#everybody's just going to sound absent minded later

[killshotbabe]

Title | Creepin’

Pairing | University student!Mark x reader ft. nct dream (minor appearances)

Warning (s) | minors dni! NSFW, Use of swear words, really mean!Mark, stalker and simp reader, solo masturbation, rough handling (to reader), degradation, name-calling, dirty talk, choking, fingering, cunnilingus, squirting, smut, unprotected sex (please wear protection!), creampie, public rough sex

Word count | 2.8 k ish…?

Song(s) | Toxic - RealestK, U&I - The NBHD

“Hey, time to go.”

The familiar voice of your friend stirred you out of your nonsensical dream, causing what seemed to be an audible gasp from her when you reached out so suddenly, all startled.

“Dude.”

“It’s always this fucking bean bag, sorry.” You mumbled, letting her hand go. You carefully stood up to stretch, the mini blanket you brought landing on the carpet floor. “How long was I out?”

Your friend glanced on her wristwatch with a hum. It downed to you that it was indeed time to go when you saw her with her coat on, books on-hand. You retrieved your blanket off the floor and folded it carefully.

“Like two hours tops? Our bus comes in like fifteen.”

“Well, you can go. I’m gonna get my sis to pick me up later instead.” You say, wanting to stay at least another hour to make up for the supposedly “study” date but you were so exhausted and told your friend you’d take a twenty nap only to end up sleeping for two hours.

You didn’t tell her to wake you up after twenty though, and you didn’t set an alarm too thinking your body would do the favour for you but that was still a dumb decision especially when the small booth you rented with her had a really comfortable looking bean-bag where students rest or even go as far as sleep on.

Unfortunately, you’re always a victim (and so is everybody else).

“What! You’re ditching me agaaaain,” She grumbled, bottom lip jutting out trying to spite you but she knew you’d just chuckle at her cute efforts.

“You literally get off the bus after five stops and leave me dude. But seriously, go home your pup’s probably looking for you right now.”

“Right! Ok, fine text me when you’re safe and sound though ok? Don’t want to lose my “study” buddy who loves getting her beauty sleep.”

Your opened your mouth to try and come up with a smart insult but you sighed, a matching smile gracing the both of you.

“You had no right to say that! But hey, I’m often available for you so…”

“True! I’ll see you next time then and will text you if we end up renting a different booth.”

Your friend blew a flying kiss which you jokingly grimaced at and made sure to escort her out of the entrance, reminding her to text you when she’s home (and if she could send a pic of her new pup too through messages you’d truly appreciate that) before you made your way back to the booth.

The clock read 5:45 pm and the window was absent of any daylight, plunging the whole room in semi-darkness until you decided it would be best to turn the lamp on which had been plugged to the table for use.

You spend another thirty minutes typing up study material for the incoming finals season until you slowly packed your things, one hand trying to rub the threatening surge of sleep terrorizing your eyes.

You stretched your arms above your head before you slipped your coat on, humming to yourself as you informed your sister you’d be home a little later and to not lock the gates so it’d be easier for you to get in especially when it’s dark out now and there were way too many creeps lurking in the alleyways of your neighbourhood despite the cold mid-October weather.

You could get her to pick you up — the option was there but you like taking public transit even at this hour because you knew it’d still be somewhat full and if it wasn’t, you didn’t mind having time for yourself as you drown yourself in music from your headphones, gaze falling to the window next to you as you watched a whole strip of sidewalks and tall buildings with an occasional bridge on sight.

You saw your friend’s message and replied back to it too, grinning at the picture of her pup learning a new trick. You sent her a quick reply before heading downstairs to make your way to the second floor of the library. There were still a lot of people at this hour so you weren’t really worried about being alone at this time.

Sometimes, you do stay just before 10 am but that usually takes place when there’s a group research, or if you need to do more studying. Studying at home didn’t really work for you, especially when your desk is just right next to your cozy-looking bed so the university’s gigantic library was the best option.

You tuck your phone into your pocket as you rounded yourself into another wing, your brain automatically leading you to your destination; another row of open study booths near the science department.

With your headphones strapped on, you search for an empty table near the dim-lit hall, claiming the one facing one of the meeting rooms filled with students majoring in medicine. The room in front of you is usually booked by the same group of people, one of them being your long-time crush for two years now.

Mark Lee.

You grin to yourself when you propped your laptop open, noticing the familiar head full of dark hair above the transparent glass along with those signature doe eyes. You can’t see the rest of his face because of the frosted glass but you could tell what expression he had. He looked quite focus, typing something down so intensely. He would look at the speaker (that being Jaemin, which your friend knew since they did share a class once back when they were taking classes for faculty admissions) then nod to himself. He would raise his hand too for the sole purpose of sharing his opinions on whatever topic they’re discussing.

Sometimes, you find yourself wondering why you didn’t gun for nursing just like them but you weren’t good with blood and nursing didn’t interest you just like the rest of the medical-related jobs. It was on demand, yes, but you were perfectly fine with pursuing finance. It promised great money, though, it would have been nice if you were in the same field as your crush. At least then you’d have the same interest and that would count as some sort of a connection between you and him.

However, there’s a part of you not wanting to get it out there and to actually introduce yourself to Mark, try to see if he’d give you his number or go off the rails with your imaginations and delusions running wild in your head. You like to think you’re not that crazy, just a little weird for thinking about Mark that way when he could turn out to be the worst guy in the planet but so far, there was no indication of that or him having a girlfriend at all. If he had, you’d find out by now but even then, you think it won’t stop you from liking him for a reason you don’t really like to admit.

You liked to follow him around, peeking in small corners and sometimes attend some of his out-of-school activities with your friend or alone, and you were quite consistent, though you made sure you stood far away from him so you can watch him play and have fun without having him figure it all out and confront you as to why you’ve been steadily following him around for two years now.

You don’t even follow him on social media because his account is private but you do visit his profile sometimes, even going as far on keeping track of his friends with accounts set to public like Chenle, another promising nurse from their group. He would come through often with pictures that involve Mark and you would take screenshots here and there and save all of it in the hidden category in case your friend needed to use your phone.

Most of them knew about your crush on Mark but not to that extent.

One of them did go with you to attend two of his rugby matches but they thought it was just that and you weren’t going to go home to sift through any local newspapers online or stalk the rugby league he’s a part of.

You knew it was getting unhealthy, maybe it might scare anyone off if they did find out but you kept it a bay.

It was like your dirty little secret and crushing on him was just so fun, especially when he has zero idea about it all. You’ve never even made an eye-contact with him and you’re not really sure why that doesn’t upset you.

You just don’t want to be acknowledged, that’s all. It’s a bizarre thing to say but if Mark did find out and decided to do something about it, you think you’d probably want to run away and never be seen again so up until now, you did nothing to earn his attention nor tried anything to have him befriend you.

When you have decided it was time to go after what seemed like forever, you cast a final glance to where Mark and his friends were. They were still inside, no longer having a discussion but rather chatted about where they’re going tonight. It’s Friday after all and you know they always had plans every Friday. You made no effort to follow him when it came to that though… Not when you have no car and for some reason, you didn’t want to find out where he lived even when a friend told you they all lived in a suburban neighbourhood close by the university unlike you who resided on the north side opposite of theirs which required you to take two buses to get home.

It didn’t bother you though.

You’ve always wanted to attend this particular university even if you could have settled for the smaller one ten minutes from home, and if moving there for the sake of your safety (especially on nights like this) was on the table but that would mean you’d have to stop following Mark, you wouldn’t even opt for it. Not even in a heartbeat.

Mark, you find, is like some sort of a God you idolize. You think about him whenever you do anything, especially when you’re studying.

Seeing him be so diligent and fully committed in doing well in school inspired you to do same, if not better. So moving away from him would probably affect you drastically. You’ve had it in your head every passing time whenever you’re met with a possibility of getting physically assaulted or yanked off the streets in the dead of the night from university but whenever you make it back home safe and sound, it gives you some sort relief until it turned into an endless cycle.

And you weren’t going to give it all up.

He was your lucky charm through it all and you’d like to keep pushing until God knows when.

You’re not sure when either but you’re having fun and that’s all that matters, right?

“Yo, let’s go.”

Your gaze flew back to your keyboard, refusing to check whoever walked out of the room.

You waited until they all left, only checking back until you could only make out Mark’s black backpack as they headed downstairs. He wore all black today but kept his navy scrub pants on. You’ve seen him wear full on scrubs from time to time and he looked too great — his broad shoulders causing you to go all numb on the spot.

It was made for him and you couldn’t help but ogle whenever he put on fitted clothes. It gets even worse when you see him with his rugby uniform on, and although it’s a sin to admit what you do after every match you’d voluntarily attend just to see him play, you can’t help but release the ache you feel between your legs. Not only do you love his face but his lean, muscular body too especially his strong thighs.

There have been so many things where you dreamed of him having so close to you, even going as far as doing things to him you’ve never done to a boy before and it only spiralled to constant wet dreams that drove you nuts. It would piss you off quite often too because then you’d think about it whenever you space out in public which yanked you to a sudden jolt of embarrassment coursing through your bloodstream.

He was just so hot, and even if you felt guilty for having those type of sinful thoughts about someone who doesn’t even know you, you think it might be the “thrill” that drew your near the edge.

The thrill of him not knowing…

The thrill of him looking so busy and unbothered just a few feet from you when he gets you all worked up in your imaginations…

He doesn’t even know anything…

Anything at all…

You squeeze your thighs together, sighing under your breath as you waited inside the glass shelter, looking forward to go home and shower — specifically thinking of the new shower head you bought for yourself with different water pressure points, only using it for your pleasure with that one person wrecking havoc in your head like always.

It was fun. So much fun.

You find yourself being his shadow for the next month. It might have gotten worse, you think.

You’ve never touched him though.

By worse, it meant you followed him almost every day but made sure he didn’t actually notice. You were good with your methods especially now that you have car for a while since your mom will be out of town for two months if not more. She gave you the liberty of using it so you can get better at driving especially when it’s now the month of December and it started to snow heavily, making it difficult for you to take the bus home.

You hum, unbuckling your seatbelt as you parked right in front of moon drive in, a diner Mark and the boys frequented to. Sometimes there would be girls tagging along but none of them were with Mark. You did come close to hearing one of them flirt with him though but he’d only laugh it off and you can’t help but snicker to yourself as you listened to their conversations behind your seat.

This would be the fourth time you went. It was originally for the purpose of “following” Mark but you find yourself coming back for your usual — classic fries and a chicken burger paired with a strawberry milkshake.

You even brought one of your friends here last week but tonight you came alone craving a fast food fix. You didn’t even think of Mark at all but much to your surprise, he was actually there with Haechan and Renjun (more names to label very familiar faces) and they were laughing about something you can’t quite pinpoint.

It was around midnight now and you planned to just do a take-out and go straight home so you waited inside, acting oblivious about them being there.

It didn’t take quite long until your take-out bag was ready so you made a move, walking out of the diner and to your car. You think of how gorgeous Mark looked tonight even if it was just a quick glimpse you had greedily stolen before you drove off, a grin on your face.

What you didn’t know though, was when your back was completely turned to them when you were paying for your order, Mark spared you a glance, head tilted to the side.

And when you left, you completely missed the way he smirked at you on your way out.

“Ok, that’s enough studying for me I think my head is about to explode.”

You’re back in the library at the main campus now just a few weeks later. You actually studied without a break this time and took it like a champ even if the exhaustion from your head had mentally taken over, giving you a pounding head ache.

“Are you leaving now?”

You yawned, gesturing towards the clock behind your friend. “It’s almost sunset.”

“Yeah, and I gotta meal prep for next week.” She cleared her side rather quickly. Next thing you know, she was all packed up and ready to go. “Don’t stay in too late ok?”

“Maybe. You know I got a car now so I’d probably overstay.”

She raised a brow with a giggle. “Yeah, yeah you smartass. See you next week then?”

“Sure! Careful on your way out it’s snowing again!”

In a hushed silence, you inwardly groaned and began packing your things up as well to head down the second floor to see if Mark was there. You heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that he had the flu so he might not be there today but it didn’t hurt to check so that’s what you did.

Surprisingly though, a different group took over the room Mark and the boys rented so you made a detour, checking to see if any of them are using the gym tonight. You knew Mark, Jaemin and Jeno would frequent over there and honestly, you might have started having a little crush on Jeno too so you make your way down to the separate complex for that one purpose — if Mark wasn’t there, then Jeno would do, and maybe you can hit up the treadmill for a bit to cross the “stay active” off your to-do list for today.

You don’t even know how your attraction for Jeno started actually. Jeno was always there, all smiley and always bickered with Jaemin but ever since his jet-black hair started growing longer behind his nape, something shifted in his aura and you liked it. He’s just as conventionally attractive as Mark and he too, had a great body. You found out that one time when you saw him doing waterpolo with Jisung which made you go a little crazy.

You don’t know much about him though, so Mark was still your number one of course.

None of the boys were in the gym tonight but since you’ve always wanted to use the treadmill without the gym being too overly crowded, you decided to do just that. You spent forty minutes on it going between slow and vigorous before you called it quits and gunned for the shower to wash away the sweat on your skin.

No one was in the showers so you didn’t bother hiding your modesty, even going as far as being fully naked in the dim-lit hall as you darted in the last stall, music blasting off your phone you left on the bench just a foot away along with your belongings.

You let the warm water cascade down your body, eyes closing at the calming sensation it brought as it washed the sweat and stress away into the drain under your foot. You stayed in until the clear mist from the hot water climbed into the atmosphere, wrapping around you like a cloud of comfort. You then hummed, soaping up the curves of your body as you feel yourself get lost in your thoughts, suddenly thinking of Mark when you snaked your hand to cup your sex, already slick with pure arousal.

You practically shook, feeling how too sensitive you’ve gotten when you continued your erotic ministrations before you slipped in a finger in, a sweet moan spilling out of your throat. You fingered yourself whilst standing, free hand cupping and pinching your hard nipples as you let your fingers do you wonders, ultimately sending you over the edge when you thought of Mark’s skilled tongue playing with your clit before he fucked you with just that, eating you out like a starved man you imagined him to be when eating pussy.

You held yourself, growing weaker against the tiled walls as you slowly regained full consciousness after going through such euphoric state, smiling to yourself. You eventually darted back out, wet hair in a bun and took the elevator because you didn’t have the strength to take the stairs especially after doing all of that.

It was then you realized, as you headed to the front door, that you’re quite stranded in the building for now. The snowstorm had gotten worse. You couldn’t even see anything through the glass walls.

“You waiting for the bus?” The security on site asked. “Doesn’t look that good out there.”

“No, I drove here but… yeah, looks like I gotta wait it out.” You nod your head in agreement, a little pissed off at the sudden turn of events.

You knew the weather was unpredictable lately but you thought it wouldn’t get this bad until tonight.

“Check again in an hour maybe? If not, the library is open 24/7 so… you know how it goes over here.”

You didn’t look forward to that all but if staying here overnight was better, you had no choice. You didn’t want to risk anything, not when you’re still a novice driver. You’d be playing with death if you still chose to suck it up and try to drive in this type of weather.

“Yeah, thanks. Have a good eve sir!”

“You too, young lady.”

You texted your sister about the current weather and how you’d probably get home later or might sleep here overnight if the snowstorm doesn’t lay off with a pursed lip then took another detour, going back upstairs to the lounge area and see if there’s a spot you could rest at for the time-being. You find one overlooking the parking lot where your car is but made sure you’re tucked away from the students preparing for their finals so you can snooze in peace which you succumbed to right away, missing the fact that Mark had gone his way back up, slightly frustrated at the bad weather.

When he saw your sleeping figure hiding in a dark corner though, he could only raise a brow.

Your wristwatch read 10:45 pm by the time you woke up, panic in your eyes when you realized you’ve overslept. The floor you’re currently on had gone too quiet, so quiet you thought you were the only one left if it’s not for a small number of students typing away furiously, one of them sipping on a coffee cup.

The weather had been better so you take that sign to leave, yawning your way to the elevator. You were still quite sleepy and so out of it you haven’t even even realized you were not alone in the elevator as it brought you to the basement when you were meant to press ground floor.

It didn’t even hit you until you simply walked out, met with a plethora of cars only to stop on your tracks, seeing as this was not the ground floor.

You were about to turn around and head back to the elevator when a strong arm yanked you to a dark corner, making you gasp.

“How was it?”

Your eyes rounded in shock as you registered the very familiar face just inches away from yours. You have been caged between his arms, your back to what looked like the sleek, black car he drove to the campus. You weren’t sure if you were still dreaming because if you were, you didn’t want it to end.

“Mark?”

You swallowed a lump in your throat, quite dazed seeing him up close. He’s way too gorgeous, doe-eyes pinning you down. The smell of his clean cologne making you sigh in frenzy, but he didn’t look too happy.

He chuckled darkly, his grip around your wrists tightening like he meant to hurt you.

“I don’t even fucking know you.” He growled, deadly poison coating his words. “You’ve been following me around, haven’t you? How was it? You had fun?”

“N-no.” You lied, your eyes practically quivering in excitement. Was this real life? “I wasn’t following you.”

“I’m not dumb.” He squinted in annoyance, scrutinizing the way you reacted to his confrontation. “What the hell do you want? I even saw you at the diner. It’s not funny anymore.”

You wanted to laugh, but you liked the way his torso brushed against yours. You couldn’t help but to felt something aching in between your thighs again. He came off mean, which is something you didn’t really imagine, but you loved it so much. It drove you to something more sinister so you pressed on, pretending you’re so damn clueless about what he’s trying to get out from you.

Like you were so innocent… So unaware of it all.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re saying that when you know my name.” He clenched his jaw, losing a bit of his patience due to your playful nature which he didn’t really expect. “Admit it already. You’re caught.”

You could only grin, blinking slowly at him as you watched his chest rise and fall against yours. You could feel your nipples starting to be harden the more he got closer. Oh, how you wished for days like this to come true… You wanted for it be a literal dream but this was so, so much better.

“What if you’re wrong? I could report you.” You joked, watching him attentively. He smelled so damn good you were having a hard time trying to resist him so badly.

“Nothing to report when I have receipts. You think you’re slick?”

Your smile widened. Receipts? So turns out, he was creeping on you too it seems and you don’t know how to feel that, about all of this when you’ve fought so hard to keep your secrets under the wraps, forever tucked away from anyone to see or find out.

But Mark wasn’t oblivious. He knew there was something off when you would show up to his games even if it rained. He asked his team mates if anyone of them knew you but no one did, and for a couple of days he thought it was because you liked watching Rugby until he caught you taking a picture of him walking out of the diner. It all came together when he would notice you occupying the lone table facing the room him and his friends would be at quite often so he took it upon himself to puzzle everything together and made the connection.

There was no last straw, however.

At first, it was quite charming. It was a normal thing for him even in high school with so many girls chasing after him but he started seeing you everywhere he went and that made him a little insane which then lead to a strong desire to confront you, preferably alone without the usual friend you’d come with for study sessions, and much to his dismay, tonight was the good time.

He thought about approaching you about it in nicer way, but the “nice” demeanour had dissipated and he thinks it’s because you’ve started to look at Jeno too.

Was it jealousy?

He didn’t even like you like that. You were an actual stranger to him, so why is he suddenly so worked up about you possibly being into Jeno, too?

“Oh, you keep ‘em?” You tried to wiggle away from his vice grip but he just made it worse, further catering to your suffering. “Hey, you’re gonna leave a bruise on me…”

“Don’t care.” He placed your arms over your head now, your sweet vanilla scent catapulting him away from the scandalous thoughts of him making you suffer as you whined for him to let go but he refused. “Don’t change the subject and answer my damn question. Why are you doing this?”

“I just… like you.” You admitted truthfully, the funny feeling in your stomach making you sigh, eyes searching something in his but all you saw was pure anger mixed with something you hoped might be true. “I didn’t touch you or show up in front of your house so I don’t get why you’re so angry, Markie…”

The pet name.

He thinks his friends wouldn’t let that slip but he knows where you got it from. It wasn’t a play or a coincidence. He knew what you were doing but he couldn’t stop that pet name from rolling out of your tongue. It did nothing but have his blood rush straight to his dick.

“Don’t call me that.” He huffed, too aware of the way your hard nipples pressed against his. “You don’t know who you’re trying to provoke.”

“What do you mean?” You wondered, almost moaning at the hard ridge of his cock pressing on your clothed cunt. You couldn’t believe it. He was so hard. Did he love that pet name so much? “You’re so hard… Are you still angry?”

“Stop!” He suddenly yelled, backing off you when you attempted to grind on him.

You let your hands fall loose to your side, watching his pretty features crumble but his eyes were still burning a hole through your head and you think that if you don’t move now, he might just take you and show you what hell feels like.

