4.4k

•JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• Prologue ↞ Chapter 1 ↠ Chapter 2

You are an ambitious girl, willing to do anything and everything to achieve your goals and wants. Ambition is what makes you and is a good reflection of your strength to persevere; however, your ambition also reflects your weaknesses. You are a stubborn girl and have a habit of lashing out due to pent-up emotions. You are flawed, much like any human, but it always seems your flaws are held under a microscope and make you uncomfortable. Why? Because you didn’t want to be flawed, or rather, you couldn’t afford it.

Satoru Gojo is the center of your life, not by choice; nevertheless, you have an obligation to marry the gifted child of the Gojo Clan and provide heirs, meaning there is no room for you to make errors. You were to be a promising and dutiful wife, and if not for yourself, then for your family.

Family means everything to you, and despite the constant criticism from your relatives and up-bringers, you wanted nothing more but to make them proud. You were doing this for the benefit, but maybe somewhere along the way, you could love the Gojo boy.

That is what you told yourself to get yourself through the day because the truth is you couldn’t stand the image of him. You understood that it was unbecoming, but when you reflected on how you met him, you couldn’t get over his lack of engagement, from how he looked to how he spoke, and from recent news, much hadn't changed. There was an evening you expressed this to your aunt, and despite her sympathy, she urged you to uphold a promise.

“Marry the Gojo boy for your future– for your safety.”

There was no shame in admitting that you mostly did this for her. However, there was some acknowledgment that a small part of you still wished to satisfy your family, playing a role in your participation in this arrangement, because you didn’t want to be the outcast. You didn’t want to be a disappointment. Maybe it was your ambition coming into play, but you swore not to die unaccomplished in your clan. You were meant to do great things and were willing to do anything to achieve that.

At the age of nine, you found the will and power to step outside the boundaries that had been set for you. You didn't know what you were doing initially, but soon, you found yourself sneaking to the training grounds to watch your brother's studies– it was the first small step in the right direction. You would engrave what you had seen into your mind and find privacy in your room to imitate his learnings.

Things were looking up, but your improvement seemed to halt until your aunt caught you in the act one evening. She had scared the life out of you when you turned around to her amused smile. You could still remember your embarrassment when she caught you ghosting your twin. There was the expectation that she would shut down your exertions; however, you were shocked when she made you an offer.

It wasn't until age ten that you started secretly training with your aunt. To say you were ecstatic was an understatement. Your aunt once mentioned that you were so full of joy that you had shaken so much she was afraid you were going to combust—she was grateful you didn't. The moment you started those lessons, the dormant potential had been released as you began to thrive in your newfound education. However, despite the enthusiasm towards your willingness to learn the ways of your cursed technique and energy, you had to stay cautious.

It was safe to say there was a lack of approval from your parents, as they had insisted it was not "befitting of a woman of your status," meaning that because you were marrying into the Gojo clan, you were to be nothing more than a trophy wife. You didn't understand the phrase when your aunt had initially muttered it under her breath, but you did understand that it meant that you would not pursue your endeavor to become a jujutsu sorcerer.

The job seemed desirable enough, as you had seen many of your relatives pursue this career, but as much as it was a mission for a good cause, you also enjoyed the thought of being able to prove your parents wrong. You wanted to please your family, but you also found this rebellious side of you to be exhilarating.

Even with this newfound rebellious nature, you still had to abide by the rules every now and then, despite your dismay. One way you accomplished this was by attending the “regular” classes your mother had designed. You had participated in these lessons from a young age, so they didn’t come as a surprise; however, as you matured, so did the classes, but they grew quicker in age than you did. These lessons were designed to prepare you for your life in marriage. Anything from parenthood to proper etiquette…even sexually pleasing your partner.

There was nothing wrong with learning these things, but given the circumstances, it probably wasn’t appropriate to start learning these 'lessons' at the ripe age of eight years old. You always had a discomfort with these discussions, as they always felt off to you; however, you endured them to maintain your image…for the most part.

Making your parents proud always seemed to be a struggle. Every aspect of your being was being closely inspected, and if any flaw was detected, all hell would rain down upon you. For a maturing child who still knew little about the world, to be in a constant critique was tiring and mentally damaging, especially from those you consider family. Every step forward became two steps backwards, and it felt like you could never win with them. What made it all more confusing and frustrating is that neither of your siblings was treated in such a way.

Your sister was adorned and your twin brother was greatly praised, and although you were glad they were treated in such a way, you couldn’t help but ask…why? Maybe they were holding you to a higher standard because they knew you had potential or maybe it was just because of the stress of preparing you for your future. At the time you preferred to believe it was due to your underlying potential, but as you grew older, you began realizing it was the latter.

You are now fourteen, and you have a better understanding of what is going on—maybe not to its full extent, but enough to understand what role in life you were “destined” to fulfill. Where there was still some form of content and innocence, there was now an underlying bitterness with your evolved mind; today proved that as your mother stood before you with a distasteful look.

"Why are you covered in dirt?!" she seethed.

You stared at her blankly, a face that she never voiced hating; however, seeing how her grimace deepened, she did not enjoy not being able to detect the expression on your face.

"I'm sorry, mother," you started, "I was in the garden with Aunt Mio and Ayumi."

Your statement was a lie, as you had been training with your aunt once more, your twin brother, who was the only other household member who knew of these meetups, assisting you in your training by ditching his own; however, unlike you, he would only receive a slap on the wrist.

“And what were you doing in the garden?” She continued to press.

She wanted you to hesitate, to have an opening to berate you, but this was a dance you danced many times, and you weren’t going to give her the opportunity.”

“I was helping Aunt Mio tend to the new flower bed, and Ayumi decided to join, and things got a little messy in the process.”

Your mother could only click her tongue. There was a little bit of discomfort in using your little cousin as a shield to protect yourself, but you knew it was something she couldn't argue with.

“Go get cleaned, I’m postponing lessons for today as we have important company coming over and I rather you look decent at the moment then having your nose buried in a book.”

With that, your mother dismissed you. You responded with a respectful bow before heading to your room to grab the essentials you would need to tidy yourself up. You made a mental note as you looked around your dwelling, grabbing things such as clothes, accessories, bathing supplies, and even...

Makeup.

It wasn't uncommon for a girl your age to start experimenting with cosmetics; however, the reasons for your usage could be considered unusual. You had paused after catching your reflection in the mirror, stepping closer as you examined your face. Before you knew it, your fingers moved to smudge the concealer under your right eye, the carefully applied makeup disappearing to reveal the circles beneath. Evidence of your sleepless nights, of the nightmares that plagued you.

You have been deliberately avoiding sleep, keeping yourself awake by staying busy with tasks such as reading books provided to you and reorganizing your entire wardrobe. You were trying to outrun those horrid dreams and whatever lay beneath them, trying to run from what waits for you in the darkness of your mind.

You stare at your reflection for a moment longer before hearing a knock at your door. You gathered yourself quickly, grabbing your things before opening the door to reveal your aunt standing there. You were in such a hurry that you hadn't noticed you forgot to reapply your concealer.

"Y/n..." her voice trailed as she reached out to touch under your right eye; however, you were quick to shield it.

"I'm sorry I-"

You didn't get to finish before she grabbed your face and moved your hand.

"Have you not been resting?" she asked.

You could only respond with silence, avoiding her gaze as you went back to shield your appearance. You could tell she wanted to say something, but she refrained, taking a step back to give you your space.

"Has your mother told you?"

The question hangs in the air, but based on how your mom hadn't mentioned anything earlier, you just shake your head. You knew something was happening, given your mother's insistence that your appearance was more important than your education for the time being.

"The Gojo clan representatives will be here," she says quietly, her words making your heart stutter. "I thought you should know before—" She pauses, choosing her following words carefully. "Before your mother springs it on you during the gathering."

A moment of silence as you process this new information. A feeling of unease begins to settle in your heart as you repeat the words in your head. It stayed silent for a few seconds before you spoke up.

"I'm heading to the washroom... walk with me?" The invitation comes out soft, almost pleading. Your aunt's gentle nod is all you need before you both begin the familiar path to the bathing room, your steps measured and quiet against the wooden floors.

Once you're far enough from prying ears, the words spill out like poison from a wound. "They always do this," you whisper, clutching your bathing items closer to your chest. "Spring these meetings on us—on me—as if I'm just some puppet they can position whenever they please." The bitterness in your voice surprises even you, but your aunt doesn't flinch from it.

"Sometimes I wonder if they remember I'm human at all, or if I'm just another piece in their game of political shogi." You pause at the bathing room entrance, turning to face her. The understanding in her eyes makes your throat tight. She's always been the only one who truly saw the situation for what it was, who understands the weight of the expectations crushing down on your shoulders.

"I need to know," you breathe out, barely audible. "Will he be there?"

Your aunt's expression softens further, a subtle change that makes your heart sink before she even speaks. "Yes," she confirms, her voice barely above a whisper. "Satoru will be attending. Your grandfather specifically requested his presence."

The confirmation settles in your stomach like lead. You've managed to avoid direct interaction with your betrothed for years now, and the thought of facing him—facing those piercing blue eyes that seem to always be judging you—makes your hands tremble slightly around your bathing supplies.

Your aunt notices—of course she does—and reaches out to steady them with her own. "Your mother will expect you to be ready within the hour," she says, her touch grounding you in the present moment. "And remember, dear one, you're stronger than they know."

You lean closer to your aunt, voice dropping even lower. "I can't stand him," you confess, the words rushing out like a dam breaking. "The way he looks at everything like it's beneath him, that insufferable attitude of his. Every time I see him, he barely acknowledges my existence, as if this arrangement is nothing but a minor inconvenience in his perfect life."

Your hands clench around your bathing supplies, knuckles turning white. "And yet everyone acts like I should be grateful, blessed even, to be betrothed to the great Satoru Gojo. Do they not see how he treats this whole situation?" The bitterness in your voice surprises even you, but you can't stop now. "I'm supposed to be his future wife, but he looks right through me like I'm made of glass. Sometimes I wonder if he even remembers my name."

Your aunt's expression remains carefully neutral, but there's a flicker of something in her eyes—understanding, perhaps, or concern. She glances down the hallway, ensuring you're still alone, before reaching a hand to cup your face and have you look at her. Her expression is soft as she looks into your eyes, making you feel guilty for your outburst.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, smoothing your expression into something more befitting your station. "I shouldn't burden you with these thoughts. I need to prepare before Mother finds another reason to be disappointed." Your voice softens as you add, "But... I'll see you and Ayumi later?"

Your aunt's eyes hold a mixture of pride and sadness as she watches you rebuild your walls. She moves to take your hand, briefly squeezing it—a gesture so quick it could be denied if anyone saw, yet containing all the support she can't voice aloud.

"We'll be in the garden," she responds quietly, understanding your need to maintain appearances. "The chrysanthemums still need tending."

You only look at her, giving her a rare, genuine smile before nodding and turning into the bathing area, sliding the door closed behind you. You set your things down with practiced care, approaching the tub and filling it with warm water. Steam rises from the water's surface, creating ghostly patterns in the air. You pause, staring into its depths, watching your reflection fragment and reform with each ripple. The water is clear, pristine—everything your family expects you to be.

Your fingers trail along the surface, disrupting your reflection.

In a few hours, you'll be facing not just your family's scrutiny, but his as well. The thought sends an involuntary shiver down your spine, despite the steam-filled air. Without any more thought, you slip into the water, letting it envelop you like a warm embrace. For just a moment, you allow yourself this luxury of stillness, of letting your carefully maintained thoughts drift like fallen leaves on the surface of a pond. The heat seeps into your muscles, carrying away some of the tension you've been holding.