“If that’s what you want…”

You diverted your gaze down to his pants, mouth watering at how hard he’s gotten. He looked big and it made the ache between your legs more mind-numbing, your growing wet cunt pulsing around nothing. You gradually advanced to him, testing the waters before pinning him to the wall, the difference between your heights so drastic it almost came off funny but he let you run your hand down from his chest, to his abs then finally, to his hard-on painfully standing upright in his pants.

You’ve never even attempted this to anyone before but suddenly, you had the full reigns of what he started and you weren’t going to let him win.

Or so… you think.

“Stop it…” He exhaled heavily, almost begging as he clamped his eyes close when you bit his ear, licking the shell before you placed an open-mouthed kiss to his jaw, your surging arousal practically bubbling up you think your underwear wouldn’t be able to hold it up if you kept up with this. “I don’t even know you.”

“But you’re reacting quite the opposite.” You stopped to look at him in the eye, yours and his equally blown with nothing but lust. “You like being watched, Markie?”

He didn’t respond as his hands formed into fists. You were just about to kiss him on the neck again when he grabbed you by yours, quickly flipping your positions.

You whimpered in pain when your back collided against the brick wall, about to cuss him out for handling you like that when he crashed his lips into yours. He went in too hard until your bottom lip started to bleed after he bit into your soft flesh, his palm flexed around your little throat, choking you but not enough to render you unconscious.

There was a muffled “mhmff” from you as you pounded your fists against his chest, unable to breathe from how rough he was kissing you like he was about to eat you and swallow you up with no mercy. You were about to bite him back when he lets you go, trapping you against the wall, the sweet taste of his minty mouth mixed with your blood causing you to lick your lip, tasting iron, ignoring the fact that it stung all because of him.

If anything, it didn’t anger you at all but aroused you even more. You liked the fact that he was like this to you.

“I didn’t want to do anything with you.” He declared with a glare, but his next move proved otherwise. “But I’m not letting you touch me like you own me.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too late now?”

You didn’t miss the way he came closer and the way he darted his mean gaze from yours and to your bleeding lips. You didn’t even bother wiping it off as you remained still, too entertained with the fact that he just kissed you. Hard.

“Did I give you the green light? No.” He whispered, sounding so cynical. “But I could touch you. You’ve violated me enough so I think it would be fair for me to do this, no?”

You were about to speak when he shut you up with his callused hand tight on your mouth, his free hand snaking down your hip to cup your pussy through your jeans. Your held your breath, knees about to buckle from the way he rubbed you in circles. You were so taken back, the violent rush of pressure sending you over the moon.

“You’re so desperate and insane. You kinda make me go a little crazy, but you don’t deserve to touch me.”

He bit through his words with so much hate as you grew weaker against him, unable to contain the shrill excitement and carnal desire hitting you like a truck. If he kept this up, you would probably cum in your jeans so you started to whine, grinding on his palm and begging for him to do something about it.

“Mark… Please…”

You let out a shaky gasp when he did allow you to speak, his head disappearing into the crook of your neck to kiss you there, way too turned on with the noises you were making and how you’ve gotten so fucking wet he can practically feel it through your jeans. He can’t help but bite your shoulder as he slipped his long, slender fingers inside your jeans groaning at how fucking soaked you were for him, it was almost embarrassing for you but you didn’t care. You wanted him to see how much you desired him.

You attempt to touch him but he quickly swats you away, telling you to keep your hands to yourself.

“I could fuck you with my fingers right now bet it’d just slip right in, huh? You’re fucking wet. Aren’t you ashamed?”

“N-no!” Your head fell back as your knees wobbled. You place your hand on his wrist as he played with your arousal, smearing it all over your clit and pussy lips. “God,”

“Hands off or I won’t fuck you.”

Was all he chided before you let go, keeping your hands flat to the wall as he slipped a finger inside your throbbing hole causing you tear up when he began pumping inside you in a exhilarating speed you thought you were going to pass out from too much pleasure it brought you. It got so bad that you had to cover your mouth, stopping yourself from screaming as the loud squelching of your wetness could be heard between the both of you.

“So fucking tight,” Mark scoffed coldly, liking the way you were taking him in, like your pussy was made for him and his fingers only. He couldn’t help but wonder if you can even take his cock too but he wasn’t going to let you have it easily.

“Faster… p-please!” You closed your eyes, tears falling nonstop you were so sure he’d be able to bring you to the edge with just his fingers. “I’m close, fuck…I’m-m.”

“I know you are, you dirty whore.” He pinned you deeper to the wall, slightly losing it when he felt your walls squeeze him, sucking his fingers further into your warm cunt. “Bet you thought about this in your sleep, right? Is this better? Now that I’m fucking you like this?”

“Yes!” You fisted on his shirt, mouth gaping open as he drove you closer into another orgasm, more powerful than all of the times you touched yourself combined and he hasn’t even fucked you with his cock just yet. “God! Mark, fuck!”

“Dirty fucking mouth you got,” He hissed, pumping his fingers faster and harder, repeatedly hitting your g-spot. “Keep it open if you’re such a good girl.”

Your mouth had gone slack as he coaxed your orgasm closer, your eyes shut tightly as your back arched for him, but just before he could let you cum, he yanked his fingers out of you making you swear out loud in frustration only to have him shove his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself.

He loved how flushed you look and he thinks you’re prettier this way — all fucked out from just his fingers.

“You like how you taste?” He snarled, watching you lick the arousal off his middle finger whilst you whimpered at the sudden loss of contact even if you were so damn pissed for being edged like that. “Good, take it all in, yeah?”

“You’re an asshole.” You pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a loud pop followed by a scowl. “I was so close—”

The side of your face suddenly met the wall, Mark having to push you and have both of your arms on the curve of your back. You bite your lip upon realizing what he’s about to do next.

“I’m not that generous.” He placed his knee between your thighs, spreading them wider for him after he pulled your jeans down to your ankles along with your underwear. “Shut the fuck up and behave.”

You feel him move as you braced yourself, your pussy aching for his hard cock to be in you when you see him kneel on one knee behind you. You were about to say something when his tongue delved into your pussy, flicking it up and down to your folds, his hands grabbing a handful of your ass, groping you from behind.

“Fuck-fuck! S-so good, so good-d Mark…”

You babbled, right fist thumping to the wall with your left fully unzipping your coat so you could slither your free hand inside your shirt to cup one of your breasts as he slipped his tongue inside your wet hole, quickly bringing you back to the peak of your orgasm. You felt him lap your wetness in your pussy lips like how you’d imagined him to do, one of your hands going down south to play with your now swollen clit, ultimately sending you to you to the edge.

You hear Mark swear behind you as he stood back up, slapping your ass when your legs shook uncontrollably. You took a sharp breath before squirting right on the cement and on his shoes, your hand still putting pressure on your clit, rubbing it in fast circles, spurts of clear liquid draining out of you too violently.

You thought you actually blacked out, only gaining full consciousness after you had squirted in front of him, the sound of him unbuckling his belt faint to your ears. It didn’t register that he was actually going to give it to you until he shoved his cock inside your soiled pussy in one go, the sudden stretch burning you. You nearly screamed and toppled over only to have him shut you up as he began pounding into you relentlessly, cursing at how good you took him so well.

“Fuck, I wasn’t gonna give it to you but you squirted you cockslut! so, so desperate for me huh? Is that it?”

His breathing shallowed as he tried not to cum inside you right there and then. You were so damn wet and too tight around him it felt amazing, way too amazing he thought he was going to lose it for a minute there but he fought to control himself, wanting to fuck you dumb and watch you cry as you struggle with his size.

“M-Mark!” You moaned loudly in defeat as you tried to open wider for him, his big cock rendering you numb and helpless like how he wanted it. “Wait, shit! God… oh my god…”

You pressed your hand on top of his which was now loose on your mouth until you urged him to slide his index finger inside the wet cavern of your sweet mouth, sucking on it to suppress your cries, tears dripping down your cheeks and on the floor along with the pool of your arousal from squirting minutes ago.

You whimpered pitifully, too overwhelmed with the brutal burn of his cock inside you as he fucked you faster and harder than before until your slick wetness coated his entire cock, the sound of skin slapping echoing off the walls. It wasn’t so long until the both of you finally reached your climax— with you coming hard first and out of nowhere which led him to spill his cum inside you after telling him you were clean and on pill which made it so, so much better.

You remained still, catching your breath as he collapsed on your back, his nose nuzzling your nape. The whole aftermath felt almost romantic, you thought.

“You keep my cum inside you like a good girl so you can keep a memory of me when you get home, yeah?”

He whispered in your ear with a certain bite, tone so wicked it brought shivers down your spine, and when it was time to face him after shamefully tugging your underwear back up, careful not to spill any of his cum out of you, you weren’t sure what to do so you wait until he fixed himself up before saying something.

“Hey.”

You tried to smile, but you were still so high from having sex with him in the basement parking lot you couldn’t help but to chuckle, not believing that this, in fact, actually happened.

“Don’t think we’re friends or anything.” He said, not looking at you as he smoothed his shirt down from you fisting on it earlier. “Don’t even know you like that.”

For some reason, you had already accepted it and seen it like that but still, you knew he had truthfully enjoyed this too. You can tell from how he’s looking at you right now or so you hoped.

“But can I… still like you?” There was a crack in your voice. Your round eyes practically begging him to change his mind about you.

“Sure, just stop liking Jeno.”

You stared at him in confusion, unable to discern how he came up with such accusation but it tickled your fancy. It actually made you tilt your head to down, tongue poking the side of your mouth, clearly amused upon realizing what he meant by that.

Guess you were so bad at hiding your tracks…

“Jeno?” You teased. “Your friend?”

“Stop liking him and I might just give it to you again. That’s it.”

“Oh, Markie,” You drawled seductively, the pink hue of your fair cheeks from post-sex rendering Mark sort off in trance-like state. You’re a pretty face for sure and he can’t deny that after all. “You only want me to be for you? As your play toy? How did you know?”

You attempt to touch his face only for him to grab your wrist with a vicious sneer.

“Don’t think you’re the only one watching.”

A sardonic grin graced his beautiful face, distracting you for a moment before he pulled you closer to him as if it was such a natural thing to do, his lips already brushing lightly to the shell of your ear to whisper what seemed to be a dire warning — like a harsh brewing storm about to wash you away and drown you into an endless abyss you can no longer escape out of.

“I’ve been watching you too.” Your mouth parted upon his confession as he nipped on your ear, his arms wrapping around your waist, fully claiming you. “…And I might be worse.”

A. N | Mark is currently bias wrecking me so hard right now I’m literally fighting for my life so I just had to let my frustrations out by writing this in one sitting. :)

#mark lee smut #mark smut #nct smut #mark lee x you #mark lee x reader #mark x reader #kpop smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #markleeyoumakemecraaaazy #killshotbabe #one shot smut

[anki-of-beleriand]

A Heart Made of Glass ch.9

Summary: Ten years ago you left Wanda and the Avengers to heal your broken heart. You never stopped being a hero, just as you never stopped being in love with her. But life had to go on.

Now, after all that time, she is back and with her is a young woman needing help and an enemy that may not be as afraid as Wanda to lay a claim on you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Powered!F!Reader - Scarlet Witch x PoweredF!Reader - Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision - Powered!F!Reader x Carol Danvers

Warnings: Angst, drama, mentions of cheating, fluff, violence, smut, Switch!Reader, internalize homophobia, religious fanatisms, homopobia, hurt, comfort, Wanda being a complete mess, anger management issues, jealousy, Requited/Unrequited love, idiots in love, swearing, mentions of alcohol, violence, multiverse travelling. More tags as the story progess.

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of Dirty Little Secret I was really surprised at the response I got for the story, I did all the tags you guys ask for but if I forgot someone please do not hesitate to tell me. Thank you for the support.

I'm back!

And Carol Danvers is back as well. i'm sorry for the long delay, guys. But this chapter gave me some trouble before making some decisions as to where I wanted to take the story. I hope you like this new chapter, you will have action, flashbacks, and finally the worlds collide.

Remember that English is not my mother tongue so I apologise for the grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 10

Chapter 9

The breaking of the storm

Three months ago – Stark Cabin - Fairburn, Georgia

It didn’t take her too long to locate the cabin.

She stood by the road for a very long time, debating with herself if it would be appropriated to approach the man living there. She was still wearing the clothes she wore to the funeral; the tears were still fresh on her face and the many memories in her mind were threatening to overwhelm her all over again.

The world had changed in the last five years she had been absent.

And yet, many things were still the same.

The service had been sweet, with a long sermon giving by an old priest that praised Steve for his courage and his life. Wanda had almost broken when the priest mentioned Bucky and how Steve’s love for him had made him stronger in the times of need. She listened as everything was revealed, as the lovers were uncovered in front of friends and family, and she realized right there and then everybody knew about it. And everybody accepted it, embraced it, and celebrated it.

“Sooner or later, Wanda, you will need to face the truth…than in all of this, it was you the only one that thought it inappropriate, that punished herself for something as pure as loving another human being.”

Steve’s words resounded inside her mind; Wanda had come to terms with what she couldn’t in her youth. Not only the mistakes of her past actions, but also to the thoughts she allowed herself to govern her decisions, in all reality, just as Steve had told her, her family would have never stopped loving her even if she chose another woman to be by her side. To be the love of her life, to marry and form a family with.

Times had certainly changed, and by the time Wanda had made a decision about her life and what she needed it to do, Thanos had come, and she had missed five years of her life. The sound of birds above her head broke her remembrance of another time; she shook her head and tried to step forward but was unable to do so.

Wanda Maximoff hesitated with her hands inside her pockets, the key to the old Avenger compound wrapped tightly around her hand. She chewed on her lower lip, turning around ready to leave until her eyes fell upon a young girl. She was no older than five years old, with auburn hair, and curious eyes she stood there glancing at Wanda while holding onto a metal glove that fit her small hand.

“Are you lost?” She asked, tilting her head, Morgan Stark took a step closer to the redhead while glancing left then right.

Wanda pressed her lips together shaking her head, “no, I’m not.”

Morgan furrowed her brows, her eyes narrowing slightly though her stance did not lose the easiness she carried with her. Wanda could see much of Stark in the young girl, there was intelligence behind her eyes and also a sense of confidence Wanda never possessed at her age.

“Then, what are you doing?” Morgan asked, this time around she pursed her lips pointing to the cabin. “Are you looking for daddy?”

Wanda sighed glancing down the road, her breath caught in her throat when her clear eyes fell upon the form of Tony Stark. The man was standing by the entrance of the cabin, his eyes completely focused on her and Morgan. With an uncomfortably shifted stance, Wanda glanced back to the girl that still had her eyes on her.

“Yes, I am.”

Morgan broke into an easy smile; she approached Wanda taking her hand in hers while dragging her all the way to the cabin.

“Silly, you can’t stay here. Daddy is having his afternoon tea.”

Tony Stark stood by the porch in his cabin, his heart had almost stopped the moment he realized Morgan had gone all the way to greet the strange newcomer only to realize this newcomer was no other than Wanda Maximoff. In his mind, five years had passed, but the old wounds as well as Wanda’s old transgressions were still fresh in Stark’s mind; he had not forgotten the moment she broke Y/N’s heart. Nor did he forget the fact Wanda sided with Steve when the world needed them the most; seeing her walking down the road with his daughter by her side only made him shiver in anticipation, his hand getting ready to access his armor if necessary.

“Wanda.” He couldn’t hide the coldness in his voice, the young woman winced trying to let go of Morgan’s hand but the young girl refused the gesture taking her past Tony.

“Come! Mommy brought some cupcakes and daddy has to eat his tea or he gets cranky.” Morgan turned to Tony, the innocence in her eyes didn’t allow her to notice the obvious tension between Wanda and Tony.

The man straightened up, his jaw clenching tightly while his eyes let Wanda know she was not welcomed. Wanda knew this, of course. She was risking a lot by reaching out to Tony, but in all honestly, he was her last option.

She didn’t have anyone else.

She was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Tony dropped his shoulders placing a hand on Morgan’s head, before pointing with his head the house.

“Well, I guess we are stuck with one another for the time being.”

“You don’t have to…” Wanda started, but Tony shook his head.

“Morgan wants you here, come on.”

The house was like nothing Wanda remembered of Tony. There were many electronic devices and gadgets that Tony had adapted to his home, but otherwise this looked like a normal place. Nothing too fancy, and nothing too ostentatious. It was strange to set foot in a place that was not as extravagant as Tony had been once.

“I hope you two are…Wanda? What are you doing here?” Pepper stood by the hall with a tray filled with pastries and two white cups filled with tea.

Wanda offered a weak smile; her heart shrank at the incommodity this situation generated in her. She wished she had thought this through, but in reality, there was nothing she could do. She had been so lost at the funeral, she had been so devastated when she saw Y/N in the arms of another, when she realized after Steve’s death, she was alone.

“I’m sorry to come uninvited, Pepper.” She all but whispered. “I will be out of here in no time, I just…”

Pepper had been frowning at the young woman all this time, but something in her voice and her posture made Pepper softened slightly. She offered a motherly smile pointing to the love chair on the living room.

“Take a seat, Wanda, I will bring another cup of tea.”

Teatime went by uneventfully.

Morgan ended up filling up the silence with her stories, and the adults merely spoke whenever she spoke to them. Wanda couldn’t help the tension growing as the time passed, and the eyes of Tony kept on pinning her with anger and questions. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Pepper grabbed Morgan and left Tony and Wanda alone.

“You have some nerve coming in here, Wanda.” Tony finally commented leaning back on his chair. “I thought by now you would have left to get the normal life you have always wanted. Though, now that Vision is no longer alive, I guess you don’t have much from were to choose, am I right?”

Wanda winced at his honesty, she knew Tony and Natasha had been always advocates of Y/N and had always stood by her side after the incident. The young woman couldn’t help the tears pooling out her eyes, she swallowed down her sadness, trying to collect herself to start talking.

But she couldn’t.

“I…I…am sorry.” Wanda let down a whimper, her tears rolling down her eyes as the pain in her chest became unbearable. She stood on shaky legs, shaking her head while trying to make her way to the door. “I sh-shouldn’t…I will…I will leave…”

But as she said this, her heart crumbled and soon she was on the floor with Tony Stark wrapping his arms around her. Of all the people that she had gotten to know, Tony was the last one she ever thought would comfort her. They had such a troublesome past; she had hated him for so long only to develop respect and then a shaky form of friendship that had always been on the rocks for as long as they had fought on the side.

Now, Wanda couldn’t stop crying and Tony had acted out of instinct.

Wanda cried for herself, for the time she lost. For the things she had done, for Steve because he would no longer be there to comfort her and to be the family she had lost. For Y/N because she hated Wanda, and Wanda knew that regardless of her wrongdoings and her mistakes, she was still pretty much in love with her. Wanda cried because she let her old beliefs, and the words of sin and forbidden governed her decisions at some point.

Wanda cried because she was alone, and she had come to a world in which she was not welcome.

And then, when she thought nothing good could come of this meeting, she had the very same man she had always thought insufferable and narcissistic comforting her. Then a pair of small arms wrapped around her, and soon Wanda felt, for the very first time in a long time, the warmth of a family trying to pick up the pieces of her heart and lonely soul.

*****

Night had already fallen, and Morgan was already in bed by the time Wanda had stopped crying.

The warmth of the mug between her hands brough comfort to her cold chest, she glanced at the fire while trying to ease out her breathing and hearing Tony talk about what had happened after the Blip. She heard about his fight with Steve, how he had given his back to the Avengers to go and form a family with Pepper, how the world crumbled in the very first year before it started building itself.

Tony talked about Steve and Natasha, how they struggled to keep the team alive, to try and look for a solution while also helping the rest of the universe with the help of Rocket and Carol Danvers. He talked about Y/N, and Wanda couldn’t help the fluttering of her heart at the mention of Y/N and how she had been affected by the Blip, how she had met Carol and the bond had been formed.

“She missed you.” Pepper ignored the glare coming from Tony, her eyes were solely on Wanda who was looking back at her with a hopeful glint in her eyes. “Y/N was in a dark place after she saw you vanished into thin air.”

Wanda furrowed her brows at this, “she…she was there?”

Pepper and Tony nodded, and Wanda tried to remember that moment.

She knew you had arrived because your shadows had invaded the battlefield for a moment, but she never imagined you had gone and looked for her. Wanda never imagined Y/N had seen her disappear. Tony shifted on his chair pursing his lips while facing Wanda, his eyes demanding.

“She took it hard and was not the same for a while. Up until she and Carol started seeing one another.” Wanda winced at these words; she looked away trying to hide her pain, but Tony had already seen it. “What are you doing here, Wanda?”

Wanda glanced at the beverage in the mug, she thought about you for a long time. She thought about your voice and laughter, how happy you had seemed with the blond-haired woman back at the funeral. The young woman lifted her face, new tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I’m…I came here to ask for your permission.” She finally said, Tony blinked confusedly at her.

“Permission for what?”

“The…the Avengers compound.” Wanda mumbled. “I know it’s still active but empty and…I… I really don’t have a place to stay. I just…”

“You are alone.” Tony stated not without a tone of reproach in his tone. “This is your own doing, Wanda. I hope you know that.”

Wanda didn’t react at all, but her lips broke into a broken smile.

“I made so many mistakes, Tony.” Wanda all but whispered. “The only thing I did right was…was being with her.”

“And yet, you broke her heart in the worst possible way.” Tony replied, the old anger dripping from his words.

“I know.” Wanda placed a hand on her forehead, she had nothing to lose at the moment and her words came rushing in. Not to give an explanation, she didn’t think her actions have one, but she just needed to let everything out.

For the very first time, she would talk with all honestly to someone that wasn’t Steve.

“I was so afraid to give in, to allow myself to be seen with her.” Wanda hiccupped placing a hand on her mouth, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. “My mother…my father…They always talked to me about sin, I knew what I had always feel, what I am…was a sin. Papa found me once, and he…I never forgot his lesson. I knew I was wrong, and when I saw her and knew I couldn’t breathe without Y/n I just…I was failing papa and mama…you know?”

Wanda shook her head, a gasp leaving her lips while her hand closed tightly around her chest.

“I had failed them, they had died, and I had failed them…time and time again, I failed and then…” Wanda shrugged. “I fell in love with her and I just…I let my family die, I couldn’t…I couldn’t be happy, I shouldn’t…I should do what they wanted of me I just…”

Pepper softened her features, watching the confusion, the conflict running wildly through those green eyes. But Tony remained impassive, hearing everything without giving anything away.

“I just…I couldn’t let them down, them and Pietro and…god, Y/N was just…I was feeling so much…I realized I wanted to have her children, that I wanted…I wanted to leave my powers and…” Wanda suddenly looked desperate, lost, and hopeless. “I know I mess up, Tony, I’m not asking for your forgiveness...I just…I just need a home.”

Wanda broke at the very end; Tony lowered his gaze before settling his eyes on Pepper. For the very first time, Tony wondered what would have happened if Pepper had given up on him. How many times had she discovered him with another woman, how many times she had seen him flirt his way through the parties before he realized that Pepper was all he needed. Y/N had been hurt deeply by Wanda, it was quite evident Wanda didn’t know the extent of Y/N’s feelings for her or what she was ready to do for Wanda.

And yet, Wanda was ready to do the same, but her mind was being tormented by old believes, and the fear of failing her family. The fear of falling into sin, of being less than what was expected of her.

“I know I’m going to pay my whole life for my mistakes, Tony. I know she…” Wanda wrapped her hands tightly around the mug, lowering her gaze she continued with a shaky voice. “I have broken everything that was good for me, and I deserve to be alone. I just…I’m tired.”

Tony stood up making his way to where Wanda was sitting, he knelt down placing a single hand on hers. His face was solemn, and for the very first time he allowed himself to see Wanda the way she was. A young woman lost, not knowing what to do or what road to follow, someone who wanted to be loved, but that didn’t want to fail those she loved anymore.

Ten years were a long time for him to keep a grudge, and for Wanda to still being put down and being ripped from what she really wanted.

“You can stay here tonight, Wanda.” Tony squeezed her hand comfortingly. “You have a home here, and we can talk more tomorrow. The compound is yours if you want to, but for now let me take you to your room. You must be really tired.”

Wanda wrapped her arms around Tony, a small weight lifted from her heart, and a huge void in her soul filled by the affection she felt for the man hugging her tightly. After that day, Wanda would spend five more days in Tony’s home, and she would cry while trying to let out everything she had kept for herself.

The morning of the fifth day was sunny and filled with a warm breeze.

Morgan was checking out the car Tony had given Wanda, while Wanda was trying to reject the gift. Tony shook his head placing the keys in the young woman’s hand, his eyes gleaming warmly while he also extended a mobile.

“You will find my number in there. But…” Here Tony trailed off before speaking again. “You will find Y/N’s number and location.”

Wanda opened her eyes wide, her hand trembling at this revelation. Her lower lip quivered, and she was left speechless for a moment.

“I don’t think…”

“You told me you wanted to talk to her, to mend things, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes, I did but…”

“Or, were you pretending to be interested in patching things up with Y/N?”

“No, no Tony I do but…” Here Wanda trailed off glancing at the phone with trepidation. “She hates me. She…she really despises me.”

“She does.” Tony stated shrugging. “But you don’t.”

Wanda lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“Now, I understand many things, Wanda, and it is time for Y/N to know them as well.”

Wanda shook her head, the fear of a confrontation with you was something that haunted her sleep. There was nothing else she wanted more than to go back to you, but she knew she was late. She was always too late.

Tony closed his hands around hers, the items firmly placed in her hand.

“Talk to her. Perhaps, it won’t be what you want, but being friends could be a start.” Tony then offered a smile, nodding to the car. “Go, get settle, and when you have decided, just call and the ticket to her home would be ready for you.”

Wanda threw herself at Tony, and this gesture caught the older man by surprised. But he returned the hug, and he realized that having a family, having Morgan had changed his vision of the world. And now, he didn’t want Wanda to go around suffering needlessly.

“Don’t wait to long, Little Witch.” He whispered choosing Y/N’s nickname for her. “Go and chase happiness, you will always have a home here.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

Wanda left the place with a lighter heart, and hope in her heart. She glanced at the phone on the passenger’s seat with titillation growing in her abdomen and spreading to her chest.

Perhaps…

Wanda swallowed down and dared not to hope. First things first, she would go to the compound and after that…after that you would look for Y/N. This time around, she was ready to do everything she could to redeem herself and have a chance with Y/N; Wanda drove down the road never noticing the eyes sneaking in the reflection or the purple mist engulfing her mind.

_____________________________________________________________

Present day – Former Avenger’s Tower - New York

The place had never been this packed ever since Loki came crashing down with the Chitauri on his attempt to conquer earth. Tony served some of the drinks, his eyes going over an over to the impatient form of one Carol Danvers, the woman hadn’t stopped looking at her watch and her mobile ever since they got in there with Monica Rambeau.

Natasha grabbed two glasses, winking at Tony who merely snorted while observing the interaction. Carol turned sharply to Natasha, her lips curling lightly into a smile while she received the glass of whiskey she was being offered.

“So, how did you find earth so far?” Natasha was not one to make small talk, and Tony had a feeling he knew why exactly the Black Widow was trying to stall the other woman’s stay in the tower.

You and Wanda were finally left alone to have the long-awaited conversation you deserved to have with one another. Tony then took the other glass walking towards Strange who had dropped on the nearest sofa, with a hand covering his face.

Carol took a sip from the beverage, glancing down to her mobile then back up to a smirking Natasha. The young woman hated the fact Natasha had the knowing glint in her eyes.

“So, are you in a rush?” Carol rolled her eyes at the questions, her lips breaking into an easy smile shaking her head.

“I am.” Carol sighed glancing at Natasha with expectation. “How is she?”

Natasha held Carol’s stare for a moment before shrugging, “she is fine, right now all of us are dealing with the current crisis trying to help America and find a solution.”

Carol clenched her hand around the glass, Natasha heard the cracking sound of the glass though Carol was trying to apply all her self-restrained as to not break the glass. By now, she already knew you were not alone, and that America had gone to you for help with no other than Wanda Maximoff. Carol would be lying if she didn’t admit a part of her was highly jealous of this meeting, she knew as well as everyone else that your love for the red-head witch was something still latent in your heart.

A wave of sudden sadness and uncertainty reached Carol, and the woman jerked away when another hand placed itself on her forearm. Natasha offered the comfort of a single smile, her eyes gleaming with sympathy and understanding.

“Don’t worry, this meeting won’t take long and you will have a chance to go right to her without waiting for me or the Quinjet.” There was a teasing tone in Natasha’s voice, Carol tried to relax but her mind was full of uncertainties, and her heart was aching to see you.

“I know…and I know this is important.” Here she made a face turning her attention to Monica then to Strange. “It seems Maximoff has created a huge trouble, and as always some of us are here cleaning up her mess, right?”

Natasha pursed her lips at this declaration, “It’s not her fault, not completely.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” This time around Strange was the one to talk, he straightened up his back, all eyes of the presents were on him.

The man was looking terrible, with bags under his eyes and the clothes completely messed, it seemed as if he hadn’t sleep for weeks. He probably hadn’t. Tony sat down nodding towards Stephen, glancing at the group before emptying the glass in a single gulp.

“Okay, then, start talking Strange, we’re delaying the space princess over there, and I don’t think she has more patience for this.”

Carol rolled her eyes looking away to try and hide her red cheeks, Natasha chuckled, squeezing her forearm tenderly before joining Tony and Monica. Carol glanced at her forearm before she too joined them with the same trepidation she had been feeling from the very beginning.

“As far as we could find with Wong, Wanda and this woman…Agatha were in possession of the Darkhold.” Strange spoke waving his hands, some of this they already knew but his explanation had to start there. “As I explained to you before, this book is highly dangerous, containing spells that could granted destructive powers to whomever gets a hold of it. One of such spells is called dream walking.”

Tony pursed his lips leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You told us this book was missing, alongside the woman Wanda was supposed to trap in the real Westview, right?”

“She didn’t do a very good job, did she?” This time around it was Carol the one to speak, the woman sat down pinning Strange with her eyes. “So, this dream walking ability, what does it do, exactly?”

Strange didn’t know how to explain the technique, he knew as soon as he started talking about it many of them would jump to the same conclusion he did. Though, his own theory still had many holes that he wasn’t sure how to fill in; he let out a heavy sigh hoping once Wong was back, he would have more answers.

“Basically, it is a technique that allows its user to use their counterpart across the multiverse. They can possess their other variants but…” Stephen scratched the back of his head, his eyes focused on every single one of the presents before they settled on Natasha. “The stronger the sorcerer or the witch, the stronger the spell, they can maintain it for a long time, and they are capable of creating the very same creatures that had been chasing America through the multiverse.”

“You are thinking about someone, aren’t you?” Carol crossed her arms shaking her head. “You think it’s Maximoff?”

Natasha shook her head, her hand waving away at this while she glared at the blond.

“Wait a second, Wanda made many mistakes in the past, but this is on a whole new level…”

“I agree with Romanoff.” Tony stated glaring at Carol. “Wanda may have made many mistakes, but this particular case we are talking about murdering to get to an innocent kid…”

“She created and slaved a whole town, I mean…” Carol said shrugging, she turned to Strange nodding. “Besides, I don’t see Strange fighting much my affirmation.”

Everyone turned to Stephen who was looking at some point on the floor, the man sighed lifting his face nodding.

“That’s my theory, actually.” Stephen lifted a hand to stop any arguments, he locked eyes with Tony trying to appear as the voice of reason. “However, I do agree with you. This Wanda, our Wanda has gone through so much…I don’t think it is her, perse.”

Monica furrowed her brows tilting her head, “what exactly do you mean with our Wanda? You mean…”

“I think it may be another version of her.” Stephen stated firmly.

Everyone jumped startled when a glass fell to the ground, Natasha opened her eyes wide turning to Stephen. She was paled, as if all of a sudden, she saw a ghost.

“Dream walking…is it possible…is it possible that they can show themselves in dreams to other people?” Natasha asked. “It is possible for them to…make physical damage through the dreams?”

Stephen opened his eyes at this, he stood up rather fast striding towards Natasha while placing his hands on the Widow’s shoulders.

“What exactly has happened, Romanoff?”

Natasha felt her world turned around, dizziness overcome her as she remember you telling her about your dreams. The hickey…the scratches… and right there and then, Natasha knew you were in trouble. Carol observed the scene and went from Natasha to Stephen and then back, she clenched her jaw understanding without any more words what was happening. She turned around and went right through the window without hearing the screams from Monica and Natasha for her to stop.

Carol would not wait. You were in danger, and she was not about to let anyone harm you. Much less Wanda Maximoff.

______________________________________________________________

The city of Ulsteinvik was filled with snow and wintery activities that include Winter festival in which the shipyard became the main attraction.

School was over for the day, and many had been invited over to the main festivities that would welcome the weekend. America was bouncing reluctantly around her classmates, her eyes drifting to where you were standing near the car with Vera and other teachers around. She put the jacket around herself, her eyes drifting around until they fell on Wanda; the young woman was strolling down the streets watching everything in awe while trying to locate America and Y/N.

“Hey, America, are you coming?” America turned around to see one of her classmates calling to her, she hesitated nodding pointing in the general direction.

“I will, give me five!”

Wanda smiled at the approaching figure of America; she observed as the teen waved her friends before making her way towards her. America was smiling, her face beaming with emotion at being part of something as mundane as a festival, but also knowing this was the chance she was looking for. The last two days, you and Wanda had been civil around one another, and little by little you had been lowering your defenses to try and get closer to Wanda.

Everything was going according to plan.

“Hey, Wands!” America wrapped her arms tightly around the redhead, Wanda offered a tiny smile fixing America’s hair while pointing to the group of teens waiting at the other end of the street.

“Aren’t you embarrassed to be showing such affection towards me?” The comment was meant to be a joke, Wand didn’t pretend to be nothing else but an acquaintance of America.

The young woman crunched up her nose shaking her head, “Never, Wands you are like…I…you are family.”

Both shifted awkwardly, the conversation dying for a moment until both of you heard your laughter. Vera was rubbing your arm, laughing at something someone else had said; America scowled at her closeness, and she could see that Wanda was not happy with it either. The young woman took that moment to call upon you, making sure everyone turned to see her and Wanda waiting.

“Y/N!! We’re here!” Wanda opened her eyes wide; she saw the glint of mischief in America’s eyes but before she could say something you had already gotten there, your lips breaking into an easy smile.

“Hey, kiddo, ready for the festival?” You passed your arm around her shoulders, America nodded grabbing Wanda’s hand and putting her closer to you.

For a brief moment, America could sense the tension around the three of you. Wanda was almost touching your arms, and you were close enough to see her clear, green eyes gleaming warmly at you. Something inside your heart shifted, and you knew glancing at those eyes was dangerous.

“I am, but I just…” America trailed off looking back at her friends. “I mean, Wanda came over and Kathe and the others are waiting…”

The breeze went pass you brushing your heated skin for a moment, you shot America a quick glance trying to gauge her real intensions but not seeing anything beyond her eagerness to be a part of the festival. Wanda was holding her breath; her whole body was hurting due to the tension she was putting on her posture.

“Go on, I take care of Wanda.” You finally replied, the words of Natasha running around your mind as you realized this could be a chance to have that conversation you have been avoiding the last couple of days.

“Good, you guys are awesome!” She hugged the both of you at the same time before walking back waving. “See you in few!”

A long uncomfortable silence filled the space left by America.

You stood there feeling a pair of eyes on the back of your neck, and you were pretty sure Wanda and Vera had their attention on you. The last couple of days had been strange, to say the least. Wanda, America, and you had been left alone with a great house and a feeling of familiarity you hadn’t felt in a long time. The last conversation you had with Natasha and Yelena had been dancing around your mind ever since they left, and the intensity of those conversations only increased whenever you were alone with Wanda.

And she had been in your mind at all times.

Even when you were dreaming.

The conversation you knew the both of you needed to have had been postponed mainly because you were a coward. And you didn’t want to fall all over again in the same pattern with Wanda, this time around you needed to let everything out and make sure Wanda understood how badly she had messed up.

“You don’t have to, you know?” Wanda broke the silence, her eyes downcast and her posture showing the defeat she had been feeling as of late. “I…I understand and you don’t…I know you don’t want to…”

Wanda shook her head, thinking herself and idiot for thinking perhaps you would want to talk to her, that perhaps this day was what they needed to start building a shaky friendship. But of course, your resentment was strong, and Wanda could not pretend to have the conversation she was dying to have with you to happen anytime soon.

The young witch was turning around ready to stroll around the city before going home when a warm hand wrapped around her wrist. She stopped death on her tracks, turning to face you and finding uncertainty in your eyes.

“Where are you going?” You furrowed your brows, uncertainty filling your mind. You were hoping to break the huge wall that was between you and Wanda, to try and lower your defense and start the process of forgiveness.

To finally hear the advice from Tony, Natasha and even Yelena.

“I…I just thought…” Wanda tried to speak but she had distracted herself with your hand holding her wrist, your eyes glancing at her intently. “I just thought I…walk around the city, you can…I know you must be busy.”

This kind of thing used to be easier.

You remembered all those times in which you would merely whisper a plan, and Wanda was dragging you around to comply with them. Now, everything was uncertain, and your mind kept on playing the treason but also the moments in which Wanda had been hurt, lost…miserable.  You took a deep breath, taking a step closer to her, you let go of her hand and made sure she was listening to you.

“I would like to talk to you, I think this is a long overdue conversation between you and me.” You mumbled shrugging. “But, I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to…”

“I do!” Wanda blushed at the abruptness of her answer, she almost fell on her face while trying to hold her emotions.

You couldn’t help but snicker, Wanda wincing before nodding briefly.

“Yes, I think…we…we need to talk.”

“Good then, now that we’re on the same page I know a place you may like, wanna come?” You offered a single smile, that Wanda returned tentatively.

You were very conscious of the growing tension between Wanda and yourself.

It was something you had been living with in the last couple of months since the witch returned to your life. It was almost impossible not to experience it after the myriad of emotions going through your system whenever you thought of Wanda Maximoff.

Now that the both of you were finally alone by circumstances, more so than by election, and the conversation you and her never have was something quite inevitable right now.  The streets of Ulsteinvik were filled with people all making their way to the harbor and the shipyard, the conversation in a mixture of Norwegian and English made a cacophony of sounds that surrounded Wanda distracted her from her current situation, her mind had been a pool of thoughts and emotions she had been too scare to face but now that she had the possibility, she wasn’t sure how to approach.

Her eyes fell upon your figure, the confidence with which you strolled down the streets made her falter. A tingle filled with anticipation started growing on her stomach, and it spread out to her chest and limbs; Wanda was trying to organize her thoughts, to think on what to say…she thought she was prepared for this confrontation but, as you guide her inside a café and requested for something warm while sitting in front of her she realized, she was not ready.

“You mingled with the people around here quite well.” Wanda commented lightly, lowering her gaze to the table while wiggling her hands. “You have been living here for a long time, right?”

You pursed your lips nodding curtly, if Wanda was nervous about this conversation, you were ready to explode from anxiety this brought to you. Right there was Wanda, as you had always imagined her. Her long hair falling in waves around her shoulders and back, her deep green eyes gleaming with uncertainty and shyness like that very first meeting in which you bowed to love her. How many years had passed since then? How many wounds? How many treasons?

The waitress offered a kind smile while placing the cups on the table.

The warmness of the liquid brushed your mouth, and helped you distract yourself from the inevitable. Wanda played with a napkin, her gestures revealing the same nervousness you had been hiding ever since she got to your place.

“I have been living here for seven years.” You finally revealed leaning back on the chair, your eyes wandering around refusing to look at the woman sitting in front of you. “This place was refreshing for me, a new beginning.”

Wanda chewed on her lower lip, her trembling hands grabbing the porcelain cup warming up her sweaty palms.

“Can I…” She hesitated lifting her face only to see your eyes on her, you nodded curtly raising a single eyebrow at her. Wanda shivered before asking her question. “Can I know what you did before coming here?”

Wanda had never heard of you after you left the Avengers’ compound, you had disappeared and no one, not even Natasha, was able to provide any news about your whereabouts. You tensed lightly remembering those dark times in your life, the traveling through the shadows and accepting random jobs to get some money and make yourself forget the pain of your broken heart.

You rested your hands on the table, knitting your brows together you pursed your lips thinking about an answer. Your whole body ignited when her hand placed itself on yours, and her eyes were showing regret and begging for you to forgive her.

“You don’t…you don’t have to tell me, I just…” Wanda sighed squeezing your hand tenderly. “I was just curious.”

“I was in a dark place, Wanda.” The sound of the customers filling out the café made this conversation a private one, Wanda went rigid at these words.

Your eyes fell on your hands still wrapped comfortingly under hers, your heart was beating fast and a part of you wished you weren’t in love with her anymore. That your heart had healed enough for the woman sitting in front of you to not affect you the way she was doing at the moment.

“I’m sorry.” Wanda whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks, her words carrying with them the weight of your history with her.

You shrugged bitterly, taking your hand away from her while drinking your coffee.

“It doesn’t matter, I was hurt and lost and I just need a way to vent over my frustrations and my pain.”

“Y/N…” Wanda started but now that you had spoken it was impossible for you to stop.

You clenched your eyes closed, before making sure Wanda was hearing everything you had to say. Everything you had always wanted to say to her.