You stared up at the ceiling blankly, drawing patterns in the plain structure with nothing but your imagination. These were the rare moments when you could fully let go and just simply exist. Sometimes, you'd imagine yourself in another world where things were different. Where you had no worries other than what you were going to eat for breakfast. But much like most dreams, they had to come to an end.

Through the steam, your mind wanders to this morning's training session with your aunt. The way your cursed energy had flowed so naturally, hidden from everyone who would deny you this path. What would your betrothed think if he knew? Would those piercing blue eyes finally see you as something more than an obligation?

A distant chime from the main house pulls you back to reality. Time, as always, refuses to bend to your wishes.

A bitter smile tugs at your lips as you sink deeper into the water. No, Satoru probably wouldn't care either way. The real issue, you suspect, is that he sees you as just another responsibility to shoulder, another duty thrust upon him by tradition and family expectations. Your presence in his life is likely nothing more than an inconvenience he's forced to tolerate.

The thought stings, but it also strengthens your resolve. If you're to be bound to him, you'll make yourself useful—not just as a wife, but as someone who can stand on their own merit. Perhaps then, the weight of this arrangement wouldn't feel so suffocating for either of you.

You trace your fingers through the water, watching the ripples distort your reflection. The cursed energy you've been cultivating in secret pulses gently beneath your skin, a reminder of your hidden strength. It's not just about proving yourself anymore; it's about survival, about carving out a space where you can exist as more than just someone's future wife.

The bathwater has begun to cool.

Rising from the tub, you methodically drain the water, each movement precise and practiced. The cool air raises goosebumps across your skin as you reach for a towel, patting yourself dry with careful awareness. Your reflection in the full-length mirror catches your attention, and you pause, studying the figure before you.

For a fourteen-year-old, your frame shows some development. The training has begun to leave its mark: a subtle definition in your muscles that you carefully keep hidden beneath loose-fitting clothes. However, your mother still notices from time to time, commenting as if your overall appearance is yet another rebellion against propriety. You turn slightly, watching how the light plays across your form, distorting and elongating your silhouette against the steamy glass.

Your body tells two stories: one of the proper young lady your family demands, and another of the jujutsu sorcerer you secretly train to become. Both truths written in the same flesh, neither fully accepted.

A draft from the window reminds you that time isn't your ally today.

You settle before the mirror with practiced grace, reaching for your extensive collection of makeup—far too mature for a fourteen-year-old, but necessity has never cared about age. Your movements are precise as you begin the transformation, each stroke of concealer and powder another brick in the wall between your true self and the world.

Through the thin walls, you catch fragments of hurried footsteps and urgent whispers. The house is coming alive with preparation, like a hive disturbed. You recognize your mother's clipped tones directing servants, the subtle rustle of formal clothing being arranged, the distant sound of the front gate creaking open to admit early arrivals.

Your hand remains steady as you apply the deep red to your lips—another mask, another armor. Outside, someone mentions "Gojo-sama" in hushed, reverent tones, and your fingers tighten imperceptibly around the makeup brush.

The gentle tap of ceremonial sandals approaches from outside the door, then passes by. The sound makes you wonder if it was your future husband himself, walking with his head held high in that manner that managed to irk you. It's no matter; you need to continue getting ready. So, with measured precision, you continue your preparations, refusing to let the mounting urgency beyond the room dictate your pace. Each movement is a small rebellion—a claim to these final moments of control before facing what awaits. You slide into your formal attire before leaving the room.

You slip into the hallway like a shadow, your movements fluid and practiced from years of secret training. The formal kimono should restrict such agile movement, but you've learned to adapt, to make even traditional garments work with your hidden talents. Your footsteps are silent against the wooden floors as you navigate the familiar pathways of your home, avoiding the busy areas where servants rush to and fro with last-minute preparations.

Your cursed energy helps you sense the positions of others, allowing you to duck behind a corner just as two maids hurry past, their arms full of whatever items they were requested to bring. You catch fragments of their whispered conversation—something about the young Gojo heir's arrival—but you're already moving on, seeking a different presence entirely.

You find him exactly where you expected: in the small alcove near the east garden, his own formal attire slightly askew as if he's been fidgeting with it. Your twin brother's presence has always been like a beacon to you, a mirror of your own carefully hidden strength.

"The moon's uprise."

He turns to you with a look of surprise, before smiling warmly and responding.

"The sun's downfall."

A silly little code you both came up with when you were kids that you continue to use to this day.

"They're really doing this, aren't they?" he whispers, not needing to elaborate on who or what he means.

"Do what? Continue to sell me off like some prized pony?" Your tone is heavy with sarcasm, but in a light-hearted manner. A way of speaking that you've always had with your twin, "I think so. Honestly, I don't know why you're worried. I should be the one practically biting my nails."

He meets your gaze, and something unspoken passes between you. The weight of your shared secrets, the understanding that goes deeper than words. His fingers absently adjust his collar again, a gesture so unlike his usual calculated movements that it makes you worry for him.

"You know why," he murmurs, glancing toward the main house where voices continue to gather. "If they discover what we've been—" He stops abruptly, both of you tensing as footsteps approach and pass by your hiding spot. When the coast is clear, he reaches out to straighten a stray strand of your hair, the gesture achingly familiar.

"You know they'd barely blink at you if they found out," you whisper, a hint of bitterness seeping into your tone despite your best efforts. "A slap on the wrist, maybe some stern words about 'proper training channels.' But me?" You smooth an invisible wrinkle from your attire, the gesture betraying your tension. "I'd be facing god knows what."

Your brother's expression darkens at your words, recognizing the truth in them. The disparity in how you're treated has always been a source of silent rage for him.

"But they won't find out," you continue, your voice hardening with quiet determination. "I've been careful—we've been careful. All these years of secrecy, and not once have I slipped. Not even when—" You pause as another group of servants hurries past your hiding spot, their footsteps heavy with purpose.

When silence returns, you meet his gaze with steely resolve. "I won't let them take this from me. Not today, not ever."

There's a tension as those words leave your mouth. It wasn't that the silence was necessarily a bad thing, but it was definitely uncomfortable, especially when it came to your brother. Without much thought, you lay a hand on his shoulder, causing him to face you.

"But if I get too carried away, maybe just use some chloroform and drag me to my room," you joke, the dark humor a familiar shield between you. The slight quirk of his lips tells you he appreciates the attempt at levity, even as concern still shadows his eyes. "I'll be alright, don't get anxious for me, okay?"

You stand smoothly, extending your hand to him—a gesture that speaks of all the times you've pulled each other up, all the moments you've been each other's strength. He takes it, his grip firm and reassuring.

Through the walls, you hear the distinct sound of formal greetings being exchanged. The Gojo clan has arrived. Your brother's hand tightens briefly around yours before letting go, both of you automatically adjusting your postures to match the expectations that await.

"Try not to actually knock him out," he murmurs, a final attempt at humor before you must face what's coming. "The paperwork would be terrible."

"I wouldn't dare touch my future husband," you drawl, affecting the perfect imitation of your mother's prim tones. "It wouldn't be very lady-like now, would it?" The mockery draws a subtle smirk from your brother, his eyes dancing with shared mischief.

The moment hangs between you, precious in its brevity, before reality intrudes with the sound of formal introductions echoing from the main hall. Your expressions shift in unison, masks sliding into place with practiced ease. Without another word, you both move in opposite directions—he toward the front entrance where he'll be expected to greet the guests properly, you taking the longer route that will make it seem as though you've just finished your preparations.

As you part ways, you catch his final glance—a look that carries years of shared secrets, silent support, and unwavering loyalty. Then he turns the corner, and you're alone with your thoughts and the weight of what's to come.

The distant murmur of distinguished voices grows louder. You move through the hallways with measured grace, each step a deliberate display of the poise that has been instilled in you since childhood. The silk of your apparel whispers against the wooden floors, a sound almost lost beneath the growing chorus of formal greetings ahead. Your cursed energy thrums beneath your skin, but you keep it tightly contained, a sheltered pulse beneath layers of perfect composure.

As you approach the main hall, fragments of conversation become clearer. Your mother's voice, pitched to perfection. Your father's deeper tones are formal and commanding. And then—a voice you haven't heard in years, although deepening in tone, it still carries a casual and almost lazy confidence.

Satoru Gojo.

Your steps don't falter, but something in your chest tightens. The sliding door looms before you, ornate and imposing. Beyond it lies everything you've been preparing for, everything you've been dreading. You draw yourself up to your full height, arrange your features into the mask of the perfect bride-to-be, and reach for the door.

Your fingers brush against the wood, and for just a moment, you allow yourself one final thought...

'Don't screw this up.'

[rabesbabe]

Moonlight on the River

Ava Starr x gn!Reader

☁︎ summary: You never thought it’d be possible to find a family and people you trust until you joined the Thunderbolts. You cared for everyone on the team like you’d known them forever, and most seemed to feel the same. However, the one member you felt the most drawn to seemed to avoid you like the plague.

☁︎ A/N: happy pride month <3 this fic is definitely angstyy I got a little carried away lol. reader has illusion powers but it’s only brought up like once or twice. and of course my requests are open if you have ideas for a yelena or ava fic !

It was uncomfortable—the whole situation. Leaving your life behind to be a part of some team you never agreed to be on, having to work with people you’d barely known before the day you all saved New York, and being known to the public as some “hero”. It all took some adjusting. But, as time went on things eventually got better.

You and Yelena became closer, bonding over being youngest siblings and your shared love of everything adrenaline-inducing. You learned to get used to Bob’s strange personality, often creating illusions of anything and everything just to make him smile and pull him out of his head. And Alexei became an unconventional father figure to you. Bucky was Bucky, slightly shy and mopey. But you both cared for each other. Lately, you’d even started getting along with Walker. When you both realized you shared a love of film, the heated arguments you once got into went away. And they instead turned into small debates over directors and your ratings on letterboxd.

Things were almost perfect. But there was one ghost that always haunted your mind. The first time you met her was of course, in the vault. Before you went in Valentina gave you a brief rundown on who your target was. “Ava-Starr most commonly known as ghost, a self-centered, ruthless, mole whose powers allow her to phase through basically anything and become invisible.” Valentina’s description of her made you cringe at the time. The curt words she used could’ve just as easily described you. Deep inside you knew something about this mission felt off. Valentina was never one to tell the full truth. But you went in anyway, desperate for a clean slate just like everyone else.

As you entered, you noticed a man in hospital attire wandering aimlessly. Nearby, a woman with a blonde shag haircut sat looking unimpressed, while a guy you recognized as the failed Captain America paced back and forth. Confused, you wondered what was happening; this wasn’t the plan Valentina had told you about. Then, finally, you spotted her. You swore it was a trick of light or something. At first, she was feet away from you, taking weapons off a dead taskmaster casually. And then, she disappeared into thin air— and suddenly reappeared in front of you, her blue eyes scanning you curiously. “Someone’s late to the party.” She said, her thick accent lacing her words with sarcasm.

Since that moment you swore you were doomed. And it only got worse when the New Avengers formed. You were completely entranced by her. The way her brown hair fell perfectly over her shoulders, the adorable nose scrunch and smile that lit up her face whenever Alexei said something odd, how smart and witty she was—those were the things that captivated you. Ava was someone who didn't trust easily and preferred to keep to herself, much like everyone else on the team. So when she seemed wary of you at first, you assumed that, over time, she would warm up to you as the others did. Eventually, she did become more comfortable with everyone—except for you.

It was hard to ignore the slight twinge in your chest when you’d see her with your teammates. Whether she was laughing with Yelena, swapping shield stories with Bucky, or even just hanging around Bob while on her phone or reading a book. It was like she’d grown close to everyone else and somehow missed the memo when it came to you. As the days went by the more intentional it started to feel.