“I was broken, Wanda, I…travel around trying to harm myself, to make my physical pain greater than my emotional one.” You let out a snort looking out of the window. “I didn’t make it, and I grew tired…that was when I let Natasha find me.”

Wanda heard as you told her everything you had done, and a part of her felt grateful for this. It was the very first time she had accessed you, in a way she had lost after that day. You told her about your misgivings, about your findings, how you came to Norway and ended up being a double agent for Tony and Steve. You told her about your falling out with Steve when the man tried to make you find reason and confront Wanda.

“Then, a few months ago I received some tapes…” You shrugged, tired and suddenly lighter, “Westview…my anger and resentment were back and now…I can’t keep living my life hating you, Wanda. I can’t live my life with resentments and without daring to look at you. Not anymore.”

Wanda wrapped her arms around herself, she didn’t know what to say or how to react to your story. The side of the story she had always been curious about, but no one was ready to reveal to her. She heard about your lovers, and her heart broke into a million pieces knowing you had found comfort in other’s arms. She knew she didn’t deserve your forgiveness, the knowledge of you forgetting about her little by little brought pain she had been experiencing all her life.

“It was never my intention to hurt you, Y/N.” She all but whispered, you snorted shrugging once more. Your lips broke into a bitter smile while your eyes shone with unshed tears.

“We can’t help who we fall in love with, right?” You replied in a broken tone, Wanda scrunched up her nose ready to be honest with you for the very first time in a long time.

“I wasn’t in love with Vision.” Wanda noticed the shredded napkin on her hands, her heart was beating painfully hard against her ribcage while she made herself look at you.

Your back and shoulders were hurting for all the tension you were putting in them, this revelation was something you were not expecting. Your eyes finally looked with those of Wanda, and for a brief moment you saw red swirling around her green irises. The dreams that had been plaguing your for a long time coming in several images, Wanda and Scarlet mixing up just as you heard her voice.

Mine. Only mine.

As much as I have always been yours, my love.

“You have a funny way to show you are not in love with him.” You broke the spell shaking your head, frowning while clenching your fists. “You slept with him, and then you spend your time travelling with him, that and let’s not forget Westview and the happy family you had there.”

Anger was far easier than any other emotion, you clenched your jaw watching as Wanda broke in front of you. So much different than Scarlet, and yet…

“I was never in love with him. I was just…a coward. I was afraid.” She mumbled, her head pulsating painfully. Sparks of red appearing on her fingertips, and the blackness she had come to associate with her blackouts flickering in and out of her fingers as she spoke.

“You’re telling me you…you cheated on me with someone you didn’t even love?” You clenched your jaw putting money out of your pocket and leaving it on the table.

Wanda watched as you stood up and left, she hesitated, the pain inside her head almost unbearable a tug on her abdomen making her stand up and follow you.

“I…yes! Yes! I…god, Y/N, I was afraid and I was confused and I just…” Wanda followed you speaking louder, she didn’t realize she was crying until the cold winter wind touch her face. “I didn’t know…It went against everything I had been taught and my parents…my brother…I thought…”

“I was in love with you, Wanda!” You turned around screaming at the top of your lungs. “ I had the ring, and the house…I even had the names of our children…”

“I know…I found them in the compound, I just…” And Wanda felt the pulsating pain in her head mixing up with her thoughts. Scarlet tried to push the other woman away, tried to tell you that the children were yours…that she had seen it all and that she had created the world for you and her, but at some point, her counterpart, this Wanda had messed up.

The people walking down the streets all turned to look at you and Wanda, the both of you were close enough to touch one another yet it was quite evident there was a distance neither one of you knew how to close.  Wanda winced hugging herself tightly, she opened her mouth and closed, the push inside her chest breaking her resolution and her eyes gleamed red for a brief moment until you finally saw it.

One red.

One green.

Her voice, their voices…sounding like one.

“I have lost everything, Y/N. I lost my parents, and I lost myself in hatred and revenge, I gave myself to be an experiment, and then I lost Pietro.” Wanda spoke with a broken voice, she shook her head trying to tell you how she felt. “I could never tell you…you were such…god, you were such a powerful force that made me feel I could do anything, I could be anyone…but then…they started talking about the reconstruction of Sokovia, and Tony brought my parents to be buried alongside Pietro.”

You were trembling in rage and helplessness, Wanda talking about her upbringing. She talked about her mother’s teachings, the church’s teachings and what was expected of her. Wanda spoke about the fears she was not brave enough to tell you for fear of your rejection. She spoke of her papa, and how he had taught her a lesson at some point when she showed her attraction for another woman. The confusion she felt when Vision approached her with a speech about logic, biology and philosophy, about the wrongness of what she was feeling, but also about the nature behind experimenting.

“I couldn’t I just…I didn’t…” Wanda almost felt on her knees, but you were faster than her. She rested against your body, crying with tension building around her body refusing to return your embrace. And in all of this you saw them, Wanda and Scarlet, and your fears and suspicions were clarified at that moment.

They were one and the same, yet two different entities.

“I’m sorry, I never…you…I don’t know why Westview…but they are yours…just yours…” Wanda was crying now trying to get away from you. “I just messed up…I…I’m so broken I just…”

Your heart broke at the sight.

It didn’t justify her, and in all honestly the conversation had not been clear enough. But a part of you, the one that had been running in fear for what you were and who you are, understood.

“I’m sorry.” Wanda repeated over and over, and you put her tighter against yourself.

“It’s…It’s okay.” You mumbled placing a comforting kiss on her head. “It’s okay, Wanda.”

“I can’t…I couldn’t…” Wanda cried softly, and Scarlet pushed through what Wanda had to say all along. “I love you…I…never…I never stop and you…”

Scarlet stirred inside Wanda; she was so close.

It was the right time to make her move. Scarlet was finally at her breaking point, your warmness and your words, the feeling of your skin and your kisses. It was time to get rid of Wanda and for her to come forth. America was around the city and Natasha and Yelena were no longer there.

This time around, the spell would be successful, and Billy and Tommy would be back. And no one would dare to intervene.

“N-No…N-no, please, not…not again…” Wanda screamed in pain, and just as Scarlet was ready to come forth, the humming sound of a flying object approaching broke into the sky.

You tensed.

That humming was familiar, and the hairs at the back of your neck stood up at the energy surrounding such an individual.

You were so distracted you never noticed when the green eyes were lost replaced by the crimson of Scarlet. When you lowered your gaze, the woman was smiling at you, this time around she was not afraid to wrap her arms around you.

“You are mine, detka. Finally.”

“Get your hands away from her, Maximoff!” The golden blast almost made you falter, but your shadows and Scarlet’s reflex were enough to prevent the blast for harming any of you.

Carol Danvers landed with a heavy step, the blasting of energy coming out to put Wanda away from you. The shadows engulfed you separating you from Wanda, while at the same time protecting the redhead form any harms.

“You!” Scarlet growled out, her hands wriggling around with a red mist, while her fingertips started taking in a black colouring. “I won’t let you take her away from me!”

Carol advanced ready to fight the other woman, you opened your eyes wide.

Scarlet wasn’t the only one there.

The red mixed up with purple, and the sky started igniting with runes you had never seen before. The world started trembling, and the smirk Scarlet was wearing told you she was the one working on her magic.

“Carol, wait!” You approached both women, Carol hesitated turning to you with a concern frown when she noticed the blood on your forehead.

“Y/N…” She whispered turning to you, “Strange told us he thinks it is her…”

“I know.” You replied running to the blond woman, Scarlet clenched her jaw refusing to see as Carol’s hand went to your forehead cleaning up the blood in there.

“You knew?” Carol scowled turning her golden eyes to Wanda.

“You won’t have her, Y/N is mine and no one will get in the way.”

At that moment several things happened.

Carol decided to attack Scarlet without hearing your screams of warning, your powers igniting to try and prevent an ever-bigger incident when Scarlet exploded in a bubbled of red mist while the sky above your heads went purple and the runes shone with energy.

Everything around you went black and then, all of a sudden you knew no more.

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You heard the beeping of the machines breaking into your unconscious state.

Your body shivered, and this only made you aware of the deep pain you were experimenting. You opened your mouth, for a minute it took all your energy to get out the simplest of moans charged with pure pain. You tried to remember what had happened, what you did and what exactly did Scarlet and Carol did to put you in such a state.

Your eyelids were heavy, but you tried to open your eyes to see exactly where you were at.

Another moan, this one firmer. Your eyes fluttered open, and you had to blink a couple of times due to the intensity of the light.

“MOMMA!”

“MOM!”

Whatever pain you were experimenting, whatever reluctance you had in regards to opening your eyes completely were soon forgotten when you heard those voices. Two boys voices.

You sat up sharply, this time around a scream of pain left your lips, but your eyes were seeing blurry trying to focus on the two figures standing by your bed. Their little hands grabbing yours, and as you blinked away you started focusing them.

“Momma, momma you’re alive!” One of them said hugging you tightly.

You blinked trying to get away, looking around desperately until you saw her.

Wanda Maximoff standing by the door, heavy bags under her puffy eyes. The tears still fresh and she came right at you closing the space in between you and her, her lips soft and tender against yours. For a brief moment you forgot about everything, your head tilting to deepen the kiss, to get reacquainted with Wanda’s taste. The softness of her lips, the warmness of her body…god you missed kissing her.

“God, detka I though…” She whispered smiling soppily when the twins made gagging sounds at the display of affection.

Wanda smiled at you leaning in to get another kiss, but you backed away almost falling from the bed finally registering what was happening. What you had done moments ago and what the woman in front of you was trying to do.

“What the fuck did you do, Scarlet?!! Where am I?! Where is Carol?”

Wanda stood right away, her hands spreading out protectively in front of the twins. She furrowed her brows tilting her head at you.

“Y/N?” She asked tentatively, you were about to speak but a wave of nausea came right at you.

“What’s…what’s going on?” You asked just before falling unconscious on the bed.

Wanda stood there for a moment, Billy pulling at her hand while glancing at your unconscious form.

“Mom, is momma okay?”

“Yes, dear, she is just…” Wanda trailed off turning to the boys. “Momma hurt herself really bad. Go find uncle Steve and Uncle Pietro.”

Tommy and Billy hesitated but then they nodded and left.

Wanda turned to you stepping closer, her hand placing itself on your forehead, while her eyes gleamed red. She hated to do this, it was an unspoken rule for her to never enter the heads of her friends and family. But your reaction, your questions…and what had happened with Strange’s death and the disappearance of America was enough for her to do this.

“I’m sorry my love, I promise you I won’t look beyond what I need to see.” She leaned in placing a kiss on your forehead, reading inside your mind until a whimper left her mouth. She opened her eyes big, stepping back just on time for Steve and Pietro to show at the door.

“Wanda?” Steve asked tentatively, Wanda turned to him nodding.

“I found America, and she…she is not my wife.” Wanda then wrapped her arms around her boys looking back at you then at Steve. “We are in serious trouble.”

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Please, tell me if I forgot anyone.

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[bootleg-parable]

Let Me Remind You ; A Parable Progression

Exhaustion was a heavy stone on Teller’s chest today.

He was meant to be off work hours ago, but as time passed, nothing on his schedule had been completed, and looking back at it all, it wasn’t that much. He tapped on his keyboard absent-mindedly- light enough to avoid any keystrokes, but hard enough to fill the silence with the repetitive sound of clicking. Focus was not on his side today. This is why he always got off of work so much later than everybody else.

The office felt uncannily dead. All of the lights were off, and Teller didn’t have the strength or the idea to turn them back on despite still being sat there. His computer was the only emission of light that he had in an otherwise ill-lit setting. He had to wonder where everybody was. It wasn’t that late in the day, right? He couldn’t have been the only person in the office. Surely somebody would have come around by now, they usually did when he lost track of time like this. Was he actually alone in this great, big building?

He shouldn’t have been the only person in the office.

No. It was time to go. He couldn’t rely on others to keep his head on straight.

He shut his computer down and rocked up from his chair to his feet. It was so much darker than he expected when the screen was off. It must have been sunset; at least he prayed it’d be no later than that. His workroom didn’t have any windows. He’d have to check once he got to the main hallway. With that in mind, he exited his office, pushing open the door on quietly-protesting hinges and going through the first corridor. Every other office had their entrances slightly ajar, with only a doorstop in the path of keeping them from shutting. Wow. He really was by himself. He found it kind of amusing that nobody bothered to check on him, or even thought of him existing in the same time and space as they were. They just left.

Perhaps it was a holiday. He couldn’t recall what day it was.

But wait. Where was he, again? Still the fifth floor, corridor three. He could have sworn that he’d long ago left this part of the building. His mind was failing him. It’s the age, it’s got to be. He looked at the numerical marking on the wall ahead. This was the same door. Was he going in circles? Was his fatigue sending him astray in the building? He didn’t know where he was going. Suddenly things weren’t making sense anymore. This is what he got for neglecting sleep in favour of. . .

Of. . .

What was keeping him up, again?

If he had longer hair to pull on, he would. His tie would suffice to fill that void.

Frustrated, he walked backwards instead of ahead. Maybe switching things up would make him more aware, as dumb as that sounded to him. He wasn’t awake enough for this…But even while moving in reverse, the room behind him was the exact same as the one in front. He stopped himself in the doorway just to be sure that he was seeing everything correctly.

Maybe if he just rubbed his eyes. . .

Nothing.

Nothing changed…Peculiar.

“What?”

That’s what he tried to say. But his voice is not what came when he opened his mouth. It was a silent, yet noticeable, strange humming, similar to the beginning buildup of static from a television. His hand fluttered to his throat. If static had a feeling, this would be it.

“What’s going on?”

The more that he said in one go, the louder that the sound became. He could barely make out his own words as they were drowned out and overpowered by this supernatural happening. It was getting harder to see. All of the colours of the world were reduced to their blandest states, until being dialled down to nothing but their colourless forms. The room behind him was practically invisible in the gloom, and the unknown was only spreading as it beckoned to him. A leeching poison that looked to be consuming everything in its path.

Teller would be next.

He didn’t know what lay beyond what was visible. There was only one course of action that sprung to his mind, even if danger wasn’t imminently or obviously present.

Run.

He turned from the encroaching void and high-tailed it through door after door. No matter how far or how fast he ran, nothing in these rooms changed- nothing big enough to notice, anyhow. No windows. No other doors but the ones straight ahead. No light. No turning back.

And nobody.

The nightmarish atmosphere was now made up of several shades of black and pops of yellow, and the only splash of white to be found were his glasses and the ominous shine that they always seemed to have. Running past all of these same-coloured details was starting to make him dizzy. He held his hands to his ears as he tried calling out, hoping for someone to shout back in the chaos. But that static completely tuned out his words. Even he didn’t know what he was trying to say amongst it.  It was a stretch to assume that any of this was real. A nightmare…yes. He’s fallen asleep at his desk again, oh, thank God. But that acknowledgement did nothing to aid in his ongoing terror.

In fact, if he weren’t so afraid of the unidentified pursuing him, he’d have stopped running and stood around to work all of this out. At least to wait until he woke up. But that wasn’t a viable option proposed to him. As a matter of fact: neither was fleeing. Something seized his foot just before it left the ground to send him off again, and the world flipped itself upside-down when he fell. He plunged right into the floor, like a person might vanish into a body of water, and he did not stop falling. All of the furniture in that unchanging hallway was coming down around him, sinking much faster than he was and leaving him behind to whatever abyss that awaited him. It was a freefall so slow that the feeling of a faster descent was making him ill. Alongside the static in his throat to fill the silence, he heard the ticking of a clock, loud and unforgiving, and the beating of his own heart, should it have been beating at all. And that thing- that thing that’d grabbed him not too long ago- was starting to creep up and make itself known. There were multiple of them, all of yellow hues and configured like long, never-ending arrows. The one that was once only wrapped around his ankle now had both of his legs bound together. They felt like a very cold length of ribbon. Satin, maybe? And they were starting to surround him, like they were preparing to pull him in and drag him under. All of them were reaching out from a main form, which only looked like a featureless mass in its first structure before it crept a little closer.

For a while, Teller wasn’t sure what he was looking at. There was hardly anything human about it, as it was without appendages and a recognisable face. But the familiarity was there, and when the primary puzzlement was done and over with, the only thing to replace it was fear.

He remembered being in the library, turning around to see this beastly, towering figure. He remembered how it’d attacked him. How it’d stared down at him as he faded away right at its non-existent feet. Condescending. The pain in his head was returning, and it was overwhelming. The crackle of static was back and he wasn’t even speaking. He wasn’t sure where the sound was coming from, anymore. Not from it, not from him.

Where…?

The blank, yellow triangle in the being’s “face” began to spell something out, making the sound of a typewriter as the letters appeared one by one. And with its unvoiced speech, Teller knew that this thing remembered him just as much as he remembered it.

The nightmare didn’t feel so much like a nightmare anymore.

“𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐,

𝙼𝚛. 𝙿𝚊𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚒. (:”

It knew his name. It knew where he was. It knew what state of being he was in.

And it was real.

The arrows twisted and tugged around him until he was entirely encased, and the snake-like constriction that they enforced was unbearable. Teller did the one thing that he should have done when this monster first showed itself to him.

He screamed.

User was currently asleep at the desk that he usually spent time reading at. It’d been a day or two since Teller wiped out in the library; the reason for why or explanation of how remained a mystery. The elder man was still down for the count. As botched a job as it might have been, User did what he could for the injury. The bleeding stopped and Teller wasn’t dead as far as the eye could see with his fitful rest, and that’s what mattered in the end of it all. He would have put himself somewhere better-suited for napping, but he moved his friend to the sofa the previous day, and unless User fancied a siesta on the floor, the spinny-chair was his next best bet. His back would be sparing him no mercy later.

It might have been a decent two or three hours worth of a nap when User was awoken by an unanticipated sound from behind him. It sounded more like a retch than anything, but no matter the case, it startled User, and he overshot the turn of his chair so much that he spun out of control and had to get up just to stop it. He watched as Teller put his hands over his face and shook his head with a dampened groan. He was finally waking up.

“Ohhhh. . .Stars.”

User hurried over and stopped right where he was when Teller flinched at his footsteps. He allowed the eldest a second to realise it was him, and gradually the tenseness in how he held himself relaxed.

“Oh, you. You’re. . .here?”

Shit.

Why was he talking like that?

He fixed the pillow under Teller’s head as he went on.

“Sorry. Can’t think straight. . .Tired.” Teller paused. He put a hand to the bridge of his nose. “Ow.”

Sign language probably wasn’t going to work here. User had to use his voice, even if he didn’t want to. “What happened?”

Teller was exceptionally hollow. He had to have been concussed. “I was in the library. Something happened…” His sentence died on his tongue.

Teller put his hands to his ears, reduced to faint, troubled mumbling and moaning. He did this for a while. The other didn’t interrupt him.

“I don’t know.” He said finally.

User frowned. He was at a loss. He wished that he were only getting worked up for nothing, but he checked the library after treating his friend. There was no ladder. Teller didn’t fall, and the shelf didn’t land on him despite there being blood on it. There was no excuse for how he wound up like this. Unless his dumb ass sneezed and slammed his face into it with the accompanying motion. But he wasn’t that stupid, and nobody sneezes that hard. In any normal case, User would have moved on from this and just called it an accident. But there was an indescribable force in this world hunting him and Teller down. Something like this couldn’t just be brushed off.

“S’my nose broken?” Teller placed a hand on his face again.

User wasn’t actually sure. He was no doctor, and he didn’t know if a broken nose was an obvious “one glance” catch or not. But he knew it was bleeding when Teller was found.

“Um,” He fiddled with his hair. “No.”

“Hurts.”

“I…I could imagine.”

Teller rested his head backward onto User’s shoulder, and the other had to compose himself and play it cool. Close contact was still something that User wasn’t very comfortable with initiating. The make-believe ballroom dance was one thing. This was another.

“I’m sorry.” Sorry? He didn’t need to apologise. Did User make a face again? He seemed to have a bad habit of doing that, according to Teller. “I know that must have been dreadfully frightening for you, dear boy. I’ll be more careful m’next time.”

Hopefully there won't be a next time. If the duo were lucky, User’s plan would fall perfectly into place, but given this sudden turn of events, User wasn’t too sure that this enemy was going to follow the same track as the other loops. It never arrived this soon. It never dealt such critical blows until the final phase. Maybe it was getting restless. . .Why did it want Teller dead so badly? Why did it have to be Teller?

I wish it would just kill me instead.

But that would leave Teller alone in consequence. He was starting to second-guess this whole scheme of his. No. No, Teller could handle himself. He’d move on from it, right? He hasn’t known User that long. But then again. . .

User has watched Teller die on several accounts now- a complete stranger to him until this reality reeled him in- and he couldn’t get over any of them.

There wasn’t a sound to interrupt User’s internal line of reasoning this time. He had to pull himself out of it, and he only managed such a difficult task because he noticed how quiet Teller had gotten. He reached a hand around and fidgeted with those eerie glasses, but never took them off. Teller mumbled in response. Alive, but very out of tune. He’d heal with time.

Presently, User was stuck being used as a pillow, even though there was a cushion already there for Teller to rest on. This was fine. At least he could keep a closer eye on his friend. Fingers crossed that his arm didn’t go numb in the next five minutes.

He was going to be here for a while.

In the meantime, Teller’s unconscious mind would never be rid of this repetitive reminder of an unearthly presence. In every minor word that he spoke, the static would surge in his throat to a point that he could swear he was suffocating in it. Each nightmare sequence would be worse than the last, and in some circumstances he’d be desperate enough to try and reason with this 8-Ball-bearing monstrosity. But it was beyond conversation, and it found more progress out of scaring him than speaking to him.

User would glance down every so often to the sound of Teller’s senseless and tormented mumbling, and all that he could do to help was to wake his office-partner until he inevitably fell under another sleeping spell. It was a pattern that was better left followed. User could not read Teller’s mind- oftentimes he wished he could, even before this- but whatever was going on up there wasn’t good. Teller definitely saw something before he went down in the library. He wouldn’t lie to User, right? If he didn’t know what happened, then he truly couldn’t have remembered. A blow to the head that looked like that came with its handful of problems; memory loss was one of them. Maybe he was reliving it. Maybe when he was fully awake and aware, he would be able to explain what he was seeing.

This could be it, User thought. It finally caught up to us.

He needed to finalise his plan a little bit faster.

#the stanley parable #tspud #narratorverse #bootleguser #tsp narrator #tsp stanley #bootlegstoryteller #bootlegentity(: #writing

[rubykgrant]

(Here is Locus getting all sappy in the Grimmons Babies story; emotional honesty and awkward situations are just one of his many penances for war crimes)

“Oh,” he knew they were going to have babies. He even knew how many they were going to have. So, it wasn’t a surprise to see the infants, exactly, but… Locus couldn’t help but fall quiet, filled with a sense of… wonder. That was it, WONDER.

He’s been close to small children and babies before, but none this young. Just barely two days old, after all. He’s known a few people who had been parents, but he’s not sure he’s ever seen them go through the whole process. Locus knew Mason before he became a father, and has reconnected with him now, many years later. However, he never saw enough of Mason BEING a father, and was absent for a long time as the child grew up.

This situation is very different; he was there when Grif and Simmons finally shared their relationship with everybody, he attended their wedding, was included when they explained they were going to have children, and now… the babies are right before his eyes. Because he’s finally stopped fighting against the tide that seems to want to pull him into being part of this group, Locus knows he’s going to see these babies as they get bigger. He will know them, he will be part of their lives.

Locus eases himself down to sit beside Grif on the bed. Grif and Simmons both have expressions on their faces that signal they understand this moment, because they’ve had it themselves, and seen others go through it recently. Locus lets a small laugh escape him, and it feels suddenly shaky and fragile in his chest. He looks at both of them, then back to the babies. The two continue eating their cream of wheat as Locus tried to gather his thoughts.

This was certainly a very happy moment, a very HOPEFUL moment… but as always, a voice in the back of his mind was attempting to spoil it, telling him- “You don’t deserve this, you shouldn’t even be here, after everything you’ve done and all the pain you’ve caused, you should be dead, sweet and peaceful moments like this aren’t meant for monsters like you” (and underneath the guilty voice of self-loathing, there was another voice that often tried to be heard, a voice that was a twisted combination of false-comfort and deceitful manipulation, with nothing but cruel intentions… but Locus had learned long ago how to identify that voice, and finally how to ignore it).

One of the babies made a sound, sort of a small yawn that turned into a hum; it made all three men chuckle (it sounded just like a noise Grif often made when he was getting comfortable on the couch), and that gently brought Locus out of the depths of his depressing thoughts. He was here, and for whatever strange reason, these people WANTED him here. They wanted his company, his friendship, and they wanted him to meet their children. Perhaps he didn’t “deserve” this… but it was the life he now had.

***

“A long time ago, Kaikaina told me that I belonged with this group. With all of you,” Locus spoke slowly, carefully. Almost timidly. “At the time, I didn’t take her seriously. I couldn’t. I still felt hollow, like the empty suit of armor I turned myself into. After all the death I caused, I didn’t think a monster like me deserved to even be alive… but if I was going to live, then I was going to change. I was going to save people, instead of killing them. It was what I wanted to do, and it just- it just seemed fair. Like the only option,”

Locus took a deep breath and held it. Simmons and Grif waited patiently, and Darien squeezed Locus’s finger absently, simply because Darien was a baby, and babies squeeze things. Still, it felt encouraging, and Locus finally let out a sigh and continued.

“I had better motivations, but I was… I still treated myself like a tool or a weapon, something that only mattered when it was useful. Even after walking away from Chorus, I was still stuck thinking that I needed to be USED. And I knew I should be locked up for the horrible things I did, but that could wait until later, when I wasn’t useful anymore. When Kai said that I was going to be friends with all of you, whether I liked it or not, I just refused to accept that. I couldn’t see the connection,” 

“And Grif… you were my first friend, the first REAL friend I had after a long time. At first, I knew you only latched onto me because you’d been alone, and I was there to help rescue the others… but then, when it was over, you kept talking to me. Just because. And so did everybody else. Before I knew what was happening, I started having a life again. One that wasn’t empty. Now I’m in a place I never thought I’d be. So, Kai was right after all…”

***

“Oh, wait, do you need anything from your bags?” Simmons asked, as Locus began to stretch out across the couch, taking off his jacket and draping it over the back.

“Actually, just one has my things in it. The other two are gifts for both of you,” Locus answered. “You can probably tell which ones…”

Grif looked into one bag; a set of folded clothes and a plastic baggy that contained toothpaste and a toothbrush.

“OK, found your stuff,” Grif picked it up, then put it beside the couch for Locus. He went back to the other bags to see what they had inside. “Hell yeah, this one has cookies! That’s for me then, thank you”

“It’s for BOTH of you,” Locus corrected, and Simmons took the bag from his husband to inspect it further.

“There’s more than just cookies in here…” Simmons saw a small cake and several other baked goods.

“I picked them up from this shop I know. Everything they make is amazing, and I thought it would be a good occasion for some treats,” he explained.

“Thank you, Locus,” Simmons put the bag of treats on the coffee table by their couch.

“Yeah, and I promise, I’ll share with Simmons. Not the others though, this is just for US,” Grif added.

Simmons peered into the third bag, and at first, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at…

“Is this… what is it? Wait, is it a house plant?” he reached inside, finding the edge of the circular planter pot; it felt like it was made out of terracotta. It wasn’t huge, but still slightly heavy. Once he had a good grip, he let the bag fall to the floor, revealing what was inside.

“Actually, it’s an apple tree,” Locus told him. “I mean, it will be, eventually. I know you’ve been working on the property outside, and I thought… well, I thought it would be nice to plant a fruit tree. It’ll grow with the kids, and someday they’ll be able to eat the apples it makes, and they can climb in it once it gets big enough. If you have room for it, I mean…”

“This is perfect! Were just talking the other day about getting some fruit trees!” Simmons said, excitedly showing the gift to his husband; currently, the young tree basically looked like a stick in a pot full of dirt… but on some of the slender twiggy branches, they could see little bumps where tiny leaves had grown and then fallen off. If they took care of it this winter, they could plant it in the ground next spring and watch as it grew new leaves (and perhaps some flower buds).

“Locus, you’re actually very tenderhearted, aren’t you? An apple tree our kids will grow up with… that’s one of the most whimsical and sweet things I’ve ever heard, and I kinda love it,” Grif said.

Locus made a disgruntled noise, denying the accusation of being so sentimental while also sounding very embarrassed (which just proved what Grif said true), and rolled over on the couch to bury his face in a pillow. The conversation was over.

#red vs blue #rvb fic #grimmons #locus #samuel ortez

[magicmalcolm]

He’s not quite reached the point in the story where he’d question this.

#i am a comedic genius #it's like when you name the rival in pokemon gold and silver ??? #i am the worst #you can tell there's no filter telling me when bad ideas are bad #captain adelbert ...uh... #captain adelbert steiner #general beatrix #queen brahne #adelbert steiner #final fantasy ix #ffix #the switch port #everybody's just going to sound absent minded later #glorious

[novaiya]

Of Cigars and Delicate Flowers - Dutch x Reader

Summary: Based on this request for @fandomhoesworld ; heyyyyy, I love your works, they're amazing 🥰 could you do a Dutch X badass reader where he gets captured and she comes to save him? It's okay if you don't want to, thanks 🤍

Words: 2,888

Tags: GN!Reader, Canon Typical Violence

A/N: This was a good practice for me for writing literally anyone else but Arthur. I need to keep expanding my horizons 😩 AO3 Link.

There was a reason Dutch almost never went out alone, staying mostly in camp and commanding the gang from the porch of his tent; His likeness - the slick-back, black hair, the carefully cut mustache, the black hat - was plastered all over the country, posters hanging in post offices, general stores, train stations and sheriff’s offices. It would be no time before someone recognized him if he decided to take a stroll into town or visit the local saloon, so more often than not, he stayed in camp, and everything that he needed was brought to him, like his cigars.

When it came to cigars, Dutch had a very specific taste; the size had to be just right, not too slender so it burned too hot too fast, and not too thick either so it was heavy and harsh. The notes played an important role too; he preferred the spicy flavor of coffee mixed with toasted nuts, though he didn’t mind the notes of cedar and vanilla from time to time. Due to the specifics, finding the right pack of cigars could be a hassle and a headache, so whenever he did find the right one, he made sure to stack up on them.

This time, unfortunately, Dutch had found himself in a new place with no reliable cigar shop and his own supply dwindling down. He’d been puffing on the same cigar for a few days now, hoping to prolong it for as long as possible, though he could already see the end of it. He was hoping to send one of the boys into town to check for him, but everybody was busy; Arthur was on one of his monthly hunting trips, Hosea and John were working on a job, and the rest of the men were out, scouting for any leads. That left just one option; going himself. He knew it could be dangerous and risky, but his need for nicotine was stronger than his rational thought.

“What are you thinking about, Dutch?” you asked when you walked past his tent, noticing his absent minded gaze.

“Hello there,” he said, his gaze shifting towards you, a smile on his lips. “Just thinking about going out.”

Your brows shot up upon hearing his words. The gang had just fled from the previous town on the account of robbing it blind, so all of you were trying to lay low, hoping to make as little noise as possible for the time being. Having Dutch go out was the last thing you needed.

“Out?” you repeated his word, trying to hide the worry in your voice. “What for?”

Dutch brought the cigar to his lips, the usually long stick now reduced to less than a third of its previous length. You watched him as he brought the cigar to his mouth, his lips enveloping and puffing on it before exhaling the smoke. “Unfortunately, I’m down to my last cigar. Need to pick up some more in town,” he said, making you shift your eyes back to his, “Wouldn’t hurt to stretch my legs either. I’m feeling like a prisoner stuck here.”

“Are you sure, Dutch?” you said, not hiding the worry in your voice any longer. “Perhaps I could go for you. It’s not safe for you to go right now since we just-“

“Nonsense!” Dutch interrupted you. “I wouldn’t dream of putting a delicate flower such as yourself in harm's way for me.”

‘Delicate flower?!’ you thought. ‘Since when do delicate flowers rob, kill and steal?’

You opened your mouth, hoping to change Dutch’s mind but you barely parted your lips before he raised his hand, saying, “I won’t hear it” squashing any argument you could have had.

You deflated before nodding your head, leaving Dutch to himself and continuing on to where you were going originally. Worry filled you as you continued on with your day. You’d hate for anything to happen to him; not only was he your leader who you believed in and looked up to, he was also someone you liked. It was hard not to fall for him; well-read, mannered, strong and sinfully attractive, you’ve fallen for him and his promises of a better life right away. You didn’t act on your feelings though, considering he was the leader and you were just one of the members, and a new one at that. So you retorted to watching from afar, and now you were watching him as he left the camp, ready to make the trek for some puny cigars.

Dutch could be unbelievably stubborn and uncooperative sometimes; It was dangerous for him to go out, especially on his own and especially when you could still be followed from the town you just escaped. And for what? Cigars? You shook your head as you continued with what you were doing, trying to keep yourself calm. It was Dutch you were talking about after all, your fearless leader, he knew what he was doing, right?

Dutch didn’t know what he was doing. He decided to go out after supper, when the sun had already set, but the ground was still warm from the day’s heat. He made his way into town at a trotting, leisurely pace, having no reason to hurry. The weather was cooler now and he took big gulps of it, a welcomed change to inhaling the campfire smoke and the scent of Pearson’s stew. He arrived into the town with no hiccups and found the store almost right away. The selection was vast, with cigars from Cuba, Dominican Republic and Mexico among others. Dutch looked like a kid in a candy shop as he studied every cigar, wanting to take them all but in the end, settled on a pack from Jamaica, its promise of a mild and sweet taste piquing his interest.

With his purchase in his saddle bag, Dutch made his way back to the camp in the same way he did into town, slow and steady, taking in the scenery and the weather. It’s not everyday that he ventured out, so he made sure that he enjoyed it. It was not long after he passed the border of the town that he heard a faint sound of hoofbeats behind him, getting closer and closer and multiplying in numbers.

“Nice night, ain’t it?” said a man who came up to Dutch, riding next to him on his right side. Not a second later, another man came up, riding on Dutch’s left.

Dutch kept one of his hands on the reins, his other (which was previously hanging on his side), icing closer to his holster.

“Yes, it sure is,” he said.

“Say what, mister,” the man on his right began, “Are you Dutch Van Der Linde?”

Without missing a beat, Dutch laughed, saying, “You must be mistaken, sir. My name is Robert Carnegie.”

Neither of the men riding next to him laughed. They looked at each other, before looking behind them, presumingly to communicate with the other. Dutch’s hand was now on his revolver, the cool metal sticking to his sweaty skin. He gripped the handle, and as soon as he did, a hit landed on the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

Your worries kept you through the night, not letting you go to bed and making you sit by the campfire instead, waiting for Dutch’s return. Each time you heard a snap of twigs or what sounded like horse’s hoofbeats, your head would snap towards the entrance of the camp, hoping that it was Dutch coming in, but alas, it wasn’t.

It was long after everyone fell asleep when you finally saw Count trot into the camp, his platinum coat standing out against the dark trees.

You smiled, jumping up from the log you’ve been sitting at, ready to welcome Dutch back, but that smile quickly fell when you noticed that Dutch wasn’t with him.

“Where’s Dutch?” you said when you came up to stand next to Count, talking to the horse as if he could understand you, and perhaps, he did. He snickered, shaking his head and kicking around with his legs.

You placed your hand on him, running it up and down his neck to calm him down. Something went wrong, terribly wrong. Despite not wanting to think of the worst, you understood that there was no other explanation of what could’ve happened; Dutch got captured.

Time was of the essence, so without talking to anyone else or even taking time to make a plan, you mounted your own horse and made your way to Count. Dutch might’ve called you a “delicate flower”, but you were anything but that. You survived on your own for years before falling with the gang, and you were going to show him just what this “delicate flower” was capable of on their own.

“C’mon, show me where Dutch is.”

Upon hearing his owner’s name, Count sprung to action and bolted out of the camp, giving you almost no time to follow after him.

It didn’t take you long to arrive at where Dutch was held. The burning campfire and the sound of chatter could be seen and heard yards away. You hitched the horses to one of the trees before continuing the rest of the way on foot.

“Robert Carnegie, he said his name was,” you heard a man say. “What kind of idiots does he think we are?” A flood of laughter followed, drowning out any other sound in the bushy forest. You took out your binoculars, trying to see where Dutch were. There he was, tied to one of the trees not far from the campfire. His hair was a mess, and you could see traces of blood on his lip and nose. You could feel your blood boil at the sight, and quickly put away your binoculars before continuing your way forward.

“I’d say we turn him in first thing in the morning,” another man said. “No reason to drag this out.”

“Sounds good to me. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

The men continued on with their conversations when you finally approached them as close as you could without alerting them of your presence. You could feel your heart beat wildly against your ribcage as you gathered your thoughts, thinking of what to do next. It would’ve been nice to have someone else with you right now, you thought, to act as a distraction. Perhaps you should’ve thought this one over more before springing into action. Too late now.

You peeked your head from where you were hidden behind a tree, trying to get a look at Dutch. He was conscious, thought quite, tied to a tree, his head hanging low. It was weird seeing Dutch like this, helpless and vulnerable.

You picked up a small pebble before throwing it into his general direction. Nothing. He didn’t even raise his head. You picked up another one, debating whether to throw it right at his face, before deciding to throw it next to his shoes. That got his attention. Tentatively, as to not alert the men around him, he raised his head, his eyes searching the woods before finally landing on your face. Your eyes met, and you could see a hint of smile appear on his lips as soon as they did. A smile of your own made it to your lips for a moment, before turning serious again, your mind going back to the job at hand. There would be time for smiles and hugs and laughter later. Using your hands, you motioned around, pointing first to him and then to the bounty hunters, before pointing to yourself and to your gun. Dutch made a small, almost unnoticeable motion with his head, indicating that he understood your plan.

“Gentlemen,” Dutch said, stopping the men in their conversation and making all of them turn to him. “Are you sure you want to do this? If I was you, I’d walk away now.”

One of the men snickered, looking at his friends before turning his attention back to Dutch.

“That’s big talk, considering you’re the one tied to a tree.”

“I’m giving you a chance, my friend,” Dutch said, sincerity painting his words.

The man’s face grew dark and somber as did the atmosphere around. He didn’t appreciate Dutch’s words, so with a hand itching closer to his revolver, he said, “Listen here, friend. The poster said to bring you dead or alive, so don’t think for a minute-“

Dutch’s face was painted red as you shot the man in-front of him, blowing his brains out and making his blood spurt everywhere, Dutch included.

The other men sprung to action immediately, their hands going for their firearms and shooting blindly into the dark woods. For a while, all that was heard was the sound of gunshots and occasional cries and screams. You alternated between hiding behind the trees and rocks, occasionally peeking out to shoot one of the men. At last, the fire seized and the forest was once again quiet, the only sound heard being the crackling of the fire.

You peeked your head out, making sure that you’ve got all of the men before finally leaving your hiding spot and making your way to Dutch in long, powerful strides. With shaking hands, you cut down the rope that was tying him to the tree. As soon as he was freed, he massaged his wrists and the imprints that the ropes left on them. He was about to open his mouth to talk, but you began first, your voice loud enough to startle him.

“What were you thinking?!” you screamed, getting up in his face. “Getting captured because of some god forsaken cigars?!”

Dutch tried to speak again, almost got the first word of his sentence in but you continued, not letting him speak.

“What if I didn’t get here? What if I couldn’t find you? For God’s sake Dutch Van Der Linde, why did you have to put yourself in such danger, all for some cigars?!”

To say that he was shocked was to say nothing. He did not expect such a reaction from you, for as long as he’d known you you’ve been cool, calm and collected, always using logic instead of feelings, never speaking in bursts of fury. The fact that you were so riled up, because of him, shocked him and left him practically speechless.

“I…” he began,” I didn’t know you cared so much.”

At this point, you have calmed down somewhat, so you heaved a sigh at his words, shaking your head a little before saying, “Of course I care, Dutch.”

“Why?”

His question was sharp and quick, and you were caught off guard by it, not having a moment to think of an answer or a lie.

“Well, I…” you said, awkwardly glancing around. “I care about you, Dutch.”

“You do, huh?” he said with a smirk.

“Of course I do, all of us in the gang do!” you try to backtrack on your statement, but it was too late, Dutch caught on. You tried not to pay attention to his smug smirk as you whistled for the horses. “Let’s get out of here before anyone else shows up.”

You were up on your horse almost as soon as she arrived, and waited for Dutch to get on his before moving. He mounted Count with a grunt, the injuries he sustained while being held captive making themselves known.

For a moment, you let yourself forget that it was Dutch Van Der Linde you were talking to, and said, “Who’s the delicate flower now?” As soon as the words escaped your mouth, you placed your hand over it, shocked at your own boldness. A silence followed, and you braved yourself for whatever would follow next. A laugh from Dutch startled you as much as his wrath would, and you didn’t dare to say anything until he spoke up, saying, “Perhaps I underestimated you.”

You couldn’t help but relax and smile upon hearing his words, his praise nourishing your soul and making you sit up straighter in your saddle.

“Thank you, Dutch.”

As the two of you made your way out of the forest, Dutch slowed down the pace of Count so he could be riding next to you.