On one occasion, you had walked into the living room planning to sit on the couch and fill out the paperwork Valentina had sent you. As you entered the living room you noticed Yelena and Ava were in there as well. Not thinking much of it you sat down on a lounge chair near Yelena. You didn’t fail to miss the way Ava seemed to start phasing slightly. “Ah perfect Y/N,” Yelena said at your entrance. “Ava and I were just talking about how we’re so tired of pretending to like the food John cooks every night. We’re going to sneak and get takeout from the Chinese restaurant down the street for the team. Want to come with?” She asked with a genuine grin on her face. You laughed at the implication that John’s food was bad (it was) and of course said yes. When Ava heard your answer her normally calm demeanor quickly switched into an uneasy one. She looked at Yelena with an unreadable expression and said, “You two should go I���ll stay back.” And before Yelena could question her she phased invisible and disappeared.

It’d happen all the time. You’d walk into a room Ava was in and her mood would completely change. She’d either go silent suddenly dismissing whoever she was talking to, or she’d just leave altogether quietly phasing out. It was getting to the point where everyone else started to notice.

On an unusually calm evening when the team had no absurd request from Valentina like you often did. You John, Bob, and Yelena were sat watching some Russian movie Yelena had put on. “I wonder where Bucky, Alexei, and Ava are.” Asked John while throwing popcorn up and trying to catch it in his mouth. Yelena looked up at him internally cringing at the fact he hadn’t caught a single piece yet and replied, “Alexei is off printing out more shitty ‘merch’ as he calls it,” Rolling her eyes at her Dads antics. “Bucky is probably somewhere moping about Sam being mad at him. and I have no idea where Ava is.” Before John was able to give a response Bob suddenly spoke up, ”Ava’s probably just avoiding Y/N like always.” You immediately shifted in your seat suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “What?” You ask Bob. He seemed to have realized what he said and avoided your eyes like a guilty puppy would. You looked at everyone and they all seemed to be suddenly uncomfortable with the topic at hand. “You guys think she does that?” You ask brows furrowing. John stopped throwing popcorn around and just looked at you sympathetically. “She definitely does,” Yelena answered bluntly no longer focused on the movie in front of her. She was the only one who knew how you felt about Ava. And It’s not like you didn’t know any of this before. It just hurt more hearing it out loud from other people. “But why? I haven’t done anything to her.” You asked upset. Yelena just shrugged, faking nonchalance. She looked at you as if she knew something you didn’t.

From that point on you realized you were probably never going to figure out the mystery of Ava Starr. You decided to get over yourself and your feelings because obviously, she wasn’t interested. A few days after that, you awoke in the night from a bad dream. Your eyes were glazed over as you attempted to push down a sob. The last thing you wanted to do was wake someone up. It’s not like this was an uncommon occurrence for you. It happened a lot. Especially on the nights after a mission. You knew you just needed to get some air to clear your head. You went to the bathroom washed your face with cold water and headed outside.

Nightmares have tormented you your whole life. Threatening you with memories you try your best to hide away. As the cold wind hit your face you allowed a few tears to fall. Just as you buried your head into your arms you felt a hand softly brush against you. Instinctively, you sprung up ready to defend yourself. But instead of being met with an attacker, you saw a timid Ava standing in front of you wearing a sympathetic expression. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She said taking a few steps closer to you. You quickly wiped your tears and backed away from her just nodding your head in response. Her mannerisms were shy and gentle but her face was painted with worry. “Are you okay?” She asked, her blue eyes staring into yours. You looked at your fidgeting hands avoiding her strong gaze and sat back down. “I’m fine,” you replied your tone harsher than you meant it to be. Ava sat down next to you. “Well, obviously you’re not if you’re sitting out here crying at 4 am.” She countered trying to lightly joke with you. You were already not in a good mood and the last thing you needed was her pitying you. “I said I’m fine Ava drop it.” You replied. Your voice was slightly shaky. She looked into your eyes her brows furrowed and subconsciously started phasing at your words. “You don’t need to suddenly act like you care. Just go back to avoiding me and pretending I don’t exist.” You got up and left without a second thought.

Part of you knew you were too harsh, but the other part of you felt like she deserved it. The rest of the day you tried to forget about the situation altogether. You decided to focus on other things. Bob seemed quieter than normal so you tried your best to cheer him up with illusions. You created images of rainbow butterflies, stars, and much to Bucky's dismay an illusion of him as a hulk. Then, Alexei roped you into watching old videos of him as the Red Guardian back in Russia. Surprisingly he looked kind of cool. You’d never tell him that though. Later in the day, you and Yelena attempted to help John improve his cooking skills. After many failed attempts you finally ended up with a decent meal.

You guys were just planning to put it in the fridge and let everyone eat whenever they saw fit. But Alexei barged in with other plans. He squeezed Yelenas' shoulders smiling like a kid in a candy store. “My beautiful daughter and you both have made this wonderful dinner and you guys want to just put it in the fridge?” You and John just nodded not sure what he was getting at. “No no no. We must eat it at the table. Like a real team would!” He walked past you and grabbed plates and drink glasses. “Here super soldier,” He said pushing plates into John’s hands. “Help me set the table. Yelena, you find us a drink for while we eat.” She rubbed her temples as if he was giving her a headache but followed suit and grabbed drinks from the fridge. “And Y/N, go get the rest of the team and tell them dinner is served!” His idea wasn’t all that bad. And you would’ve loved it if it didn’t mean you had to knock on Ava’s door and speak to her. After what happened the night before she was the last person you wanted to see.

Following the Russian's orders you began searching for the rest of the team. Finding Bob was easy. Recently he was always playing some sort of game on the PC Yelena got for him. You knock on his door and see him doing exactly what you expected, “Alexei is making us do a team dinner.” You say knowing you didn’t need to elaborate any further. Bob just put down his controller and got up to head to the kitchen. Easy enough.

Now you needed to find Bucky. Most of the time he was in the team gym sparring or on a Zoom call trying to settle all his old congressman affairs. You decided to check the gym first and there he was. Hitting a punching bag like it owed him money. “Bucky!” You yell not sure if he can even hear you over all the punching. He looks over his shoulder his face serious until he sees it’s just you. Grabbing a towel to wipe his sweat he walks over. “Everything okay Y/N?” You nod slightly smiling because you know he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. A questioning expression covers his face but he doesn’t say anything and waits for you to speak. “Alexei is trying to do a team dinner. He wants us all in the kitchen soon.” You smile at him. “Right. And I'm guessing I have no choice but to be there?”He asks rhetorically while hanging his head in slight annoyance. You just laugh at him on your way out. “See you in 5!”

Now, was the part you were dreading. As you stepped into the elevator, you tried to ignore the anxiety that washed over you. You start imagining yourself at Ava’s door and her slamming it in your face after she realizes who it is. God, you loved Alexei but his timing couldn’t have been worse. The elevator let you out and you began walking down the hallway towards the brunette's room. You were seriously starting to consider just knocking, yelling out the words “Dinner!” “Downstairs!” “Now!”, and then running into the elevator before she could open the door. But you decided to be mature about it. (You had no choice she could phase through the wall anyway and see you).

You stood at her door for longer than you should’ve before you could work up the courage to knock. “What’re you doing?” You heard an accented voice ask as the door in front of you swung open. Inwardly you cursed yourself for taking so long. You step back and see Ava looking at you curiously. It almost made you mad how beautiful she seemed to always look. Here she was standing in front of you in sweatpants and a tank top and somehow she still looked perfect. Ava cocked her eyebrow at you a small smirk on her lips and you realized a little too late that you were staring. “I was just coming to tell you that Alexei is making us have a team dinner. Everyone’s probably in the kitchen now.” You said speaking too quickly. She simply nodded and walked past you towards the elevator. You just stood back awkwardly not sure if you should follow her. “There’s only one way down isn’t there?” She asks stopping and looking back at you. You feel like an idiot and quickly catch up to her.

The elevator ride was awkwardly silent. You wanted to speak up and wracked your brain for anything to say to her. But it seems she had the same idea and beat you to it. “Look,” She said turning to face you. “I just wanted to say that-“ And before she could finish her sentence the elevator bell rang and the door opened. “Ah, there you both are!” Yelled Alexei as he greeted you at the door. He practically dragged you and Ava over to the table. Yelena gave you a questioning look as you took your seat. The glass of vodka in her hand looked rather full.

“Took you both long enough. You know super soldiers need to eat more than the average person. I’m starving.” John said rubbing his hands together over his plate. “No one cares that you took the leftovers of some serum you found on the floor, John.” Quipped Ava. Yelena laughed a little too loudly. “You both did take forever though.” She added, her words slightly slurred. “I was starting to think you were skipping this dinner for another type of meal.” Ava’s eyes widened and she almost choked on the water she was drinking. Bucky's eyebrows looked as if they were going to fly off his forehead. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” He said grabbing her glass before she could protest. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “Great. Can we just eat? Please?” You swore you were going to murder the blonde the next time you were alone with her.

Thankfully, the rest of the dinner went smoothly. There were no more uncalled-for comments by Yelena. And besides the awkward glances you and Ava shared now and then everything was fine. After dinner, you showered and changed clothes. You needed some quiet and decided to go to the tower's library and read for a bit. The library there had a special feeling at night. You loved how the moon's light shined through the windows and the fact that no one else came in so late. You had the whole area to yourself.

After a while of reading you swore you were hearing noises. Like footsteps in the hallway near the library. No one else was awake so you just assumed you had just imagined it. That was until a nervous-looking Ava phased out of the wall and stood in front of you. “Fuck! Ava, what the hell?” You say jumping out of your skin when you see her. She tried her best to not laugh. “Sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to scare you.” She says smiling guiltily. “You have to stop doing that. One day I might actually have a heart attack.” She laughs a little at your words sitting down next to you on the library’s couch, “Can’t have that can we?” You just smile a little and shake your head. A beat of silence passes over you both. Unsure of what you should say or do, you pretend to be interested again in the book you’re reading. You can feel Ava's strong gaze on you. And the feeling of her watching you makes you more nervous than it should.

“You know I never got to finish what I was going to say to you earlier.” She finally mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. Softly you sit up more and turn towards her. For the first time in a while, her eyes look away from yours. “On the rooftop. What you said…” You feel your heart tug at your chest. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, Ava.” You say regret lacing your voice. She looks up at you her eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe. But you were right.” Her words catch you off guard but you listen nonetheless. “I do avoid you. But it’s not because I don’t like you Y/N.” You couldn’t help but feel a bit frustrated like before. “Did I do something wrong?” She runs her hands through her hair and you notice it again. The way shes phasing. “Sorry,” She says sighing. “Harder to control when I’m nervous.” You shake your head. “You don’t need to apologize.” Without thinking you place your hand out in invitation. Her eyes meet yours hesitantly but she places her cold hand over your warm one. And Her phasing calms a little. You nod to encourage her to continue speaking.

“Y/N, I grew up not knowing what it meant to have a family. To have friends. All I knew was pain because of what I could do.” You listened intently careful to not interrupt her. “The only people I knew were doctors who poked and prodded at me, and “shield” agents who trained me to use my powers to hurt others. But then you guys came along. And for once I felt like maybe I could learn to trust.” A small smile spread across your face at her admission. “And with everyone else came you. You genuinely cared about me, about the team. You were able to make everyone feel like they deserved to be here despite whatever they had done before. And somehow you could look beautiful while doing all of it.” You looked at her in disbelief. You were glad the library was dim because she couldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed a dark red at her words.