He cleared his throat to get your attention, and when you turned towards him he said, “I should probably apologize for misjudging your potential.” He was silent for a few moments after saying that, before adding, “Perhaps a night on the town and a dinner are in order to make up for my mistakes?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his offer, considering the situation he got himself in was directly caused by going into town.

“After everything that has happened,” you said, squinting your eyes at him, “you still want to go into town?”

“Well, of course! I got you by my side,” he said. “With a capable and clever person as you, I feel comfortable going anywhere.”

His statement made a blush appear on your cheeks, which you hoped he didn’t see in the dark night. Even beaten and bruised, Dutch never lost his famous charm.

“You are something else Mr. Van Der Linde,” you said with a smile, shaking your head.

#dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde fanfics #dutch van der linde fanfiction #dutch van der linde x y/n #dutch van der linde imagine #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 headcanon #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfics #red dead redemption imagines

[vrishchikawrites]

Anon asks - There was another idea I had seen on @crossdressingdeath's tumblr where JC's reputation was ruined because of his behaviour and WWX's attempts to protect him from the consequences of his behaviour. The concept happens pre Qiongqi Path where JC attacks WWX to the point it injures and frightens him. A passerby sees WWX startled and asks him what's wrong but WWX dismisses it as nothing. Said bystander ends up thinking that JC had sexually assaulted him resulting in the cultivation world gossiping about JC being a rapist when really he isn't. Overall, the cultivation world gossips about the other shitty things JC had done and because he did alot of pretty bad things, he can't defend himself and resorts to victim blaming WWX. That however only has him dig a deeper hole for himself. WWX, on the other hand is left confused as to why everybody was pitying him all of a sudden when they used to hate and/or fear him. By the time the truth comes to light, the cultivation world thinks JC had deserved it anyway with it ending with JC hated just for him being himself and public opinion on WWX flipping. If you don't mind, can you make it light-hearted?

(Probably not as light-hearted as you would wish. It is a bit complicated. Be a little gentle because I wrote this twice and ended up fleshing it out much more. Is this a short prompt or a long one? who knows. writer is tired. she will sleep now.)

Everyone has personal boundaries, even people who are usually tactile and social. Boundaries exist even between family members who love and trust each other.

Wei Wuxian is a veteran fresh from war. He has survived bloody battlefields, spent days dealing with one hostile enemy after another. Even before that, he had spent his days constantly battling resentful ghosts and monsters in a place he can’t bear thinking of now. Before that, he had survived torture at the hands of the Wens. And before-

Better not to think about it.

So, when Jiang Cheng presses up against him threateningly, his face twisted and eyes furious, Wei Wuxian can’t help but flinch. He takes a step back and puts some distance between them quickly. Jiang Cheng has grown increasingly bitter and discontent in these past few months and Wei Wuxian is getting tired of dealing with it. He doesn’t want to be in such close proximity with a man seething with fury.

Unfortunately, that reaction proves to be a mistake because Jiang Cheng follows him, “What? Are you too big for us now? Turning away from me in disgust now that you’re a war hero and the best of us?” Jiang Cheng is so close, their noses almost touch and Wei Wuxian feels his hair stand on end in response.

“Jiang Cheng,” He says lowly, something unsettling stirring in his chest. He feels almost anxious. His heart is racing and the proximity makes him feel like he’s trapped, “Back away.”

“Back away?” Jiang Cheng snarls, “Who are you to command me, Wei Wuxian? Do you know what people are saying about YunmengJiang? Do you know who-”

“Back away,” Wei Wuxian says tightly, his skin crawling, “Now.” His hard-earned instincts are sounding alarms. He feels threatened and provoked. He feels the resentful energy in him respond to the danger.

“What are you going to do? Send a few ghosts at me?” He sneers, “Try it! We’ll see how brave you are under the wrath of my Zidian.”

No. Wei Wuxian isn’t going to just stand here and let Jiang Cheng pick up Yu-furen’s habits, He’s just about to react, to give Jiang Cheng the thrashing he clearly desires when he realizes they are outside. He glances beyond his Sect Leader’s shoulder and sees a small group of three clad in bright white looking at them with wide eyes.

He bites back his angry retort and masters himself. He’s not going to squabble with Jiang Cheng in front of Lan disciples. His relationship with Lan Zhan is strained as it is.

“We’re in public,” He says, hoping that concern for his Sect’s reputation would move Jiang Cheng if concern for Wei Wuxian doesn’t.

Jiang Cheng looks over his shoulder and sneers at the Lan disciples before rolling his head, “Lans, of course.” He snarls and pushes Wei Wuxian away roughly, “I’ll deal with you later.”

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and watches his brother leave.

The Lan disciples are still looking at him with heartwarming concern. He waves at them with a smile and watches as they start like little ducklings and bow to him before fleeing.

Cute.

---

“We have to do something!” Lan Zhanxiao insists, “Did you see how he looked? Wei Wuxian was clearly trying to-”

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” Lan Lishan reprimands.

“Don’t say his name!” Lan Guan whispers urgently, looking around in a panic. There are already a few curious and interested eyes glancing in their direction. Wei Wuxian is a notorious name, after all. Even non-cultivators are interested in the man who had just a material impact on the war. It is hard to tell if they would’ve won without that powerful unorthodox cultivator on their side.

“We can’t just stand by and do nothing,” Lan Zhanxiao, always the righteous one, continues. He doesn’t care about the people around them, “If Wei Wuxian is hurt and we do nothing to prevent it, aren’t we culpable as well?”

“This is Wei Wuxian. Who would dare?” Lan Guan asks incredulously, “He is one of the most powerful cultivators in existence.”

“Is he?” Zhanxiao demands, “Doesn’t everyone know he’s very loyal to Jiang-zongzhu? Would he take a step against him? Even if it meant saving himself?”

“He should be building his own sect,” Lan Lishan says reluctantly, “He’s the Grandmaster of his cultivation form. It may be an unorthodox method, but it is still something new and entirely unique.” He would know. Lan Lishan is an avid student of history and cultivation theory. He knows that most cultivators with unique abilities tend to form their own sect to pass their teachings down.

He shudders at the prospect of cultivating resentful energy but Wei Wuxian has mentioned it is a technique people with absent or damaged Golden Cores can use.

The potential is almost limitless.

“See what I mean?” Lan Zhanxiao points out, “Hasn’t he been isolated from other cultivators because they fear his methods? If Jiang-zongzhu is really hurting him or…” He grimaces and lowers his voice, “That expression, Shan-ge, it reminds me of jiejie. What if Jiang-zongzhu is… doing something inappropriate?”

They all exchange alarmed glances, “You don’t think…?” Lan Guan breathes, horrified.

“He was scrambling to get away,” Lan Zhanxiao says, “And Jiang-zongzhu kept pressing-”

“We can’t talk about this here,” Lan Lishan says firmly, “Come, let’s leave.”

Unfortunately, they leave chaos behind.

---

Rumors are a powerful entity in the cultivation world. They are born in tea and wine houses, spread from one tradesman to another and spread to the far reaches of cultivation society in a matter of months.

The rumors about Jiang’ Wanyin’s treatment of a war hero are no exception to this rule. People gossip about it with their friends and neighbors, share the news with vendors while on errands, and the rumors continue to grow. With every retelling, the story changes, growing increasingly distorted and vile.

“The entire business is unpleasant,” A small clan cultivator says to one of his tradesman friends, “Jealousy really alters a man.” He speaks about old rumors then, speculations about Wei Wuxian’s parentage, Madam Yu’s wrath, and the Jiang heir’s relatively lackluster growth in comparison to his prodigious shixiong.

“Surely not,” Another cultivator scoffs, “Who would dare raise a hand against Wei Wuxian? Did he not decimate a large Wen battalion with just his flute and some music?”

“Merchants at Lotus Pier say Wei Wuxian always looks wan and tired these days. He has grown pale.” One woman whispers to her companion, “He spends more time in wine houses with ghost maidens than in the comfort of his rebuilt home.”

“It seems so improbable!” A young cultivator protests, “Why would Jiang-zongzhu provoke the sleeping dragon like this? Wei Wuxian is stable now but who knows when he will give into resentment?”

“Lan disciples saw it.”

And that’s the crux of the matter. If the rumor didn’t originate from Lan disciples, it might not have traveled so far. Lans are known for their honest and forthright nature, after all. What cause did they have to lie? And no Lan spoke carelessly, so their words must be the whole truth, without any exaggeration.

Because Lans are the source, everything they say is taken as fact. If one Lan disciple finds Jiang-zongzhu’s behavior horribly inappropriate then it must be. If another Lan is worried about Wei Wuxian’s safety, there must be a just cause.

The rumors spread and propagate, and soon almost the entirety of the cultivation world is aware of them.

---

Gossip is forbidden at Cloud Recesses. Disciples are usually discouraged from meddling in other sect business. Rumor-mongering is punished severely, with all parties involved facing the wrath of the disciple whip.

But Lans are raised to be righteous and compassionate. If someone is in trouble, a Lan must act. He must offer a helping hand and take the victim away from danger.

When the rumors reach Caiyi Town and land on the ear of one Lan Ruyao, he hesitates. He asks around, gets more information, and then rushes back to Cloud Recesses, intent on knowing it all.

Lan Ruyao seeks the three disciples that are the cause of it all and demands an explanation, his mind disturbed with worry. What he hears gives him no comfort for he cannot discard their concerns. The behavior they describe is alarming and their observations are precise, without any emotion clouding their judgment.

Lan Lishan narrates the incident in detail, describing every action with no embellishment or exaggeration. He speaks of Wei Wuxian’s retreat, of Jiang Wanyin’s insistence, the threat of whipping, and words spoken with cruelty and disrespect.

Lan Ruyao’s mind is disturbed as he retreats, absentmindedly assigning some lines to the junior disciples. They have erred by being so indiscreet but their cause is righteous. They don’t deserve severe punishment.

He meditates on the matter for an entire morning, trying to decide on a course of action.

You see, Lan Ruyao is Lan Wangji’s peer. He has known the Second Jade for many years, and while they are not close, they are of the same clan. The entire cultivation world may believe Lan Wangji hates Wei Wuxian, but Ruyao knows better. The Second Jade wouldn’t have been so insistent on bringing Wei Wuxian to Gusu if he didn’t care.

Lan Ruyao suspects both of them hold each other in some esteem. They have saved each other’s sides many times and seem to get along well when they’re not quarreling. He believes that they are friends.

It would be unwise to keep this from Lan Wangji.

Decision made, he quickly requests a private meeting with the Second Jade. The request is granted promptly and soon Lan Ruyao finds himself before his peer, readying himself for a difficult conversation.

The Second Jade listens to his piece without any interruption, his expression blank and beautiful as white jade. But his golden eyes are twin chips of flint, coldly furious.

Indeed, they are friends.

Lan Wangji summons the three junior disciples and questions them thoroughly. His demeanor becomes frostier as the interview progresses, his spiritual energy gaining a deadly edge when the juniors murmur of ‘inappropriate behavior.’

“You have my gratitude,” Lan Wangji says finally, bowing to him and nodding to the juniors, “Rest assured, I will address the matter directly.”

---

“Lan Zhan, wait!” Wei Wuxian protests as Lan Zhan drags him away by the elbow, his uncharacteristic behavior taking him by surprise, “Don’t take him so seriously, Lan Zhan! You know he’s a temperamental brat.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything until they are a fair distance away from Jiang Cheng and the Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian tries to get an explanation for such unusual behavior but his companion is entirely silent, guiding him towards a crop of trees that offer some semblance of privacy.

“How long have you borne this?” Lan Zhan asks once they stop walking, his golden eyes bright and fierce, “How long have you endured without speaking a word to me or your friends?”

“All my life,” He rolls his eyes, “You know Jiang Cheng has a temper and says careless things, Lan Zhan. Don’t worry, I know how to handle him.”

“All your life?” Somehow, Lan Zhan seems stricken, “Wei Ying!”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan,” Honestly, he is moved by Lan Zhan’s concern for him. They have spent so many years just quarreling and being distrustful towards each other. The concern is a pleasant distraction from the wretched state of their relationship, “Don’t worry about it. I can deal with everything Jiang Cheng throws at me.”

“How can you be so callous about your own well-being?” Lan Zhan asks, his tone betraying his dismay, “Do you not care-” He visibly bites back those angry words and calms himself, his voice taking on a gentler note, “Did you think I would not help? That your friends wouldn’t offer you shelter or protection?”

Really, this is a bit of an overreaction, isn’t it?

“Do I really have any friends left, Lan Zhan?” He asks casually but the reaction he receives is anything but casual. Lan Zhan’s eyes widen as though he has been struck, “Aiya, please don’t look like that,” Wei Wuxian feels a stir of panic because Lan Zhan looks almost hurt, “I’m just being a brat.”

“Have a care,” Lan Zhan says, “Your dismissal of this matter doesn’t put me at ease.”

“Lan Zhan,” He sighs, “I’m used to it. You saw how we were at Cloud Recesses. Did I look unusually troubled then?”

“You’ve become… accustomed to it?” Lan Zhan asks, once again looking uncharacteristically stricken. Wei Wuxian feels a stir of concern in his stomach and reaches out, placing a hand on the Second Jade’s arm, “You’re accustomed to it.”

Not knowing what to do in response to such open emotion from Lan Zhan, he looks for something to distract him. Immediately, his mind remembers an old promise, “Let’s focus on something more pleasant. It’s about time you saw Lotus Pier in its full glory, Lan Zhan! I want to show you all of my favorite places, including all of the trees I climbed!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s voice is low and pained.

Wei Wuxian’s smile softens as he tugs on the Second Jade’s arm, “Don’t think of unpleasant things, Lan Zhan. It’s a beautiful day and we haven’t seen each other in months! Let’s be happy, alright?”

Wei Wuxian feels a jolt of surprise as Lan Zhan raises a hand and covers his fingers, squeezing gently. The touch is warm and reassuring, and it sets Wei his heart racing.

Lan Zhan studies him for a long moment before dipping his head elegantly, his grip on Wei Wuxian’s fingers still firm and steady, “If Wei Ying wishes it,” He promises, “I will make it so.”

Oh.

---

It all comes to a head at the Discussion Conference. Wei Wuxian is accustomed to being the center of attention these days but the quality of that attention is different now. Instead of wary glances, he sees eyes filled with sympathy and tentative smiles of welcome.

Wei Wuxian being Wei Wuxian, ignores the nagging suspicion that lingers at the back of his mind and smiles brightly back at them.

That seems to make things worse because the looks of sympathy seem to somehow intensify. He even sees a few women blink their limpid eyes and turn away, as though disguising tears. Somewhat alarmed, he glances at Jiang Cheng and winces.

His martial brother is bristling with anger. There’s a thundercloud-like expression on his face as he meets every eye in the room with a clear challenge.

If glances towards him are filled with sympathy, those towards Jiang Cheng are filled with contempt and disapproval. Between that and Lan Zhan’s protective hovering, Wei Wuxian is at the end of his patience.

He needs answers and he needs them now before the situation can escalate somehow.

Baffled by the situation, Wei Wuxian looks around and finds the most reliable source of gossip he can find. “What is going on?” He demands as soon as he is at Nie Huiasang’s side, “Why are people glaring at Jiang Cheng like he’s a fierce corpse?”

Nie Huaisang waves his fan, his expression a strange mix of amusement and grim satisfaction. For one, his old friend doesn’t hide behind his usual prevarications. He glances around the room and seems to catch someone’s eye. Wei Wuxian follows that gaze only to blink as Lan Zhan walks sedately towards them, expression stern and disapproving, “Do you know what’s going on, Lan Zhan?”

The Second Jade remains silent, his eyes fixed on Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian sighs in frustration and glares at Nie Huaisang, “Nie-xiong, what?”

His curt tone is enough to snape Nie Huaisang out of his musings. The man smiles wryly behind his fan, “Ah, Wei-xiong,” He waves his free hand, “There has been some speculation about your relationship with-”

“Why don’t you speak up?” A loud voice asks and Wei Wuxian turns around, “Why don’t you defend Wei Wuxian, Jiang-zongzhu? You’re going to let people slander your loyal Head Disciple so boldly?”

It’s Wang Jin, the Sect Leader of Runan Wang Clan. The man’s face is twisted in rage and disgust as he stares at Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian frowns, ready to step forward and stand by Jiang Cheng in such a hostile environment.

Lan Zhan’s hand on his arm stops him.

He looks at the Second Jade questioningly but the man just shakes his head, “Wait.”

“Why should he defend him?” An annoying Jin pipes up, his voice sharp and mocking, “We know what Wei Wuxian is! He may pretend to be loyal on the surface, but he is nothing but a faithless dog-”

“Jin Zixun!” Nie Mingjue snaps, “I will not have you insult one of our men in my presence! He fought and bled on our side.”

Nie Mingjue’s words silence him and Jin Guangyao speaks up soothingly as Wei Wuxian frowns, studying the scene with keen eyes, “Let us all calm down. I’m sure Wang-zongzhu means well.” He smiles placidly, “There have been rumors, just a bit of gossip about Wei-gongzi speaking ill of Jiang-zongzhu.” Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side, mind whirling.

He refuses to be angry. There’s something about this situation that has his instincts rattled. He needs to focus.

“The Hanguang-jin himself said they were lies. Wei Wuxian has never spoken ill of Jiang Wanyin!” Well, that’s not entirely true. He is certain he has called Jiang Cheng a temperamental brat in Lan Zhan’s presence more than once. “Jiang-zongzhu should know better than to-”

“Why does Jiang-zongzhu need to do anything for that man?” Jin Zixun demands and Wei Wuxian feels a stir of amusement. All of this drama on his account? He’s honored.

“What kind of Sect Leader is he?” Wang-zongzhu asks, fuming, “If he doesn’t even defend his own Head Disciple? Has he not brought glory to YungmengJiang? Doesn’t the Sect owe him a debt of gratitude?” Wei Wuxian winces and Jiang Cheng’s expression turns stony, “If you want to talk of rumors, why not discuss the other rumors?” Wang-zongzhu turns to Jiang Cheng with a scowl, “Is he not your brother in all but blood? Didn’t the former Jiang-zongzhu raise Wei Wuxian as his nephew? Is this how YunmengJiang treats its brightest disciple? How will you face Jiang Fengmian, Jiang-zongzhu?”

Wei Wuxian bites back a groan as Jiang Cheng’s expression darkens with fury. This is the absolute worst thing to say to his martial brother.

“Why is he so concerned about this?” Wei Wuxian asks, almost to himself.

Nie Huiasang leans in and whispers in his ear, “His sisters were… assaulted by the Wens.”

Wei Wuxian feels a shudder crawl down his spine and shakes his head. Those disgusting wretches deserved the death he inflicted on them.

He still doesn’t understand what this has to do with him.

He glances at Lan Zhan, he is looking at the scene with his usual frosty expression, giving nothing away. He looks ahead to see Jiang Cheng ready to erupt and frowns. “Lan Zhan, I need to… help, somehow.”

“Wei Ying needs to do nothing.”

He’s about to protest when Jiang Cheng finally snaps, “Glory to YunmengJiang? He has brought nothing but devastation to it!” Wei Wuxian flinches and Lan Zhan steps forward and to the side, pointedly placing himself between the two Jiang Sect cultivators, “YunmengJiang has always been glorious. My ancestors bled and fought for it! We earned our glory through centuries of cultivation and diligence! I owe him a debt? Wei Wuxian owes me the lives of my parents! He provoked the Wens to save Lan Wangji’s life and I lost my family because of it!”

“Jiang-zongzhu, perhaps-”

“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng interrupted Jin Guangyao, “How I treat my Head Disciple is none of your business.”

“It is very much our business if you’re abusing him,” Nie Mingjue says and it silences everyone.

Wei Wuxian is… dumbfounded. He feels like he’s just a mass of confusion at this point because nothing about this situation makes sense. “Abuse?” He whispers harshly to Nie Huaisang, grabbing his arm to drag him away to a quieter corner, “Nie Huaisang, what is going on? Jiang Cheng doesn’t abuse me!”

“Does he not?” It is Lan Zhan who speaks, his expression solemn, “Truly, Wei Ying? Does he not abuse you?”

“Of course, not-”

“So he didn’t threaten you with Zidian?” Nie Huaisang asks, “Or try to physically intimidate you while you were clearly trying to step away?”

Wei Wuxian frowns, “Well yes, but that is just him being angry! He does that all the time.”

“That is no comfort to us.” Lan Zhan says stiffly.

“Didn’t he push you away several times? We have accounts from people who saw you fall to the ground.” Nie Huaisang’s expression is unusually stern, “Didn’t he seek to isolate you from everyone? Didn’t he keep telling you Wangji-xiong hated you?”

“Wangji-xiong gave every impression of hating me.” Wei Wuxian firmly denies, “Let us not attribute that particular error to someone else.”

“Indeed,” Lan Zhan nods graciously, as expected. He wouldn’t be Lan Zhan if he didn’t accept his own mistakes without hesitation.

“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang tucks his fan away and he sees Lan Zhan focus on that, his eyes suddenly sharp, “He has been saying the same thing since you were at Cloud Recesses. He has always dragged you away from Lan Wangji. You saved Lan Wangji and Jin Zixuan’s lives. Why is he so intent on our Second Jade, hmm?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, “You’re making this unnecessarily complicated.” He says, “On the surface, all of these actions appear wrong but the intent behind them isn’t cruel.”

“Your love for him blinds you.” Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes sharply at his old friend, “If er-ge treated Wangji-xiong like that, you’d be furious. Just the threat of da-ge whipping would have you reaching for your flute.”

“Huaisang-”

“Did you think we wouldn’t feel the same way?”

Wei Wuxian studies him and Lan Zhan, realizing they are utterly serious. Concerned and a bit baffled, he looks at Jiang Cheng over his shoulder, only to find him nose to nose with Wang-zongzhu. “Heavens,” He breathes and steps forward, determined to intervene.

“You think what?” Jiang Cheng’s voice is full of disgust, “You… you think I have… that I’m some disgusting cutsleeve?!”

Wait, what?

“How dare you?! I would never touch a man!”

“Is that what he’s focusing on?” Nie Huaisang asks incredulously.

For once, Wei Wuxian has nothing to say.

---

It takes a few weeks for fresh rumors to make their rounds. People now know that Jiang Wanyin hasn’t behaved inappropriately with his martial brother, but that doesn’t make much difference.

The cultivation world, in general, still believes that Jiang Cheng’s behavior is abhorrent. Wei Wuxian is tempted to point out the hypocrisy of their words but knows it is futile. Once the masses make up their minds about something, few can persuade them to think otherwise. Jiang Cheng’s reputation has been tainted forever and there’s little they can do about it.

Unfortunately, this issue has also cemented the break between Wei Wuxian and his Sect Leader. There’s nothing that can repair the relationship now. He feels a pang of loss but he had already resigned himself to that when he had given away his Golden Core.

Fortunately, it seems he has some options available.

“Come to Gusu with me,” Lan Zhan says, his tone softer, his voice imploring, “Please.” This time, Wei Wuxian can’t mistake his intent. Lan Zhan’s reaction to the entire mess made one thing very clear to him.

Lan Wangji cares about him.

Isn’t that something? Never in his life did Wei Wuxian think he would be in such a position. He had always assumed Jiang Cheng would be by his side and Lan Wangji would stand against him. But everything is different now.

Wei Wuxian thinks of his childhood home, thinks of a life that has been irrevocably changed, and sinks in those memories for a brief moment. Despite what everyone thinks, there have been some good times. He doesn’t regret the course his life took when he was welcomed to the Lotus Pier by Jiang Fengmian.

He lingers, briefly, on regret,

Then, he shrugs it off and looks into the golden eyes of his future with a grin, “I’ll come to Gusu with you, Lan Zhan.”

And that’s that.

#short prompts #wei wuxian #lan wangji #mentions of abuse #anti jiang cheng #nie huaisang #too tired for tags

[zapsalis-d]

Piece of You

summary — Everyone wants a piece of you. Even a certain Mandalorian who denies that he's grown enamored with every little thing about you.

content — Implied smut, harassment, jealousy, alcohol, pining

word count — 4.5k

inspiration — Piece of You, Shawn Mendes

main masterlist

He's not one who's fond of Tatooine.

Everything about that filthy, crime-ridden dust-ball is enough to entirely repel him from the planet. Yet there's something — someone — who lures him into Tatooine, even when his presence isn't necessary. He repeatedly scolds himself each time he passes by the familiar dusty planet — there is no point in landing, no purpose to be there. He never listens. Not at all.

The Mandalorian is constantly preoccupied with his devotion to bounty hunting. But each time, it's as if he entirely clears anything on his plate. A pending bounty puck? He can handle that later. Quarry needs to be delivered? Not a problem, he has a carbon-freezing chamber installed in the ship. Damaged ship? Well, there are plenty of repairmen on Tatooine.

His sole desire is to visit nobody other than you. The bartender working in one of the most famous cantinas in Mos Eisley. The cantina's owner recognized precisely what he was doing when he hired you. You... you are exceptionally captivating, stunning, seductive. Your snarky personality, flawless body, and heavenly face is enough to entice every man in the parsec who'd heard of you. In fact, one of the main reasons the cantina is so damn popular is due to your employment.

Everybody wants a piece of you...

So as Din positions the Razor Crest onto the landing bay's flooring, he prepares himself to be utterly disappointed. With the plethora of men drooling over you each second of your life, you certainly have plenty to choose from. Out of all of them, you aren’t going to select a Mandalorian who refuses to reveal his face to absolutely anyone. Yet he pushes the thought aside. The purpose of his return is due to his recent hunt. The quarry was pestering, exceedingly difficult to locate and seize. Once Din managed to capture and deliver him, he immediately knew he required a brief break. A chance to unwind, ease up, relax. The sight of you is enough to de-stress him.

Maybe you'd even swiftly speak with him for a moment. Each time he arrives at the cantina, you eventually stop by besides him, hold a quick conversation before promptly returning to your work. Din has no clue why. Plenty of other men practically beg for your attention. Yet you don't spare a mere glance towards their direction, unless deemed necessary.

Din descends the ladder towards the hull of the ship, commanding the ramp to lower utilizing his beskar vambrace. Without hesitation, he strides off the ramp, sealing it shut directly after he steps off. He shares a hasty glimpse around the hangar. The manager is nowhere to be found. It doesn’t matter — his ship isn't damaged, there is no need to discuss payment with them. Without further delay, he exits the hangar and treads through the desolate streets of Mos Eisley. It's unbearably hot, even with the twin suns setting down on the horizon. Colorful hues of red, yellow, purple, and blue lace the sky as he proceeds through the countless buildings and homes.

The well-known cantina appears in the distance. A flutter develops in the pit of his stomach at the bare thought of seeing you once more, especially after the additionally burdensome hunt he endured. He hasn't the slightest idea of what he'll do, or even say, when he enters. He's able to converse with you perfectly fine, as long as you initiate the chatting. The thought of walking up to you and establishing the conversation first is... unnerving. Hell, he can hardly flirt for the sake of his own life. You're not interested in the Mandalorian. You can't be. So, why should he even attempt to speak with you when you will simply push him aside, reject him? No, he prefers to keep his distance. Observe from afar. If your desire is to talk, he'll talk with pleasure. Call him a coward, but he isn't going to take his chances.

The Mandalorian saunters through the wide-open doors, gloved hand instinctively shifting towards the holster strapped to his hip. Even through the helmet covering his face, he catches a repulsing whiff of the strong alcoholic scent. His visor scans the cantina for a brief moment. It's surprisingly empty. Tables consist of a few people chattering mutely among each other, a couple waiters grabbing their orders. The ambience is strangely hushed. The bar is completely unoccupied, much to his surprise. A service droid is present where you ordinarily are, wiping a damp cloth over the counter. You, though, are nowhere to be found.

Eyes carefully survey him as he idly stands in front of the entrance. A Mandalorian equipped with a full attire of beskar armor, a pulse rifle strapped firmly against his back, and armed with various weapons is bound to snatch everyone's attention. Not wanting to deal with any issues as the moment, he continues to step forward. Despite his intense detestation for droids, this one in particular can prove useful. The droid raises its mechanical head, unreadable eyes staring straight towards the Mandalorian as he leans forward, elbows propping against the bar.

"The girl is absent today," its blank voice states, head tilting down as it resumes its cleaning. "Her shift has ended earlier today, per her request."

He's left speechless for a split second. Damn droid has practically read his mind. Does he actually make it so evident? Perhaps its simply that its already encountered countless men asking for you already. Nevertheless, a heat creeps onto his cheeks, radiating through his entire face and neck upon the droid's accusation. Steadily, he shifts his weight before answering. "What makes you think I'm here for her?"

His voice comprises a certain hostility, primarily due to the fact that he's conversing with — of all things — a droid. Its gaze lifts upon hearing his response, metal hand halting its insistent rubbing. "A great deal of men have requested her presence here today. I apologize. Would you care for a drink?"

"No," he swiftly replies. Then, he freezes, shoulders tensing up. If he's not here for you, then what's his purpose here? The droid bluntly stares, expecting further elaboration. Din provides him with nothing other than a view of his backside when he spins around, cape swishing with every motion as he strides away. He's on the verge of step outside when the mechanical voice calls for him.

"The girl will return tomorrow afternoon."

Din peers over the pauldron adorning his shoulder, sharing a brief glimpse with the droid. He should thank it, but decides against it. Its just a droid. It doesn't deserve his gratitude, nor an apology for his bitterness. Without lingering any further, he directs his gaze forward once more, before begrudgingly stalking off towards the course leading to the Razor Crest.

A darkness envelops him as soon as he steps into the plain open air. The suns had descended quite rapidly, a starless night sky hanging over the city. It's substantially cooler now that the suns aren't blazing down on him, a brisk breeze sweeping his cape sideways. The streets are increasingly barren now, not a single being in sight.

Except for one isolated person.

He recognizes the figure — the exquisite curves of her body, impeccable hair enhancing her features, the way she stands with utter confidence and assertiveness. All he manages to perceive was her back, but it's unquestionably the person he's been searching for. You.

You reside directly in front of a residence, gaze impatiently darting around as if awaiting someone's arrival. Din had assured himself he wouldn't initiate a conversation with you, though currently it seems as if that is his only option. Either that, or he disappointedly heads back towards his ship. But what the hell is he supposed to say? A simple "hey" wouldn't captivate your attentiveness. You'll simply shove him aside, completely uninterested as you've done an unmeasurable amount of times. He takes a step forward — tentatively, slowly, steadily. He's nervous. He can't deny that. Speaking to you seems to frighten him immensely, not even the most intimidating of quarries has managed to inflict this feelings upon him.

It's not that he's enamored by you. He does not have the time for romance. It's straightforward attraction. Infatuation. A meaningless crush, as some would claim. He is aroused by you. That's all it is, and all it will ever be. At least, that's what he's been attempting to convince himself about for the past months.

His thoughts are interrupted when someone enters the scenario. A man. Your face brightens upon catching sight of him as you beam at him. That damn smile. The way your lips curl upwards, flashing those set of pearly whites — it enthralled him since day one. His attention switches to the unfamiliar man as you throw your arms around him, his own hands embracing you and pulling you near. Seconds later, the two of you head inside the house you stand by. He's joking about something Din is unable to pick out, causing a burst of laughter to escape your lips. The sound is interfere with when the door slams closed behind you. Then, there's complete silence.

Boyfriend. That's his final conclusion. You'd requested time off your job to see your lover. It makes absolute sense. With the incalculable quantity of men constantly chasing you around, you're bound to find someone who interests you. Without another alternative to his situation, Din settled to leave. He's discouraged, yes, but what else would he expect? It's absolutely fine, though. This provides him with yet another reason why he should maintain his distance from the planet. Unless proven necessary, he won't return to Tatooine. There is no purpose for him here. His fantasies need to cease, stop raiding his brain and controlling his every action. He cannot spare anymore time indulging in this. It's for the best.

___

He arrives once more at the damn cantina the following afternoon.

He doesn't understand why he can't liberate himself from this addiction, why his thoughts are persistently flooded by images of you, and you only.

Baby, I'm so into you, it hurts...

Despite the setback yesterday, he feels like he's under obligation to drop by and see you before he departs from Tatooine. It's plain and simple — this is his final opportunity to visit you, and he'll seize onto that freedom while he's capable of doing so.  Even if it means he's wasting valuable time while he could be earning his well-deserved credits. Even if the hangar's manager warned that the landing bay is available exclusively for one entire rotation. It's one straightforward, uncomplicated visit, and then he'll leave satisfied.

The ambience is noisier then the previous occasion. This time, when he pauses to examine his surroundings, nobody pays him even the slightest bit of recognition. Boisterous laughter and obnoxious jabbering, alcoholic scent overwhelming his senses again, and then there's you. Preoccupied with your work, you don't spare him a single glance when he enters. Your attention is thoroughly concentrated on serving the numerous people awaiting their drinks at the bar. There are no accessible seats where you're present — it's utterly packed. It's alright, though, because he's not planning on grabbing a drink anyway. He settles for an available booth in the corner of the cantina, solitarily taking a seat away from the detestable, clamorous commotion. He has no clue how you deal with them until the late hours of the night.

Din merely dismisses the waiter who instantly greets him. He's not here for drinks, or a meal. He's only present for you, but not in the way these men are here for. Their sole purpose is attempting (and downright failing) to sneak into your pants, somehow. While he would be uttery lying to everyone — including himself — if he claims that's not one of his many desires, its not why he's here. He completely respects you. He will never treat you like everyone else does. That's not what you deserve at all, yet these men can't seem to comprehend that. They're selfish, purely caring for their own needs and wants. Not Din. He promised himself he wouldn't be as thoughtless and uncaring as them.

He manages a brief glance towards your direction. You're dressed in your usual attire — close-fitting shirt displaying a great deal of your breasts, skintight skirt barely reaching above your knees, a knife strapped strictly against your thigh to ward off anybody who might be in too close proximity.

You're majestic, mesmerizing, light the room up without trying...

Whether you're enforced to clothe yourself like that or you knowingly chose to do so, he isn't exactly certain. But with the way your face contorts in exasperation, you're definitely not enjoying this. You never did. To remain in an occupation like this, wearing that, required a plethora of fearlessness and aggressiveness. And your wages? They must be damn high. Din admires you for that. He wishes he could do something about it, ward off every single one of those pestering men who displease you but he recognizes your capability. You have demonstrated countless times in the past that you can handle yourself exceedingly well.

His gaze lingers for one second too long. Your eyes connect with his black visor. He freezes. He's been caught staring. For once, he isn't sure what his succeeding actions should be. The beskar helm covering his own face is greatly appreciated in this very moment, because his cheeks are undoubtedly tinted in a thousand shades of pink and red. He wants to avert his gaping, but he discovers its impossible for him. His eyes are practically glued to yours, and for once you notice a certain eagerness in your expression. As if you're actually... contented to spot him between the crowd of men surrounding you.

Right. Like that'll ever happen.

He can't dwell on that — give himself that false hope. Out of everyone in the cantina, you're pleased to see him? That's not exactly feasible.

Your heedfulness is abruptly snatched when a customer purposely drops an object — Din can't pick out what, exactly. His intentions were evident. He's trying to obtain a better view of your rear end, yet you don't give a damn. Din can't quite hear what you're divulging with all the cacophonous noise, though your facial expression provides him with enough. A menacing glare is directed straight towards the man, your mouth spitting out offenses and insults. You've clearly had enough with their crap. There's nothing more Din longs for than to withdraw you from that burdensome situation, lead you to the quietness and tranquility of the Razor Crest. The audacity these men have creates a rage welling up within his chest, blood in his veins boiling. The fact that he can't take action leaves him feeling helpless. You evidently don't want his assistance. You can deal with them yourself — it's what you want.

The Mandalorian finds himself remaining in the cantina for hours. The place gradually empties, though not entirely. There's considerably less racket now. You seem to slowly relax, the tension in your shoulders fading away. Din rarely attempts to peek towards your direction again — not after what previously occurred. He's still rather humiliated about it. His finger lightly drums against the table, a faint tapping sound solely audible to his ears. He's not quite certain why he's residing here for a prolonged amount of time if you're undeniably occupied with your job. Yet—

"Drink?"

The familiar voice steals his attention, a glass filled to the brim with an unknown alcoholic drink slides directly into the hand placed over the table. He catches it and clasps onto it tautly with his fingers, visor lifting upwards precisely when a woman occupies her seat on the booth across from him. You.

Admittedly, he's staggered by your unexpected appearance. While you've spoken with him before, he didn't expect that to occur today, especially with the exceptionally packed cantina. He's utterly speechless, any sort of coherent sentence completely disappearing from his mind. His mouth opens, then shuts repeatedly when he fails to voice an individual word. His throat feels inexplicably dry all of a sudden, his immediate reaction being to take a swig from the glass in his grasp but he's unable to with the helmet preventing it. In this moment, he'd do anything to  rid himself of this impenetrable apprehensiveness, anything to ease himself. He can't bring himself go verbalize a single phrase, not even a mere 'thank you.'

"I noticed you didn't order anything for yourself," you state when he doesn’t answer. His flustered condition worsens upon realizing this whole time, you had observed him from the distance as well. Your eyes swiftly dart around the cantina for a split moment, before returning to peer directly into his visor. Then, your gaze averts once more. "Go ahead. There's nobody looking."

For a second, he can't comprehend your suggestion. Until he realizes you're proposing he takes a quick drink from the glass. He glances down towards the object in his hand, practically overflowing with a bright purple-colored liquid. Its iciness bleeds through the leather of his glove. It's been a while since he's enjoyed a nice drink. He can't refuse. Without further contemplation, his free hand raises towards the lip of his helmet, gradually tilting the beskar backwards until his chin and mouth were revealed. He's a bit skittish, unknowing whether you'll abruptly turn your head to face him while he's vulnerable like this. Which is why he speedily chugs it down.

Bad idea. The liquid instantaneously burns his throat, clearing the dryness and replacing it with prickling heat. He drops the helmet down to conceal the exposed half of his face, half-empty glass placed onto the table as he nearly fails to contain himself from throwing a coughing fit. His abrupt discomfort caused your gaze to snap towards him again. At least now he manages to speak. "That's—" he pauses, the strain in his voice leading him to clear his throat. "That's very... strong."

You beam at him, chuckling emanating from you. He can't help but gawk at you, your perfect smile, contagious laughter, alluring features. Occasionally, he wonders how it would feel to kiss those soft, red-tinted lips, caress the curve of your jawline with his thumb, rake his fingers through your silky strands of hair. Those fantasies need to be completely erased from his mind, because they're never going to occur. His longing thought are quickly interrupted when you speak up. "Has a nice taste though, right?"

Din shrugs his shoulders. His breath is still unbearably hot from the drink. Perhaps he should've tested it out before hastily swallowing a substantial quantity of the liquid. "It's an... interesting flavor." He merely watches when you grab the glass, gulping down the remains of the drink without cringing upon the powerful aftertaste. "How much?"

Your gaze meet with him once more. The heavy black eyeliner bordering your eyes only enhance those captivating hues even more, feeling as if they pierce directly through the impenetrable beskar helm obscuring his face. "Payment? Credits aren't necessary today, Mandalorian. I believe tonight has brought me enough to sustain myself with. But there is one thing I'm interested in—" you pause before leaning forward, elbows propping against the table. It provides Din with a superior perspective of your chest, though he couldn't bring himself to glance down. He will not dare disrespect you in such ways. You have his total, undivided attentiveness now, ears ready to listen in for whatever you have to offer. "—your name."

His name. The Mandalorian normally wouldn't provide random people with the knowledge of his name. The thing is — you're not a simple 'random person.'

"Din. Din Djarin."

"Din... Djarin," you repeat, the phrase exquisitely rolling off your tongue. "Well, Din Djarin, I've gotta say... you're an intriguing man."

"How so?" a certain curiosity tinges his tone, audible even through the vocodor distorting his voice.

With a nonchalant shrug, you continue. "You're not here for the same reasons these men are. I mean, you're here for me, I know that. But when you visit, you do so in a considerate manner. Not as intrusive and harassing as most are." Your lips curve upwards in a small grin, head tilting with a certain gratefulness dominating your expression. "I like that."

The final sentence causes his breath to hitch in his throat. "You do?"

You bob your head in affirmation. A split second of somewhat comfortable silence passes, your gazes persisting trained solely on each other. Then, "I saw you last night, outside my house."

Damn. "I was on my way back to my ship. Managed to stumble across you."

Your brows raise with inquisitiveness. "You saw me? Why didn't you at least wave?"

"I was... in a rush."

"Understandable," you answer with a curt nod. You release a puff of breath before your eyes flash with visible seductiveness, causing Din to anticipate your next words. "Your armor's worn-out. Even more damaged than the last time I saw you. Rough hunt?"

His helmet tips down towards the beskar cuirass plating his chest. Countless dents and scratches ruin the brownish-red paint of the indestructible metal. Its covered in grime and dust, as is the rest of his armor, plenty more damaged than the previous occasion Din decided to land on Tatooine. The sudden realization that he should've at least scrubbed the soot off before venturing out here hits him, a slight embarrassment overwhelming him. "Yeah... armor's seen better days."

"Well, my shift's over. Droid's taken control now," you gesture with your head towards the service droid serving multiple people at the bar. A confident smirk makes its appearance across your expression before your hand slides towards his own, still placed over the table. Despite the leather preventing genuine contact, your touch is welcome and pleasant. "Maybe I can pass by your ship — the Razor Crest, is it? I could help out, polish your armor, perhaps?"