She shook her head and sighed before continuing. “I couldn’t talk to you without my heart feeling like it was going to beat out of my chest. Fuck I mean I can’t even sit in the same room as you without my suit or I’ll start phasing. So I decided it’d just be easier to stay away from you completely. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.” You squeezed her hand affectionately and gave her a playfully annoyed look. “And this whole time I was so sure you hated me.” She hid her face with her hand guiltily. You grab her hand and move it away so you can look at her. You admire how her sharp features are being highlighted by the moonlight. Making her somehow even more beautiful. A deep blush finds its way onto her face as she shifts closer to you. While wrapping her hand around your waist her eyes search yours for any sign of disapproval. When you give her a shy smile she closes the gap between you two. Soft lips pressing against yours. You both were gentle at first. Slightly unsure of what the other wanted. But as Ava cupped the side of your face and brought you closer, both of your movements became messier and less calculated. She sighed against your lips before you finally had to pull away for air. You let her brush her fingers against your face. “I’m sorry. I really am darling.” She says. And you kiss her once more erasing all her guilt.

It was uncomfortable—the whole situation. Leaving your life behind to be a part of some team you never agreed to be on, having to work with people you’d barely known before the day you all saved New York, and being known to the public as some “hero”. It all took some adjusting. But, as time went on things eventually got better.

You and Yelena became closer, bonding over being youngest siblings and your shared love of everything adrenaline-inducing. You learned to get used to Bob’s strange personality, often creating illusions of anything and everything just to make him smile and pull him out of his head. And Alexei became an unconventional father figure to you. Bucky was Bucky, slightly shy and mopey. But you both cared for each other. Lately, you’d even started getting along with Walker. When you both realized you shared a love of film, the heated arguments you once got into went away. And they instead turned into small debates over directors and your ratings on letterboxd.

Things were almost perfect. But there was one ghost that always haunted your mind. The first time you met her was of course, in the vault. Before you went in Valentina gave you a brief rundown on who your target was. “Ava-Starr most commonly known as ghost, a self-centered, ruthless, mole whose powers allow her to phase through basically anything and become invisible.” Valentina’s description of her made you cringe at the time. The curt words she used could’ve just as easily described you. Deep inside you knew something about this mission felt off. Valentina was never one to tell the full truth. But you went in anyway, desperate for a clean slate just like everyone else.

As you entered, you noticed a man in hospital attire wandering aimlessly. Nearby, a woman with a blonde shag haircut sat looking unimpressed, while a guy you recognized as the failed Captain America paced back and forth. Confused, you wondered what was happening; this wasn’t the plan Valentina had told you about. Then, finally, you spotted her. You swore it was a trick of light or something. At first, she was feet away from you, taking weapons off a dead taskmaster casually. And then, she disappeared into thin air— and suddenly reappeared in front of you, her blue eyes scanning you curiously. “Someone’s late to the party.” She said, her thick accent lacing her words with sarcasm.

Since that moment you swore you were doomed. And it only got worse when the New Avengers formed. You were completely entranced by her. The way her brown hair fell perfectly over her shoulders, the adorable nose scrunch and smile that lit up her face whenever Alexei said something odd, how smart and witty she was—those were the things that captivated you. Ava was someone who didn't trust easily and preferred to keep to herself, much like everyone else on the team. So when she seemed wary of you at first, you assumed that, over time, she would warm up to you as the others did. Eventually, she did become more comfortable with everyone—except for you.

It was hard to ignore the slight twinge in your chest when you’d see her with your teammates. Whether she was laughing with Yelena, swapping shield stories with Bucky, or even just hanging around Bob while on her phone or reading a book. It was like she’d grown close to everyone else and somehow missed the memo when it came to you. As the days went by the more intentional it started to feel.

On one occasion, you had walked into the living room planning to sit on the couch and fill out the paperwork Valentina had sent you. As you entered the living room you noticed Yelena and Ava were in there as well. Not thinking much of it you sat down on a lounge chair near Yelena. You didn’t fail to miss the way Ava seemed to start phasing slightly. “Ah perfect Y/N,” Yelena said at your entrance. “Ava and I were just talking about how we’re so tired of pretending to like the food John cooks every night. We’re going to sneak and get takeout from the Chinese restaurant down the street for the team. Want to come with?” She asked with a genuine grin on her face. You laughed at the implication that John’s food was bad (it was) and of course said yes. When Ava heard your answer her normally calm demeanor quickly switched into an uneasy one. She looked at Yelena with an unreadable expression and said, “You two should go I’ll stay back.” And before Yelena could question her she phased invisible and disappeared.

It’d happen all the time. You’d walk into a room Ava was in and her mood would completely change. She’d either go silent suddenly dismissing whoever she was talking to, or she’d just leave altogether quietly phasing out. It was getting to the point where everyone else started to notice.

On an unusually calm evening when the team had no absurd request from Valentina like you often did. You John, Bob, and Yelena were sat watching some Russian movie Yelena had put on. “I wonder where Bucky, Alexei, and Ava are.” Asked John while throwing popcorn up and trying to catch it in his mouth. Yelena looked up at him internally cringing at the fact he hadn’t caught a single piece yet and replied, “Alexei is off printing out more shitty ‘merch’ as he calls it,” Rolling her eyes at her Dads antics. “Bucky is probably somewhere moping about Sam being mad at him. and I have no idea where Ava is.” Before John was able to give a response Bob suddenly spoke up, ”Ava’s probably just avoiding Y/N like always.” You immediately shifted in your seat suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “What?” You ask Bob. He seemed to have realized what he said and avoided your eyes like a guilty puppy would. You looked at everyone and they all seemed to be suddenly uncomfortable with the topic at hand. “You guys think she does that?” You ask brows furrowing. John stopped throwing popcorn around and just looked at you sympathetically. “She definitely does,” Yelena answered bluntly no longer focused on the movie in front of her. She was the only one who knew how you felt about Ava. And It’s not like you didn’t know any of this before. It just hurt more hearing it out loud from other people. “But why? I haven’t done anything to her.” You asked upset. Yelena just shrugged, faking nonchalance. She looked at you as if she knew something you didn’t.

From that point on you realized you were probably never going to figure out the mystery of Ava Starr. You decided to get over yourself and your feelings because obviously, she wasn’t interested. A few days after that, you awoke in the night from a bad dream. Your eyes were glazed over as you attempted to push down a sob. The last thing you wanted to do was wake someone up. It’s not like this was an uncommon occurrence for you. It happened a lot. Especially on the nights after a mission. You knew you just needed to get some air to clear your head. You went to the bathroom washed your face with cold water and headed outside.

Nightmares have tormented you your whole life. Threatening you with memories you try your best to hide away. As the cold wind hit your face you allowed a few tears to fall. Just as you buried your head into your arms you felt a hand softly brush against you. Instinctively, you sprung up ready to defend yourself. But instead of being met with an attacker, you saw a timid Ava standing in front of you wearing a sympathetic expression. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She said taking a few steps closer to you. You quickly wiped your tears and backed away from her just nodding your head in response. Her mannerisms were shy and gentle but her face was painted with worry. “Are you okay?” She asked, her blue eyes staring into yours. You looked at your fidgeting hands avoiding her strong gaze and sat back down. “I’m fine,” you replied your tone harsher than you meant it to be. Ava sat down next to you. “Well, obviously you’re not if you’re sitting out here crying at 4 am.” She countered trying to lightly joke with you. You were already not in a good mood and the last thing you needed was her pitying you. “I said I’m fine Ava drop it.” You replied. Your voice was slightly shaky. She looked into your eyes her brows furrowed and subconsciously started phasing at your words. “You don’t need to suddenly act like you care. Just go back to avoiding me and pretending I don’t exist.” You got up and left without a second thought.

Part of you knew you were too harsh, but the other part of you felt like she deserved it. The rest of the day you tried to forget about the situation altogether. You decided to focus on other things. Bob seemed quieter than normal so you tried your best to cheer him up with illusions. You created images of rainbow butterflies, stars, and much to Bucky's dismay an illusion of him as a hulk. Then, Alexei roped you into watching old videos of him as the Red Guardian back in Russia. Surprisingly he looked kind of cool. You’d never tell him that though. Later in the day, you and Yelena attempted to help John improve his cooking skills. After many failed attempts you finally ended up with a decent meal.

You guys were just planning to put it in the fridge and let everyone eat whenever they saw fit. But Alexei barged in with other plans. He squeezed Yelenas' shoulders smiling like a kid in a candy store. “My beautiful daughter and you both have made this wonderful dinner and you guys want to just put it in the fridge?” You and John just nodded not sure what he was getting at. “No no no. We must eat it at the table. Like a real team would!” He walked past you and grabbed plates and drink glasses. “Here super soldier,” He said pushing plates into John’s hands. “Help me set the table. Yelena, you find us a drink for while we eat.” She rubbed her temples as if he was giving her a headache but followed suit and grabbed drinks from the fridge. “And Y/N, go get the rest of the team and tell them dinner is served!” His idea wasn’t all that bad. And you would’ve loved it if it didn’t mean you had to knock on Ava’s door and speak to her. After what happened the night before she was the last person you wanted to see.

Following the Russian's orders you began searching for the rest of the team. Finding Bob was easy. Recently he was always playing some sort of game on the PC Yelena got for him. You knock on his door and see him doing exactly what you expected, “Alexei is making us do a team dinner.” You say knowing you didn’t need to elaborate any further. Bob just put down his controller and got up to head to the kitchen. Easy enough.

Now you needed to find Bucky. Most of the time he was in the team gym sparring or on a Zoom call trying to settle all his old congressman affairs. You decided to check the gym first and there he was. Hitting a punching bag like it owed him money. “Bucky!” You yell not sure if he can even hear you over all the punching. He looks over his shoulder his face serious until he sees it’s just you. Grabbing a towel to wipe his sweat he walks over. “Everything okay Y/N?” You nod slightly smiling because you know he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. A questioning expression covers his face but he doesn’t say anything and waits for you to speak. “Alexei is trying to do a team dinner. He wants us all in the kitchen soon.” You smile at him. “Right. And I'm guessing I have no choice but to be there?”He asks rhetorically while hanging his head in slight annoyance. You just laugh at him on your way out. “See you in 5!”

Now, was the part you were dreading. As you stepped into the elevator, you tried to ignore the anxiety that washed over you. You start imagining yourself at Ava’s door and her slamming it in your face after she realizes who it is. God, you loved Alexei but his timing couldn’t have been worse. The elevator let you out and you began walking down the hallway towards the brunette's room. You were seriously starting to consider just knocking, yelling out the words “Dinner!” “Downstairs!” “Now!”, and then running into the elevator before she could open the door. But you decided to be mature about it. (You had no choice she could phase through the wall anyway and see you).

You stood at her door for longer than you should’ve before you could work up the courage to knock. “What’re you doing?” You heard an accented voice ask as the door in front of you swung open. Inwardly you cursed yourself for taking so long. You step back and see Ava looking at you curiously. It almost made you mad how beautiful she seemed to always look. Here she was standing in front of you in sweatpants and a tank top and somehow she still looked perfect. Ava cocked her eyebrow at you a small smirk on her lips and you realized a little too late that you were staring. “I was just coming to tell you that Alexei is making us have a team dinner. Everyone’s probably in the kitchen now.” You said speaking too quickly. She simply nodded and walked past you towards the elevator. You just stood back awkwardly not sure if you should follow her. “There’s only one way down isn’t there?” She asks stopping and looking back at you. You feel like an idiot and quickly catch up to her.

The elevator ride was awkwardly silent. You wanted to speak up and wracked your brain for anything to say to her. But it seems she had the same idea and beat you to it. “Look,” She said turning to face you. “I just wanted to say that-“ And before she could finish her sentence the elevator bell rang and the door opened. “Ah, there you both are!” Yelled Alexei as he greeted you at the door. He practically dragged you and Ava over to the table. Yelena gave you a questioning look as you took your seat. The glass of vodka in her hand looked rather full.

“Took you both long enough. You know super soldiers need to eat more than the average person. I’m starving.” John said rubbing his hands together over his plate. “No one cares that you took the leftovers of some serum you found on the floor, John.” Quipped Ava. Yelena laughed a little too loudly. “You both did take forever though.” She added, her words slightly slurred. “I was starting to think you were skipping this dinner for another type of meal.” Ava’s eyes widened and she almost choked on the water she was drinking. Bucky's eyebrows looked as if they were going to fly off his forehead. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” He said grabbing her glass before she could protest. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “Great. Can we just eat? Please?” You swore you were going to murder the blonde the next time you were alone with her.

Thankfully, the rest of the dinner went smoothly. There were no more uncalled-for comments by Yelena. And besides the awkward glances you and Ava shared now and then everything was fine. After dinner, you showered and changed clothes. You needed some quiet and decided to go to the tower's library and read for a bit. The library there had a special feeling at night. You loved how the moon's light shined through the windows and the fact that no one else came in so late. You had the whole area to yourself.

After a while of reading you swore you were hearing noises. Like footsteps in the hallway near the library. No one else was awake so you just assumed you had just imagined it. That was until a nervous-looking Ava phased out of the wall and stood in front of you. “Fuck! Ava, what the hell?” You say jumping out of your skin when you see her. She tried her best to not laugh. “Sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to scare you.” She says smiling guiltily. “You have to stop doing that. One day I might actually have a heart attack.” She laughs a little at your words sitting down next to you on the library’s couch, “Can’t have that can we?” You just smile a little and shake your head. A beat of silence passes over you both. Unsure of what you should say or do, you pretend to be interested again in the book you’re reading. You can feel Ava's strong gaze on you. And the feeling of her watching you makes you more nervous than it should.

“You know I never got to finish what I was going to say to you earlier.” She finally mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. Softly you sit up more and turn towards her. For the first time in a while, her eyes look away from yours. “On the rooftop. What you said…” You feel your heart tug at your chest. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, Ava.” You say regret lacing your voice. She looks up at you her eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe. But you were right.” Her words catch you off guard but you listen nonetheless. “I do avoid you. But it’s not because I don’t like you Y/N.” You couldn’t help but feel a bit frustrated like before. “Did I do something wrong?” She runs her hands through her hair and you notice it again. The way shes phasing. “Sorry,” She says sighing. “Harder to control when I’m nervous.” You shake your head. “You don’t need to apologize.” Without thinking you place your hand out in invitation. Her eyes meet yours hesitantly but she places her cold hand over your warm one. And Her phasing calms a little. You nod to encourage her to continue speaking.

“Y/N, I grew up not knowing what it meant to have a family. To have friends. All I knew was pain because of what I could do.” You listened intently careful to not interrupt her. “The only people I knew were doctors who poked and prodded at me, and “shield” agents who trained me to use my powers to hurt others. But then you guys came along. And for once I felt like maybe I could learn to trust.” A small smile spread across your face at her admission. “And with everyone else came you. You genuinely cared about me, about the team. You were able to make everyone feel like they deserved to be here despite whatever they had done before. And somehow you could look beautiful while doing all of it.” You looked at her in disbelief. You were glad the library was dim because she couldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed a dark red at her words.

She shook her head and sighed before continuing. “I couldn’t talk to you without my heart feeling like it was going to beat out of my chest. Fuck I mean I can’t even sit in the same room as you without my suit or I’ll start phasing. So I decided it’d just be easier to stay away from you completely. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.” You squeezed her hand affectionately and gave her a playfully annoyed look. “And this whole time I was so sure you hated me.” She hid her face with her hand guiltily. You grab her hand and move it away so you can look at her. You admire how her sharp features are being highlighted by the moonlight. Making her somehow even more beautiful. A deep blush finds its way onto her face as she shifts closer to you. While wrapping her hand around your waist her eyes search yours for any sign of disapproval. When you give her a shy smile she closes the gap between you two. Soft lips pressing against yours. You both were gentle at first. Slightly unsure of what the other wanted. But as Ava cupped the side of your face and brought you closer, both of your movements became messier and less calculated. She sighed against your lips before you finally had to pull away for air. You let her brush her fingers against your face. “I’m sorry. I really am darling.” She says. And you kiss her once more erasing all her guilt. It was uncomfortable—the whole situation. Leaving your life behind to be a part of some team you never agreed to be on, having to work with people you’d barely known before the day you all saved New York, and being known to the public as some “hero”. It all took some adjusting. But, as time went on things eventually got better.

You and Yelena became closer, bonding over being youngest siblings and your shared love of everything adrenaline-inducing. You learned to get used to Bob’s strange personality, often creating illusions of anything and everything just to make him smile and pull him out of his head. And Alexei became an unconventional father figure to you. Bucky was Bucky, slightly shy and mopey. But you both cared for each other. Lately, you’d even started getting along with Walker. When you both realized you shared a love of film, the heated arguments you once got into went away. And they instead turned into small debates over directors and your ratings on letterboxd.

Things were almost perfect. But there was one ghost that always haunted your mind. The first time you met her was of course, in the vault. Before you went in Valentina gave you a brief rundown on who your target was. “Ava-Starr most commonly known as ghost, a self-centered, ruthless, mole whose powers allow her to phase through basically anything and become invisible.” Valentina’s description of her made you cringe at the time. The curt words she used could’ve just as easily described you. Deep inside you knew something about this mission felt off. Valentina was never one to tell the full truth. But you went in anyway, desperate for a clean slate just like everyone else.

As you entered, you noticed a man in hospital attire wandering aimlessly. Nearby, a woman with a blonde shag haircut sat looking unimpressed, while a guy you recognized as the failed Captain America paced back and forth. Confused, you wondered what was happening; this wasn’t the plan Valentina had told you about. Then, finally, you spotted her. You swore it was a trick of light or something. At first, she was feet away from you, taking weapons off a dead taskmaster casually. And then, she disappeared into thin air— and suddenly reappeared in front of you, her blue eyes scanning you curiously. “Someone’s late to the party.” She said, her thick accent lacing her words with sarcasm.

Since that moment you swore you were doomed. And it only got worse when the New Avengers formed. You were completely entranced by her. The way her brown hair fell perfectly over her shoulders, the adorable nose scrunch and smile that lit up her face whenever Alexei said something odd, how smart and witty she was—those were the things that captivated you. Ava was someone who didn't trust easily and preferred to keep to herself, much like everyone else on the team. So when she seemed wary of you at first, you assumed that, over time, she would warm up to you as the others did. Eventually, she did become more comfortable with everyone—except for you.

It was hard to ignore the slight twinge in your chest when you’d see her with your teammates. Whether she was laughing with Yelena, swapping shield stories with Bucky, or even just hanging around Bob while on her phone or reading a book. It was like she’d grown close to everyone else and somehow missed the memo when it came to you. As the days went by the more intentional it started to feel.

On one occasion, you had walked into the living room planning to sit on the couch and fill out the paperwork Valentina had sent you. As you entered the living room you noticed Yelena and Ava were in there as well. Not thinking much of it you sat down on a lounge chair near Yelena. You didn’t fail to miss the way Ava seemed to start phasing slightly. “Ah perfect Y/N,” Yelena said at your entrance. “Ava and I were just talking about how we’re so tired of pretending to like the food John cooks every night. We’re going to sneak and get takeout from the Chinese restaurant down the street for the team. Want to come with?” She asked with a genuine grin on her face. You laughed at the implication that John’s food was bad (it was) and of course said yes. When Ava heard your answer her normally calm demeanor quickly switched into an uneasy one. She looked at Yelena with an unreadable expression and said, “You two should go I’ll stay back.” And before Yelena could question her she phased invisible and disappeared.

It’d happen all the time. You’d walk into a room Ava was in and her mood would completely change. She’d either go silent suddenly dismissing whoever she was talking to, or she’d just leave altogether quietly phasing out. It was getting to the point where everyone else started to notice.

On an unusually calm evening when the team had no absurd request from Valentina like you often did. You John, Bob, and Yelena were sat watching some Russian movie Yelena had put on. “I wonder where Bucky, Alexei, and Ava are.” Asked John while throwing popcorn up and trying to catch it in his mouth. Yelena looked up at him internally cringing at the fact he hadn’t caught a single piece yet and replied, “Alexei is off printing out more shitty ‘merch’ as he calls it,” Rolling her eyes at her Dads antics. “Bucky is probably somewhere moping about Sam being mad at him. and I have no idea where Ava is.” Before John was able to give a response Bob suddenly spoke up, ”Ava’s probably just avoiding Y/N like always.” You immediately shifted in your seat suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “What?” You ask Bob. He seemed to have realized what he said and avoided your eyes like a guilty puppy would. You looked at everyone and they all seemed to be suddenly uncomfortable with the topic at hand. “You guys think she does that?” You ask brows furrowing. John stopped throwing popcorn around and just looked at you sympathetically. “She definitely does,” Yelena answered bluntly no longer focused on the movie in front of her. She was the only one who knew how you felt about Ava. And It’s not like you didn’t know any of this before. It just hurt more hearing it out loud from other people. “But why? I haven’t done anything to her.” You asked upset. Yelena just shrugged, faking nonchalance. She looked at you as if she knew something you didn’t.

From that point on you realized you were probably never going to figure out the mystery of Ava Starr. You decided to get over yourself and your feelings because obviously, she wasn’t interested. A few days after that, you awoke in the night from a bad dream. Your eyes were glazed over as you attempted to push down a sob. The last thing you wanted to do was wake someone up. It’s not like this was an uncommon occurrence for you. It happened a lot. Especially on the nights after a mission. You knew you just needed to get some air to clear your head. You went to the bathroom washed your face with cold water and headed outside.

Nightmares have tormented you your whole life. Threatening you with memories you try your best to hide away. As the cold wind hit your face you allowed a few tears to fall. Just as you buried your head into your arms you felt a hand softly brush against you. Instinctively, you sprung up ready to defend yourself. But instead of being met with an attacker, you saw a timid Ava standing in front of you wearing a sympathetic expression. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She said taking a few steps closer to you. You quickly wiped your tears and backed away from her just nodding your head in response. Her mannerisms were shy and gentle but her face was painted with worry. “Are you okay?” She asked, her blue eyes staring into yours. You looked at your fidgeting hands avoiding her strong gaze and sat back down. “I’m fine,” you replied your tone harsher than you meant it to be. Ava sat down next to you. “Well, obviously you’re not if you’re sitting out here crying at 4 am.” She countered trying to lightly joke with you. You were already not in a good mood and the last thing you needed was her pitying you. “I said I’m fine Ava drop it.” You replied. Your voice was slightly shaky. She looked into your eyes her brows furrowed and subconsciously started phasing at your words. “You don’t need to suddenly act like you care. Just go back to avoiding me and pretending I don’t exist.” You got up and left without a second thought.

Part of you knew you were too harsh, but the other part of you felt like she deserved it. The rest of the day you tried to forget about the situation altogether. You decided to focus on other things. Bob seemed quieter than normal so you tried your best to cheer him up with illusions. You created images of rainbow butterflies, stars, and much to Bucky's dismay an illusion of him as a hulk. Then, Alexei roped you into watching old videos of him as the Red Guardian back in Russia. Surprisingly he looked kind of cool. You’d never tell him that though. Later in the day, you and Yelena attempted to help John improve his cooking skills. After many failed attempts you finally ended up with a decent meal.

You guys were just planning to put it in the fridge and let everyone eat whenever they saw fit. But Alexei barged in with other plans. He squeezed Yelenas' shoulders smiling like a kid in a candy store. “My beautiful daughter and you both have made this wonderful dinner and you guys want to just put it in the fridge?” You and John just nodded not sure what he was getting at. “No no no. We must eat it at the table. Like a real team would!” He walked past you and grabbed plates and drink glasses. “Here super soldier,” He said pushing plates into John’s hands. “Help me set the table. Yelena, you find us a drink for while we eat.” She rubbed her temples as if he was giving her a headache but followed suit and grabbed drinks from the fridge. “And Y/N, go get the rest of the team and tell them dinner is served!” His idea wasn’t all that bad. And you would’ve loved it if it didn’t mean you had to knock on Ava’s door and speak to her. After what happened the night before she was the last person you wanted to see.

Following the Russian's orders you began searching for the rest of the team. Finding Bob was easy. Recently he was always playing some sort of game on the PC Yelena got for him. You knock on his door and see him doing exactly what you expected, “Alexei is making us do a team dinner.” You say knowing you didn’t need to elaborate any further. Bob just put down his controller and got up to head to the kitchen. Easy enough.

Now you needed to find Bucky. Most of the time he was in the team gym sparring or on a Zoom call trying to settle all his old congressman affairs. You decided to check the gym first and there he was. Hitting a punching bag like it owed him money. “Bucky!” You yell not sure if he can even hear you over all the punching. He looks over his shoulder his face serious until he sees it’s just you. Grabbing a towel to wipe his sweat he walks over. “Everything okay Y/N?” You nod slightly smiling because you know he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. A questioning expression covers his face but he doesn’t say anything and waits for you to speak. “Alexei is trying to do a team dinner. He wants us all in the kitchen soon.” You smile at him. “Right. And I'm guessing I have no choice but to be there?”He asks rhetorically while hanging his head in slight annoyance. You just laugh at him on your way out. “See you in 5!”

Now, was the part you were dreading. As you stepped into the elevator, you tried to ignore the anxiety that washed over you. You start imagining yourself at Ava’s door and her slamming it in your face after she realizes who it is. God, you loved Alexei but his timing couldn’t have been worse. The elevator let you out and you began walking down the hallway towards the brunette's room. You were seriously starting to consider just knocking, yelling out the words “Dinner!” “Downstairs!” “Now!”, and then running into the elevator before she could open the door. But you decided to be mature about it. (You had no choice she could phase through the wall anyway and see you).

You stood at her door for longer than you should’ve before you could work up the courage to knock. “What’re you doing?” You heard an accented voice ask as the door in front of you swung open. Inwardly you cursed yourself for taking so long. You step back and see Ava looking at you curiously. It almost made you mad how beautiful she seemed to always look. Here she was standing in front of you in sweatpants and a tank top and somehow she still looked perfect. Ava cocked her eyebrow at you a small smirk on her lips and you realized a little too late that you were staring. “I was just coming to tell you that Alexei is making us have a team dinner. Everyone’s probably in the kitchen now.” You said speaking too quickly. She simply nodded and walked past you towards the elevator. You just stood back awkwardly not sure if you should follow her. “There’s only one way down isn’t there?” She asks stopping and looking back at you. You feel like an idiot and quickly catch up to her.

The elevator ride was awkwardly silent. You wanted to speak up and wracked your brain for anything to say to her. But it seems she had the same idea and beat you to it. “Look,” She said turning to face you. “I just wanted to say that-“ And before she could finish her sentence the elevator bell rang and the door opened. “Ah, there you both are!” Yelled Alexei as he greeted you at the door. He practically dragged you and Ava over to the table. Yelena gave you a questioning look as you took your seat. The glass of vodka in her hand looked rather full.

“Took you both long enough. You know super soldiers need to eat more than the average person. I’m starving.” John said rubbing his hands together over his plate. “No one cares that you took the leftovers of some serum you found on the floor, John.” Quipped Ava. Yelena laughed a little too loudly. “You both did take forever though.” She added, her words slightly slurred. “I was starting to think you were skipping this dinner for another type of meal.” Ava’s eyes widened and she almost choked on the water she was drinking. Bucky's eyebrows looked as if they were going to fly off his forehead. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” He said grabbing her glass before she could protest. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “Great. Can we just eat? Please?” You swore you were going to murder the blonde the next time you were alone with her.

Thankfully, the rest of the dinner went smoothly. There were no more uncalled-for comments by Yelena. And besides the awkward glances you and Ava shared now and then everything was fine. After dinner, you showered and changed clothes. You needed some quiet and decided to go to the tower's library and read for a bit. The library there had a special feeling at night. You loved how the moon's light shined through the windows and the fact that no one else came in so late. You had the whole area to yourself.

After a while of reading you swore you were hearing noises. Like footsteps in the hallway near the library. No one else was awake so you just assumed you had just imagined it. That was until a nervous-looking Ava phased out of the wall and stood in front of you. “Fuck! Ava, what the hell?” You say jumping out of your skin when you see her. She tried her best to not laugh. “Sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to scare you.” She says smiling guiltily. “You have to stop doing that. One day I might actually have a heart attack.” She laughs a little at your words sitting down next to you on the library’s couch, “Can’t have that can we?” You just smile a little and shake your head. A beat of silence passes over you both. Unsure of what you should say or do, you pretend to be interested again in the book you’re reading. You can feel Ava's strong gaze on you. And the feeling of her watching you makes you more nervous than it should.

“You know I never got to finish what I was going to say to you earlier.” She finally mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. Softly you sit up more and turn towards her. For the first time in a while, her eyes look away from yours. “On the rooftop. What you said…” You feel your heart tug at your chest. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, Ava.” You say regret lacing your voice. She looks up at you her eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe. But you were right.” Her words catch you off guard but you listen nonetheless. “I do avoid you. But it’s not because I don’t like you Y/N.” You couldn’t help but feel a bit frustrated like before. “Did I do something wrong?” She runs her hands through her hair and you notice it again. The way shes phasing. “Sorry,” She says sighing. “Harder to control when I’m nervous.” You shake your head. “You don’t need to apologize.” Without thinking you place your hand out in invitation. Her eyes meet yours hesitantly but she places her cold hand over your warm one. And Her phasing calms a little. You nod to encourage her to continue speaking.

“Y/N, I grew up not knowing what it meant to have a family. To have friends. All I knew was pain because of what I could do.” You listened intently careful to not interrupt her. “The only people I knew were doctors who poked and prodded at me, and “shield” agents who trained me to use my powers to hurt others. But then you guys came along. And for once I felt like maybe I could learn to trust.” A small smile spread across your face at her admission. “And with everyone else came you. You genuinely cared about me, about the team. You were able to make everyone feel like they deserved to be here despite whatever they had done before. And somehow you could look beautiful while doing all of it.” You looked at her in disbelief. You were glad the library was dim because she couldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed a dark red at her words.

She shook her head and sighed before continuing. “I couldn’t talk to you without my heart feeling like it was going to beat out of my chest. Fuck I mean I can’t even sit in the same room as you without my suit or I’ll start phasing. So I decided it’d just be easier to stay away from you completely. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.” You squeezed her hand affectionately and gave her a playfully annoyed look. “And this whole time I was so sure you hated me.” She hid her face with her hand guiltily. You grab her hand and move it away so you can look at her. You admire how her sharp features are being highlighted by the moonlight. Making her somehow even more beautiful. A deep blush finds its way onto her face as she shifts closer to you. While wrapping her hand around your waist her eyes search yours for any sign of disapproval. When you give her a shy smile she closes the gap between you two. Soft lips pressing against yours. You both were gentle at first. Slightly unsure of what the other wanted. But as Ava cupped the side of your face and brought you closer, both of your movements became messier and less calculated. She sighed against your lips before you finally had to pull away for air. You let her brush her fingers against your face. “I’m sorry. I really am darling.” She says. And you kiss her once more erasing all her guilt.

It was uncomfortable—the whole situation. Leaving your life behind to be a part of some team you never agreed to be on, having to work with people you’d barely known before the day you all saved New York, and being known to the public as some “hero”. It all took some adjusting. But, as time went on things eventually got better.

You and Yelena became closer, bonding over being youngest siblings and your shared love of everything adrenaline-inducing. You learned to get used to Bob’s strange personality, often creating illusions of anything and everything just to make him smile and pull him out of his head. And Alexei became an unconventional father figure to you. Bucky was Bucky, slightly shy and mopey. But you both cared for each other. Lately, you’d even started getting along with Walker. When you both realized you shared a love of film, the heated arguments you once got into went away. And they instead turned into small debates over directors and your ratings on letterboxd.

Things were almost perfect. But there was one ghost that always haunted your mind. The first time you met her was of course, in the vault. Before you went in Valentina gave you a brief rundown on who your target was. “Ava-Starr most commonly known as ghost, a self-centered, ruthless, mole whose powers allow her to phase through basically anything and become invisible.” Valentina’s description of her made you cringe at the time. The curt words she used could’ve just as easily described you. Deep inside you knew something about this mission felt off. Valentina was never one to tell the full truth. But you went in anyway, desperate for a clean slate just like everyone else.

As you entered, you noticed a man in hospital attire wandering aimlessly. Nearby, a woman with a blonde shag haircut sat looking unimpressed, while a guy you recognized as the failed Captain America paced back and forth. Confused, you wondered what was happening; this wasn’t the plan Valentina had told you about. Then, finally, you spotted her. You swore it was a trick of light or something. At first, she was feet away from you, taking weapons off a dead taskmaster casually. And then, she disappeared into thin air— and suddenly reappeared in front of you, her blue eyes scanning you curiously. “Someone’s late to the party.” She said, her thick accent lacing her words with sarcasm.

Since that moment you swore you were doomed. And it only got worse when the New Avengers formed. You were completely entranced by her. The way her brown hair fell perfectly over her shoulders, the adorable nose scrunch and smile that lit up her face whenever Alexei said something odd, how smart and witty she was—those were the things that captivated you. Ava was someone who didn't trust easily and preferred to keep to herself, much like everyone else on the team. So when she seemed wary of you at first, you assumed that, over time, she would warm up to you as the others did. Eventually, she did become more comfortable with everyone—except for you.

It was hard to ignore the slight twinge in your chest when you’d see her with your teammates. Whether she was laughing with Yelena, swapping shield stories with Bucky, or even just hanging around Bob while on her phone or reading a book. It was like she’d grown close to everyone else and somehow missed the memo when it came to you. As the days went by the more intentional it started to feel.

On one occasion, you had walked into the living room planning to sit on the couch and fill out the paperwork Valentina had sent you. As you entered the living room you noticed Yelena and Ava were in there as well. Not thinking much of it you sat down on a lounge chair near Yelena. You didn’t fail to miss the way Ava seemed to start phasing slightly. “Ah perfect Y/N,” Yelena said at your entrance. “Ava and I were just talking about how we’re so tired of pretending to like the food John cooks every night. We’re going to sneak and get takeout from the Chinese restaurant down the street for the team. Want to come with?” She asked with a genuine grin on her face. You laughed at the implication that John’s food was bad (it was) and of course said yes. When Ava heard your answer her normally calm demeanor quickly switched into an uneasy one. She looked at Yelena with an unreadable expression and said, “You two should go I’ll stay back.” And before Yelena could question her she phased invisible and disappeared.

It’d happen all the time. You’d walk into a room Ava was in and her mood would completely change. She’d either go silent suddenly dismissing whoever she was talking to, or she’d just leave altogether quietly phasing out. It was getting to the point where everyone else started to notice.

On an unusually calm evening when the team had no absurd request from Valentina like you often did. You John, Bob, and Yelena were sat watching some Russian movie Yelena had put on. “I wonder where everyone else is.” Questioned John as he threw popcorn up and tried to catch it in his mouth. Yelena looked up at him internally cringing at the fact he hadn’t caught a single piece yet and replied, “Alexei is off printing out more shitty ‘merch’ as he calls it,” Rolling her eyes at her Dads antics. “Bucky is probably somewhere moping about Sam being mad at him. and I have no idea where Ava is.” Before John was able to give a response Bob suddenly spoke up, ”Ava’s probably just avoiding Y/N like always.” You immediately shifted in your seat suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “What?” You ask Bob. He seemed to have realized what he said and avoided your eyes like a guilty puppy would. You looked at everyone and they all seemed to be suddenly uncomfortable with the topic at hand. “You guys think she does that?” You ask brows furrowing. John stopped throwing popcorn around and just looked at you sympathetically. “She definitely does,” Yelena answered bluntly no longer focused on the movie in front of her. She was the only one who knew how you felt about Ava. And It’s not like you didn’t know any of this before. It just hurt more hearing it out loud from other people. “But why? I haven’t done anything to her.” You asked upset. Yelena just shrugged, faking nonchalance. She looked at you as if she knew something you didn’t.

From that point on you realized you were probably never going to figure out the mystery of Ava Starr. You decided to get over yourself and your feelings because obviously, she wasn’t interested. A few days after that, you awoke in the night from a bad dream. Your eyes were glazed over as you attempted to push down a sob. The last thing you wanted to do was wake someone up. It’s not like this was an uncommon occurrence for you. It happened a lot. Especially on the nights after a mission. You knew you just needed to get some air to clear your head. You went to the bathroom washed your face with cold water and headed outside.

Nightmares have tormented you your whole life. Threatening you with memories you try your best to hide away. As the cold wind hit your face you allowed a few tears to fall. Just as you buried your head into your arms you felt a hand softly brush against you. Instinctively, you sprung up ready to defend yourself. But instead of being met with an attacker, you saw a timid Ava standing in front of you wearing a sympathetic expression. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She said taking a few steps closer to you. You quickly wiped your tears and backed away from her just nodding your head in response. Her mannerisms were shy and gentle but her face was painted with worry. “Are you okay?” She asked, her blue eyes staring into yours. You looked at your fidgeting hands avoiding her strong gaze and sat back down. “I’m fine,” you replied your tone harsher than you meant it to be. Ava sat down next to you. “Well, obviously you’re not if you’re sitting out here crying at 4 am.” She countered trying to lightly joke with you. You were already not in a good mood and the last thing you needed was her pitying you. “I said I’m fine Ava drop it.” You replied. Your voice was slightly shaky. She looked into your eyes her brows furrowed and subconsciously started phasing at your words. “You don’t need to suddenly act like you care. Just go back to avoiding me and pretending I don’t exist.” You got up and left without a second thought.

Part of you knew you were too harsh, but the other part of you felt like she deserved it. The rest of the day you tried to forget about the situation altogether. You decided to focus on other things. Bob seemed quieter than normal so you tried your best to cheer him up with illusions. You created images of rainbow butterflies, stars, and much to Bucky's dismay an illusion of him as a hulk. Then, Alexei roped you into watching old videos of him as the Red Guardian back in Russia. Surprisingly he looked kind of cool. You’d never tell him that though. Later in the day, you and Yelena attempted to help John improve his cooking skills. After many failed attempts you finally ended up with a decent meal.

You guys were just planning to put it in the fridge and let everyone eat whenever they saw fit. But Alexei barged in with other plans. He squeezed Yelenas' shoulders smiling like a kid in a candy store. “My beautiful daughter and you both have made this wonderful dinner and you guys want to just put it in the fridge?” You and John just nodded not sure what he was getting at. “No no no. We must eat it at the table. Like a real team would!” He walked past you and grabbed plates and drink glasses. “Here super soldier,” He said pushing plates into John’s hands. “Help me set the table. Yelena, you find us a drink for while we eat.” She rubbed her temples as if he was giving her a headache but followed suit and grabbed drinks from the fridge. “And Y/N, go get the rest of the team and tell them dinner is served!” His idea wasn’t all that bad. And you would’ve loved it if it didn’t mean you had to knock on Ava’s door and speak to her. After what happened the night before she was the last person you wanted to see.

Following the Russian's orders you began searching for the rest of the team. Finding Bob was easy. Recently he was always playing some sort of game on the PC Yelena got for him. You knock on his door and see him doing exactly what you expected, “Alexei is making us do a team dinner.” You say knowing you didn’t need to elaborate any further. Bob just put down his controller and got up to head to the kitchen. Easy enough.

Now you needed to find Bucky. Most of the time he was in the team gym sparring or on a Zoom call trying to settle all his old congressman affairs. You decided to check the gym first and there he was. Hitting a punching bag like it owed him money. “Bucky!” You yell not sure if he can even hear you over all the punching. He looks over his shoulder his face serious until he sees it’s just you. Grabbing a towel to wipe his sweat he walks over. “Everything okay Y/N?” You nod slightly smiling because you know he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. A questioning expression covers his face but he doesn’t say anything and waits for you to speak. “Alexei is trying to do a team dinner. He wants us all in the kitchen soon.” You smile at him. “Right. And I'm guessing I have no choice but to be there?”He asks rhetorically while hanging his head in slight annoyance. You just laugh at him on your way out. “See you in 5!”

Now, was the part you were dreading. As you stepped into the elevator, you tried to ignore the anxiety that washed over you. You start imagining yourself at Ava’s door and her slamming it in your face after she realizes who it is. God, you loved Alexei but his timing couldn’t have been worse. The elevator let you out and you began walking down the hallway towards the brunette's room. You were seriously starting to consider just knocking, yelling out the words “Dinner!” “Downstairs!” “Now!”, and then running into the elevator before she could open the door. But you decided to be mature about it. (You had no choice she could phase through the wall anyway and see you).

You stood at her door for longer than you should’ve before you could work up the courage to knock. “What’re you doing?” You heard an accented voice ask as the door in front of you swung open. Internally you cursed yourself for taking so long. You step back and see Ava looking at you curiously. It almost made you mad how beautiful she seemed to always look. Here she was standing in front of you in sweatpants and a tank top and somehow she still looked perfect. Ava cocked her eyebrow at you a small smirk on her lips and you realized a little too late that you were staring. “I was just coming to tell you that Alexei is making us have a team dinner. Everyone’s probably in the kitchen now.” You said speaking too quickly. She simply nodded and walked past you towards the elevator. You just stood back awkwardly not sure if you should follow her. “There’s only one way down isn’t there?” She asks stopping and looking back at you. You feel like an idiot and quickly catch up to her.

The elevator ride was awkwardly silent. You wanted to speak up and wracked your brain for anything to say to her. But it seems she had the same idea and beat you to it. “Look,” She said turning to face you. “I just wanted to say that-“ And before she could finish her sentence the elevator bell rang and the door opened. “Ah, there you both are!” Yelled Alexei as he greeted you at the door. He practically dragged you and Ava over to the table. Yelena gave you a questioning look as you took your seat. The glass of vodka in her hand looked rather full.

“Took you both long enough. You know super soldiers need to eat more than the average person. I’m starving.” John said rubbing his hands together over his plate. “No one cares that you took the leftovers of some serum you found on the floor, John.” Quipped Ava. Yelena laughed a little too loudly. “You both did take forever though.” She added, her words slightly slurred. “I was starting to think you were skipping this dinner for another type of meal.” Ava’s eyes widened and she almost choked on the water she was drinking. Bucky's eyebrows looked as if they were going to fly off his forehead. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” He said grabbing her glass before she could protest. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “Great. Can we just eat? Please?” You swore you were going to murder the blonde the next time you were alone with her.

Thankfully, the rest of the dinner went smoothly. There were no more uncalled-for comments by Yelena. And besides the awkward glances you and Ava shared now and then everything was fine. After dinner, you showered and changed clothes. You needed some quiet and decided to go to the tower's library and read for a bit. The library there had a special feeling at night. You loved how the moon's light shined through the windows and the fact that no one else came in so late. You had the whole area to yourself.

After a while of reading you swore you were hearing noises. Like footsteps in the hallway near the library. No one else was awake so you just assumed you had imagined it out of sleepiness. That was until a nervous-looking Ava phased out of the wall and stood in front of you. “Fuck! Ava, what the hell?” You say basically jumping out of your skin when you see her. She tried her best to not laugh. “Sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to scare you.” She says smiling guiltily. “You have to stop doing that. One day I might actually have a heart attack.” She laughs a little at your words sitting down next to you on the library’s couch, “Can’t have that can we?” You just smile a little and shake your head. A beat of silence passes over you both. Unsure of what you should say or do, you pretend to be interested again in the book you’re reading. You can feel Ava's strong gaze on you. And the feeling of her watching you makes you more nervous than it should.

“You know I never got to finish what I was going to say to you earlier.” She finally mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. Softly, you place your book down and turn towards her. For the first time in a while, her eyes look away from yours. “On the rooftop. What you said…” You feel your heart tug at your chest. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, Ava.” You say regret lacing your voice. She looks up at you her eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe. But you were right.” Her words catch you off guard but you listen nonetheless. “I do avoid you. But it’s not because I don’t like you Y/N.” You couldn’t help but feel a bit frustrated like before. “Did I do something wrong?” She runs her hands through her hair and you notice it again. The way shes phasing. “Sorry,” She says sighing. “Harder to control when I’m nervous.” You shake your head. “You don’t need to apologize.” Without thinking you place your hand out in invitation. Her eyes meet yours hesitantly but she places her cold hand over your warm one. And Her phasing calms a little. You nod to encourage her to continue speaking.

“Y/N, I grew up not knowing what it meant to have a family. To have friends. All I knew was pain because of what I could do.” You listened intently careful to not interrupt her. “The only people I knew were doctors who poked and prodded at me, and “shield” agents who trained me to use my powers to hurt others. But then you guys came along. And for once I felt like maybe I could learn to trust.” A small smile spread across your face at her admission. “And with everyone else came you. You genuinely cared about me, about the team. You were able to make everyone feel like they deserved to be here despite whatever they had done before. And somehow you could look beautiful while doing all of it.” You looked at her in disbelief. You were glad the library was dim because she couldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed a dark red at her words.

She shook her head and sighed before continuing. “I couldn’t talk to you without my heart feeling like it was going to beat out of my chest. Fuck I mean I can’t even sit in the same room as you without my suit or I’ll start phasing. So I decided it’d just be easier to stay away from you completely. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.” You squeezed her hand affectionately and gave her a playfully annoyed look. “And this whole time I was so sure you hated me.” She hid her face with her hand guiltily. You grab her hand and move it away so you can look at her. You admire how her sharp features are being highlighted by the moonlight. Making her somehow even more beautiful. A deep blush finds its way onto her face as she shifts closer to you. While wrapping her hand around your waist her eyes search yours for any sign of disapproval. When you give her a shy smile she closes the gap between you two. Soft lips pressing against yours. You both were gentle at first. Slightly unsure of what the other wanted. But as Ava cupped the side of your face and brought you closer, both of your movements became messier and less calculated. She sighed against your lips before you finally had to pull away for air. You let her brush her fingers against your face. “I’m sorry. I really am darling.” She says. And you kiss her once more erasing all her guilt.

[lilywily143]

Finally sharing my full thoughts of chapter 4 of blocktales since i have many feelings; many spoilers

(P.s. this is coming from.someone who is incredibly positive to anything fictional, so im gonna sound super happy)

So. The characters are always my favorite part of the story so im gonna talk about them first, especially after reading some other people's opinions

Calypso: Yeah I was instantly able to tell that this was the lost sister of Kyoko. I love talking to Kyoko so I am well informed about her life <3. Calypso is very lovely and she was super nice. I really liked her connection to the pirate crew and how she cares about them so much since the Captian saved her. I also like her... kinda flaw of trusting people. She just kept believing in my actions and I was on a whole thing terrified that the player was gonna be a twist villian who would hurt her for the blade [until I played the pre-prolouge and I think that theory is destroyed, thank god]

Captain: Oh God he hurt my heart. Maybe I got attached too quickly to the first NPC that was nice to me in this chapter, but I really liked him and wanted to help him through everything. I liked his nickname for me hehhee. I like how he wanted to save his crew and loved them like found family. Which really hurt when I remembered they wanted to do a mutiny towards him.. AND THEN THE BOSS FIGHT SCENE [I'll talk later about]

The pirate crew as a whole: i... didn't get as attached to them as I wanted to. I think I was meant to connect to them through the Captian, but I was only attached to the captain and his obvious love to his found family. And no one on the team was nice or had a reference to a kinder nature or story that explains this. [like why do they want a mutiny just for more treasure when the captain was helping them for that goal already >:[ I saw someone say that when they all die, you don't mourn them, you mourn the loss the captain has. It's very accurate. That's the highest connection of love I had for them. But also just because I wasn't attached doesn't mean they are bad characters, I just don't like them myself.

Genie: Genie was cool, very silly and I liked the sillyness. But honestly it just reminded me how much the player isn't a self insert for the person to make their own story, but their own character in a story we just fight for. [but again, I like the genie scenes and the visuals in the fight]

Ancients: OOOOOO SUPER COOL, I love their boss music and design!!! They weren't too hard to beat luckily. [for me at least, I've seen people say they were as hard to beat as Hatred]

Final scene at the mountain peak: Oh God playing it the first time hurt my heart but afterwards I just felt not important during it. The player doesn't nothing, and I do mean nothing. They don't even do anything after Captain accuses them to want to kill them. I think the point was that we are in general shock, especially after chapter 3 making us feel like we became pure after the ghost walker problems. But I felt like a bystander to a genuinly touching scene after the final final boss.

Random Npc's: I loved the Regeretavator and Phighting references [even if I don't know phighting lore] I just love talking to every tiny npc I can find I still haven't beaten the extra side boss, but I will learn about him and hopefully beat him eventually.

GRIEFER REDEMTION WOO: Guys please the moment I learnedi could have the Cruel King on my side, I was deperate to get this guy on my team, I really like him. And finally getting him on my team and seeing his cured design made me so happy, and now his father will have a festival and EEEEEEE

[clarisse-doodles]

Cass + ballet 🩰 (ft. supportive siblings and good dad Bruce)

I love the idea of Cass enjoying dance. It's an outlet that allows her to express herself without words, and I think she would enjoy the highly technical aspect of ballet combined with its storytelling and emotional side. and as a former dancer I always have fun imagining my fav characters do ballet :)

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

[evilmagician430]

mabeline/jonah wolf in my 2020s timeskip au! read my tags for more information about her

[magebastard]

love/hate being so invested in my da canon. this shit is so dumb I have to cry

[juliareed]

Mr. Sark has assumed control of your mother's operation— Please stop referring to her as my mother. Therefore, Ms. Derevko must know what he's looking for. // You were hired to kill me? Who hired you? Who put a contract on my life? Derevko. Irina Derevko.

[arlathen]

gale apparently being camp cook and marian being a picky eater has me imagining hijinks i must confess.

[bijoumikhawal]

abruptly realization that a fantasy book I liked a lot as a kid was about a child being groomed and escaping her would be abuser

[inbabylontheywept]

bad dating stories time: the shoe incident

so in highschool, my best friend wasnt allowed to go on dates unless there was another couple there to keep an eye on him. part of this was his parents being insane, but also, part of it was him being insane. in a problem with no reasonable parties, there are no reasonable solutions.

at some point in my junior year, my sorta-gf broke up with me, and i just wasnt feeling dating, which was bad for my friend, because he had a good thing going with a girl he met in court.

he kind of hounded me about it. kept pushing me to just put me feet back in the dating pool and i wasnt real thrilled about it, because i knew he was pushing me for his own benefit, not mine, so i kept telling him to fuck off, and after a few weeks of being told that i would date when i was damn well ready, he eventually said: okay. what if i paid for the date AND found you a blind date AND all you had to do was show up?

and i shouldve said no, i know, but i let him wear me down, and i will own my fault in that. a date starting on such a stupid premise could never have gone well.

but he still managed to find a way to make it worse.

i dont know how long he tried to set a blind date up. it couldve been multiple attempts. he couldve stooped to this immediately. but what happened in the end was that he called a girl from the ward he attended - a girl that he knew had a giant, mushy crush on him - and he said: hey! how would you feel about going on a date this weekend?

(you know, implying it was with him, but never actually saying it.)

and she said YES WOW I WOULD LOVE TO and he said great! and then he called me up and said he found me a date.

i did not learn about his crimes until several weeks later. i will die swearing before god almighty that i would never have allowed this travesty to happen if i had known.

that was on a monday. the date of the date rolled around that friday evening, and im sorry to confess, i really phoned the whole thing in. i showed up in my favorite comfy outfit, which was also a fashion crime: basketball shorts and flipflops and a baja hoodie. it was super comfy but it made me look kind of crazy. i picked him up first, and then i picked up his date next, and then we went to pick up my date, and thats where you're gonna get the play by play.

i arrived, walked across the yard, and knocked on the front door. she opened it almost immediately, like shed been waiting right by it, and i could see her expression go from OMG IM SO EXCITED to super disappointed, then disgusted and finally pissed. and because i didn't know about my friends sins, i thought it was from my outfit. which seemed... harsh. like, hey, im allowed to be quirky, fuck you. also its a blind date, i thought the deal was that we were both going to be sad broken sacks of mortality.

anyway, we looked at each other for several seconds before she slammed the door in my face.

i looked back at my friend. he was sweating bullets. i dont know what he expected from this, but there was this big long pause where we both tried to figure out what to do, and then the door opened up, and her dad invited me in, and he said she was gonna need a few minutes to finish getting ready, and that in the meantime we could sit and talk.

we did not talk. we did sit. i sat down on the couch, and he sat down in a chair across the couch, and then instead of talking he cleaned his pistol on the coffee table. i wasnt actually sure if it was a threat, or if it was just a fidget thing for 40+ year old republican men, but when i tried to help he got snappy so i just watched him put a pistol back together.

he was okay at it.

eventually my date came downstairs, still mad as hell for reasons beyond my ken, and i felt pretty guilty for being such a mess because i thought that was why she was so angry. i tried to make up for by walking her to the car and getting the door for her, just generally trying to be extra polite, but before i could make it back to the drivers side, her dad called me back to the door. so i flipped around, went to the door, and immediately regreted my decision.

soon as i was within range, her dad got waaaay too close to me, leaned in, and said "whatever you do to her, i will do to you," and my brain went into overdrive making three consecutive realizations.

realization one was, damn, the pistol thing was a threat. that sucks. what an asshole. realization two was, wait, im autistic and even i know theres a 0% chance me and my date even hold hands, least of all boink. does this guy actually think there's even a 1% chance of anyone in that car getting laid tonight? is he an idiot? and then realization three went through, which was wait, is this guy threatening to fuck me? and unfortunately, with my brain doing so much processing, my mouth was left to run amok, so somewhere between realization 2 and 3, i said:

"i can't get pregnant"

which, i swear, wasn't actually me trying to be a smartass, it was just me pointing out that he couldn't actually follow up on that threat. it just wasn't possible. we do not live in the omegaverse and im not scared of you.

still, it was an insanely catastrophic thing to say, and the moment we both heard it, we bluescreened. that single sentence obliterated both of our momentary streams of consciousness like a saltine in front of a sand blaster. problem was, he'd probably gone his whole life not even realizing someone could say something that stupid, and making that realization was going to cost him a lot of thinking time. me though? i had been saying shit like that for 17 years, i didnt have to rewrite my expectations of human nature, i just had to plan an exit and start striding. so i was already halfway back to the car before i heard "hey. hey come back. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY WAIT. HEY GET BACK HERE. HEY-"

and then i was in my car, and i drove away.

if this happened today, he'd have called her, and the whole thing wouldve imploded then and there, but back then, there were still a decent number of teenagers without cell phones. especially the teenagers of insane, gun toting parents. so she just said: whoa what was that all about? and i said: dont worry about it, he'll tell you about it when you get home.

and she said: ok and went back to staring daggers at me and my friend.

WHICH SURPRISINGLY isnt even how the story ends.

we went to an improv comedy show, and it was a disaster. it shouldve been like, 7/10 tops, but between my date being mad, and my friend having a good time, and me having the existential terror of knowing that a guy with a pistol was probably waiting outside his house for me to come back, it was easily 11/10. i laughed way too hard at everything. especially the jokes that flopped. id sit there in this mostly silent room and laugh until i dry heaved a little, and my date was absolutely disgusted, and even my friend was a little embarrassed, which would just make me laugh harder. i laughed so hard that night i could barely talk the next day. and then the show ended, and my friend said, you know, that was a good time, but i think we should maybe do something a little chiller? who wants to walk around the park? and his date said yeah, and my date said no, and i finally had mercy on the poor woman so i said, look, im gonna drop you off. and i am so, so sorry about this, but im dropping you off like a block away. super duper sorry.

do talk to your dad about the pistols thing if you dont want this happening more in the future tho.

and she said: okay. so i dropped her off, and she walked a block down, and that was that.

then i drove my friend and his date to a park that was good for wandering. i figured they wanted something more private, so instead of following them around point blank, i chose a park with this 30 foot rope tower, and i climbed to the top and i said: hey i can see you anywhere from up here, you are officially chaperoned from a distance. get panopticoned idiot. except my friend really is an idiot, and he didnt really get the whole 'now i dont have to third wheel so insanely hard with you guys' thing so he climbed up the tower too, and then his date followed behind him, so there are three people basically sitting together on top of a telephone pole.

and then they started making out.

i was close enough to hear it.

i didnt really know what to do so i was just kind of sitting there, dissociating, when some college kids came around and started shaking the tower. my friend's date went aaaaaaaaaa im afraid of heights :( and my friend went oh, dont worry, ill hold you tight ;) and i went hey, im gonna climb down and ask them to stop.

so i did climb down, and i did ask them to stop, and they flipped me off, which i wasnt even mad about. at that point i was i was like yeah, it would be weirder if this wasnt a mess. gods plan has been to fly this day like a 747 into my metaphorical twin towers and brother he is close enough for me to see him grinning through the cockpit window. still, eventually the college students got bored, so they climbed up the tower, which gave my friend and his date a window to climb down, and together we walked back to my car.

now, i cant explain why this is, but sitting back in the drivers seat was my carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin moment. i'd been chill about all the chaos, just rolling with the punches, but sitting down made me realize how much of a shitshow the day had been, and while i couldnt go back and fix all of it, i could go back and fix one thing.

so i told my friend and his date, hey, you two, stay here and don't do anything weird. don't. then i walked back to the rope tower, and i started picking up the shoes the college students had left at the base in order to climb.

about halfway through this, i realized that if i took all their shoes, they might think i was in it for the money, and i actually wanted them to know i was in it specifically to spite them. fuck those guys. so i put all the right shoes back, gave myself a 100 foot headstart, yelled "nice shoes, assholes", did a little jig, and started running.

my advice to everyone is that college students are faster than you think. even with the headstart, and the whole climb down the tower thing, i was still only fivish seconds ahead of them by the time i got to my car. i flung the door open, looked in the backseat, didnt see anyone, flung the stolen shoes in the backseat, heard two "ow"s, took that as proof of presence, jumped in and pealed out of the lot.

my friend and his date popped up a few seconds later. they were, uh, doing something weird in the back seat. my one request - obliterated.

they climbed up to ask where the hell all the shoes had come from, and i was like yeah i stole them from the college students, and they were like oh. cool. hope you had fun. and i was like, i did. i did. but speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?

and for the first time in my buddies life, i think he was actually embarassed.