The offer is nearly irrefutable. Yet there's one minor setback that creeps into his mind.

"I-I don't think your... boyfriend will appreciate that."

Confusion etches your features as you slip your fingers away. "Boyfriend? I— oh, no. That guy yesterday? My cousin. Took time off last night so I could see him. He just landed here to quickly visit me before returning to his work earlier today."

Realization strikes him straight in the gut. His mouth opens to spit out an apology, before swiftly shutting it when a string of curses escapes your mouth, head ducking down upon spotting something, or someone. "What?"

You peer over Din's shoulders before dipping down again, hand on your forehead to obscure your face. "I may have promised someone a date," your voice is hushed even despite the noise resounding through the cantina. "I originally wasn't going accept. But he's so damn persistent. So, I told him to come here after I finished my shift, that way I'd be gone and I wouldn't have to deal with him. But he's here now, earlier than I expected."

The Mandalorian's helmet whirls around towards the wide-open entrance. A Zabrak lingers by the doors, eyes examining the cantina in a careful manner, searching for none other than you, before he steps towards the usual bar. Din turns to face you again, thumb discreetly pointing towards the beige-colored Zabrak male. "Him?"

You nod, further unease notable in your body language. Without uttering a single word, you abruptly lift yourself from your seat, heading directly towards the exit.

Not even a goodbye.

Should've taken the damn offer. Would that have been so hard?

"Oh, look! She's right over there by the doors."

A mechanical voice alerts the Zabrak of your presence, before he whips around and calls your name upon spotting your form. Kriffin' droid. You freeze precisely before managing to step one foot outside the building. Your shoulders visibly tense, though you stand firmly, back facing the Zabrak as he stalks towards you. His sizable hand clutches onto your arm, forcing you around. An unfamiliar, strange feeling sneaks into Din's mind upon watching his harsh manners, dominating his every action and movements.

I get jealous, but who wouldn't when you look like you do?

"Forget my—"

The Zabrak's deep voice is interrupted when you yank your arm away from his grasp, pacing forward in a menacing demeanor. "As a matter of fact, I didn't forget," you cross your arms over your chest, eyes practically boring holes into that horned head of his. "I don't need to go on a damn date with you if I don't want it. And right now—"you tilt your head, a poised smirk appearing on your red lips. "—I simply don't want to." With that, you spin around without offering another word.

You're so sure it makes me insecure...

The Zabrak can't seem to take a hint before he begins to swiftly pursue you. Din is unable to perceive anything else when the both of you exit the cantina. He can't wait anymore, sit around and watch. Sure, you can deal with the situation perfectly fine, as you'd done countless times in the past. But for once, Din urges himself to help. An impulse to protect you. His hand shifts towards his holster by pure instinct as he saunters through the exit, only for him to freeze in his spot. You're menacingly holding a sharp blade against the Zabrak's exposed neck, before he abruptly staggers backwards, holding his hands up in a surrendering manner.

You chuckle, before your eyes land on the Mandalorian lingering around, a certain glimmer present in your eyes. "Besides—" you're directing your words towards the Zabrak while stepping towards Din. "I've other plans tonight."

Your gentle hands grip onto Din's bicep, lightly tugging him forward and beckoning him to follow. Your touch causes an unfamiliar heat to erupt throughout his entire body, predominating his emotions. It's not due to the humidity of the planet, no... it's just... it's you. You're causing all this and he can't control himself no matter how much effort he put into it.

Just one touch is so electric...

He goes along with your suggestion, no hesitation whatsoever as you step away from the grumbling Zabrak. He recognizes he shouldn't mess with a Mandalorian, especially if the urge to protect the person he's constantly thinking about is present.

When he tips his head down to glance towards your direction, your lips are curled upwards into a smirk. Not the one you held while attempting to rid of the irritating Zabrak. There is a certain mischief written all over your features.

"Your ship?"

Oh, what the hell.

How could he resist a piece of you?

#let me tell you something #he may be completely clueless when it comes to flirting #and all that kind of stuff #but din djarin knows how to treat a woman #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #star wars #din djarin imagines #star wars x reader #din djarin x reader imagines #brown eyes #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

[hotdamnhunnam]

Louder, Bitch

A/N: So for those who liked Fuck You Better, I think this makes a great sequel to that fic! (But it can also be read as a standalone.) Based on the below request – in which Jax wants you to be loud during sex, to let everyone know just how good you’re getting fucked 😏 Note: As mentioned in some of my recent posts, my plan is to alternate posting fics like this, from my Main Request List, with fics for my 500 Followers Kinkfest!

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex, super loud sex, in the kitchen, with an audience (listening but not actually watching), dom!Jax Request: This awesome anon request!

Word Count: ~1.8k

“Can’t we just go to your place?” you beg.

“Babe, we’ve already fucked a hundred times on every surface,” Jax reminds you as he drives his bike up to the front of your apartment complex. You two have only been officially together for a few days, but it’s true. “Need to stake my claim to you on your turf, too.”

The Harley pulls up to a stop; you groan, reluctant to step off. “Ugh—fine, just go ahead and talk about me like a piece of meat you own. I guess that’s nothing new...”

“Well, you sure seem to dig it when I fuck you like one,” Jackson taunts, smirking since he can tell those words set fire to your cunt. He takes off your helmet, offsetting the filth with a softhearted kiss on your forehead. “Love you.”

Teasing aside, the real reason you’re stopping by is to pick up a few things you need from your apartment. You haven’t set foot back here ever since Jax Teller claimed you as his girlfriend. Been avoiding this place like the plague, ‘cause a certain somebody—your ex-fuckbuddy—just happens to be your damn roommate. 

You just pray that he’s not home today, as you head up the few flights of stairs to your floor.

“Still can’t believe you share an address with your ex,” Jax says as you quietly open the door. “This place stinks of unsatisfying sex.”

“You know he’s not really my ex, Jax. Was never my boyfriend. We just shared the rent, and hooked up now and then because it was convenient,” you mutter as you step in, feeling Jax groping your ass with eager hands. Just hoping desperately the other man’s not home to witness what’s about to happen... “Luckily the lease is up this weekend. Then we can—”

But Jax has no patience to let you finish that sentence. Slams the door shut behind him as he shoves you up against the wall and kisses you so hard that you’re incapable of speaking. You probably won’t ever see straight again.

“That’s my girl. Such a sweet little piece of meat,” he snarls, the force of his hunger and heat pushing you down the hall, toward the nearest surface where you used to eat. You try to protest that your ‘ex’ might be home, in the very next room... but Jax just doesn’t seem to care at all. “Quit your bitchin’. Think you need a good hard pounding in the kitchen.”

***************

Ten seconds later, your man has you screaming so loud that you’re bound to be getting complaints from the neighbors. 

The whole town of Charming can probably hear. Thankfully it appears that your roommate’s not here, as you notice his keys are absent from the spot where he typically keeps them, whenever he’s in...

Of course Jax took note of the fact you were distracted for a second, checking for your ex’s keys. He isn’t pleased. Your wholehearted focus on him during sex is the one thing he always demands, fucking needs. Pulls at your pants with forceful hands, yanking them further down your knees, spanking your ass as he drives his enormous cock into your soaking wet heat.

Jax has you bent over the cold kitchen counter. Manhandling you like a damn piece of meat, taking you from behind in a pure show of alpha male power. And every delicious thrust into your tight pussy has you screaming even louder.

Apparently not loud enough. Jax knows you like it rough. Leans down to growl pure filth into your ear, pushing your shirt up so your bare skin rubs against the rugged leather of his kutte, calling you his dirty little girl and nasty fucking slut. Ordering you to make even more noise, which happens inevitably as your body reacts to the force of his touch and his gruff, raspy voice. 

He knows this is exactly what you love. What the slut deep inside you enjoys. Getting used like his fucktoy, completely destroyed. And he loves when your screams make that clear, for the whole town to hear.

The whole town—literally everybody—and... oh shit. Suddenly there’s a sound at the door, in this moment, which you somehow notice, while you’re busy moaning like a fucking whore. The door just opened, you’re pretty sure. And it must be your goddamn ex-fuckbuddy.

Though you don’t give much of a shit what he thinks, still it just seems insulting and embarrassing, to have the guy walk in and watch and listen, while Jax hammers you to pieces in the kitchen. To have him actually hear and see you getting fucked so rough and slutty...

“J-Jax—” you gasp.

But Jax just deals your ass another brutal slap, grabbing a fistful of your hair to make you arch your back, and laughing in your ear now as he hears your breathing hitch and feels your pussy twitch.

Then he just says two words that make you want to fucking burst. His dominance feels so damn good it hurts. “Louder, bitch.”

That’s all it takes, for all your dignity and self-restraint to swiftly fade away. For you to do exactly as he says. To give in to your purpose to submit and to obey, always, while Jax keeps punishing your pussy till it breaks.

“Fuck—Jax...” you moan, as he pulls your hair firmly back, pushes his cock in farther, spanks you harder, treats you to the pleasure that only Jax Teller can give. Jax alone. For as long as you live. Reminding you and your ex and everyone else that you are his to own. 

Much of the noise that you’re making is just shouts and screams, grunts and groans. Like the soundtrack to some raunchy porno. Which Jax fucking loves. Says the sounds that you make are the stuff of wet dreams. He gets off on this stuff. Hearing you come undone as you burst at the seams, barely able to form words as you let your inner whore go.

But you know this dirty motherfucker is also a sucker for dirty talk—hearing his girl use her words to praise his big, beautiful, powerful, perfect cock. Gushing about how he gives you such pleasure, how nobody could fuck you better. Ever since you and Jax got together, you’ve been showering him with praises like that quite a lot, and it gets him so hot.

So today’s no exception. You somehow form words to effuse about how your new boyfriend is literal sex god perfection. 

“Oh my God, your cock—holy fuck... so good... ugh, yeah just like that, Jax—just fuck me like I’m nothing but your filthy little slut... God, you’re so hot... so big—so fucking big... holy shit—Jax, I live for your dick...”

It’s not as if your former fuckbuddy was small—no, not at all—but, well... compared to Jax, every man is. So you’re just being honest, even if it sounds mean as hell. It’s not your intention to be mean about it, but now that you have Jax’s dick... you just can’t live without it. And Jax wants your ex and the whole world to know that, so nobody will ever doubt it.

Surely by now, there is no fucking doubt. Not when you’re being so fucking loud.

This whole time your ex seems to have stayed in the foyer, clearly within earshot but out of the way. Not so close as to actually witness.

You may not be mean-spirited... but Jax is. Just a little bit. He and your ‘ex’ have just a little bit of history, a little bit of business. 

So between the dirty words that he relentlessly growls down into your ear, you hear him call out to the man who’d walked in unannounced. “Bet you fucking miss this!”

It’s a proud, territorial, alpha male shout. With a sick, savage smirk of a smile. Jax Teller’s classic style. And all the while, he keeps on ferociously fucking your brains out, right here in the other man’s house.

As his cock keeps on pounding you into the counter, the both of you keep shouting louder and louder...

And soon the front door just slams shut. Your ex-fuckbuddy clearly had heard quite enough. Feels no need to stay here and listen, while somebody hotter and bigger and better—Jackson Fucking Teller: the only man you’ll ever want, ever love—ravages your tight wet cunt in this kitchen. His kitchen. All filthy and rough. Making sure the whole world knows that you are his slut.

Jax stakes his final claim, by filling you up with his thick hot cum as you repeatedly, heatedly scream out his name. Keeping his massive dick inside you as he leans down over your trembling body to engulf you in the warmth of his kutte, in the glow of his love. Kisses tender and soft, to help ease you down from how explosively you both just came.

So that just happened, on the kitchen counter here in this apartment, for which you and your ‘ex’ are still both paying rent... and you seriously have no fucking shame. Just to please your man, you would honestly do it all over again.

Jax seems to read your mind, still buried deep inside you from behind. “Damn. Babe, that was awesome,” he sighs as he traces the sex-hazy smile on your lips with the tip of his thumb. “So, um... you said the lease is up this weekend?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, your senses still totally buzzing and numb. Struck dumb, from being so full of his cum, and just how much you love him.

“Guess that leaves just a few dozen other surfaces for us to get our freak on,” he muses aloud, taking stock of the territory that he has to conquer by the weekend. “You know I gotta stake my claim before your pretty ass officially moves out.”

Can’t help but laugh, though laughing hurts when he just fucked your cunt in half. But it’s so worth it. Fucking perfect. Pain is pleasure, with Jax Teller. “What, you got some kind of kink for fucking me in my own house...?” you ask although you know the answer. Your badass biker boyfriend is a territorial alpha male bastard.

“Hey—this is my house now,” he claims, playful yet seriously proud. Picking you up and then spreading you out across the dining room table like a piece of meat for him to fucking eat. Already all set for a second round. “Let’s give the neighbors something to complain about...”

Oh, yes sir, you think in silence as he throws you down, ready for yet another round of perfectly painful pleasure, as your man goes to town and fucks your goddamn brains out.

Jax Teller has only one order, as he settles in to fuck you even harder. As if there was ever a doubt. “Bitch, better be fucking loud.”

***************

Hope you enjoyed this! As always, would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

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#jax teller #sons of anarchy #soa #charlie hunnam #jax teller smut #sons of anarchy smut #soa smut #charlie hunnam smut #jax teller imagine #sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #charlie hunnam imagine #jax teller fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfiction #soa fanfiction #charlie hunnam fanfiction #jax teller x reader #jax teller x you #charlie hunnam x reader #charlie hunnam x you

[momowho34]

Time for another naruto au post that so long and complicated it might aswell be a fic in and of itself. Why am I like this :,) Naruto au where Itachi runs away from the village with Sasuke in tow and doesn’t leave him behind. Also Itachi is a little older then a teenager because it makes more sense. Buckle up this is a long one.

Itachi refuses to kill his family and runs to warn them but when he gets there everybody’s dead except for Sasuke, (who witnessed the whole thiNG OOPSY-) so he takes him and runs for their lives.

Itachi joins the akatsuki but uhhhhh now there’s a four year old tagging along and Itachi’s too scary for anybody to mention it.

Imagine the fluff and angst potential with the akatsuki oooooof there’s so much omg

At first they all think it’s super annoying but within like two days they would all gladly die for this kid. Seriously they were pretty sure their hearts were made of stone at this point but apparently not.

Kisame is surprisingly really good with kids, partly because he appears fairly calm on the outside without being too standoffish so Sasuke likes him best. Also Kisame could happily play peek-a-boo for the rest of his life he likes the small things

Kakazu is awful with kids but sasuke likes him anyway and he hates it (not really) Hidan.... really doesn’t know what to do. He’s never cared about another person in his life, okay? He kind of wants to kill the small child but he knows Itachi would steal his fucking knee caps and bury him at the bottom of the ocean so he doesn’t even mention it ever

Sasori is the mom when Itachi isn’t around. They would all feed him candy until he fucking died if Sasori didn’t stop that. Sasori is also the one to go “oh my GOD Deidara you can’t dare him to climb that mountain he could fall and hit his head no I don’t care about that deidaRA HE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD ITACHI IS GOING TO KILL YOU WHEN HE GETS HOME MARK MY WORDS—“

Tobi likes to blame all of his mistakes on Sasuke as a joke. Also they all teach Sasuke bits of their fighting styles so he becomes even more formidable and all of them are kind of freaked out by how quickly he masters their techniques

When he’s too young to tag along on missions he has to stay with Konan and Pain. He really values Konan because she’s really the only one of them who treats him like a person instead of a stupid child that needs protection.

“He costs too much,” Kakazu says. “He shouldn’t be here, what about how much it costs for him to stay with us” all while consistently finding room in the budget to get the kid anything and everything even though he’s fairly low maintenance to take care of

When Itachi arrives, everybody tries to disregard the rumors paired with Sasuke being there. Because of Itachi’s overall demeanor and Sasuke’s refusal to talk about it, they assume that he killed his family but didn’t kill his little brother for some reason

...And then Sasuke starts having nightmares. Like loud, screaming and crying in the middle of the night nightmares. Every time it happens, Itachi wakes up, calm and collected, and holds him until he falls asleep again. They all start having doubts about Itachi really killing his family.

Itachi doesn’t really hold a grudge against Konoha, but he didn’t see the whole family die like Sasuke did. Sasuke wants revenge, and he’s dead set on it.

Okay yeah but what abt the actual plot and stuff??? Don’t worry I’m there.

So a while later after that during Naruto’s three year journey (which he still takes with Jiraiya because he needs training to fight Orochimaru who is still a big threat btw) he meets this weird black haired kid staying at the same hotel he is.

Turns out they’ve both got caretakers who are absent (Jiraiya’s at a brothel somewhere and Kisame and Itachi are off killing some guy) which sucks so they bond over that and compare abilities and beat the shit out of eachother a little and develop a mini rival complex all of that but then

“Wow you’re so cool! You fight just like a ninja! You should come back with me!” Naruto laughs one day. Sasuke asks “Back to where?” And Naruto’s like “back to the leaf village of course! I’m a leaf village ninja, I’m out here training with my sensei! I forgot that I left my headband in the room, I can show it to you.” But Sasuke just gets really pale and runs off and Naruto doesn’t see him for the rest of the trip.

He thought he’d never see him again but then Sasuke gets separated from the Akatsuki members reeeaaaallly far away from their base and Konoha. As he’s trying to figure out what to do, a certain ninja crew happens to be in town. Naruto is like “omfg I know this kid!!!!!!!! Hey Sasuke!!!!! Hey Sasukeeeee!!!!!”

Sasuke is like o-o but then he starts to consider his options. If anybody figures out about his sharingan, he’s straight up fucked. His eyes are gone, he probably gets murdered. Naruto is like “what r u doing here????” And sasuke spins a fairly convincing story

He’s like “oh yeah and I know my way around this place so I can help you out could I maybe seek asylum in your village maybe??? I could be helpful” just so he can head in the general direction of Konoha and hopefully get closer to his base along the way.

So Kakashi begrudgingly agrees and Sasuke tries not to burn alive because he’s in the general proximity of leaf soldiers that he fucking hates and he will not grow attached to any of them at all no siree, not at all, no way!

Sasuke begins to grow close to them, of course. Sai and Sasuke do goth shenanigans and he fights with Naruto and tries to get Sakura to leave him alone (what is up with her why is she being so weird?)

Oh bonus angst: Tobi used to talk in his sleep sometimes, and at some point Sasuke drops “those who break the rules are scum, but those who leave their friends behind are worse then scum” casually and Kakashi almost has a full blown panic attack.

This is when he first realizes something is seriously up with this kid; and his first name sounds... familiar. His suspicions are just suspicions until they run into Orochimaru. Now Orochimaru could just out Sasuke as akatsuki, instead he plays with his feelings a little bit. He keeps saying things like “how does it feel to fight on the same side as your enemies for once?” And “have you forgotten already?” They defeat him without Sasuke revealing his sharingan but the jig is up in Kakashi’s mind.

Kakashi doesn’t quite connect the dots; but he’s almost there. Whoever this kid is, they’re coming back to the village for sure. It’s the safest thing to do. Meanwhile the Akatsuki are freaking out. Itachi is unhinged and almost grieving, they have no idea where Sasuke could be. The team is out in full force; including Tobi

And you know, Obito doesn’t care. He shouldn’t care, nothing matters in this false reality. It just doesn’t. Tobi might have given a shit about Sasuke, but Tobi isn’t real. He’s just a front, Tobi doesn’t exist. So why is he looking so hard for this stupid kid that he shouldn’t give a shit about? Obito convinces himself it’s just a front, it’s just part of Tobi’s act, but it’s not. What’s happening to him? Why is starting to feel things now, so deep into the plan?

Annnnnndddd that’s as far as I got with it lmao. That’s still pretty fucking far tho

#shitpost #naruto #naruto shitposting #naruto shitpost omg #naruto au #nar au #au #fanfic #fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #naruto fandom #narusasu #sns #naruto uzamaki #sasuke uchiha #pain akatsuki #nagato akatsuki #akatsuki #hidan akatsuki #sasori #itachi and kisame #kisame and itachi #Itachi #itachi uchiha #uchiha #uchiha clan #obito

[disgruntledspacedad]

Aftershocks (1/5)

The Better Love Series 

A sequel to The Rules of Engagement 

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader (Ears). Part of the Better Love ‘verse. 

summary: That bomb fucked you up a little more than you thought. h/c, fluff.

words: 1.5k 

warnings: 18+ - canon typical violence, angst, hospital stuff. This one is mild for me.

a/n: unbeta’d. Gif by @javier-pena, banner by @cassandras-nest​, title card by yours truly.Takes place hours after ROE leaves off. This won’t make a lot of sense unless you’ve read Rules first.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five 

MASTERLIST 

A deep, throbbing ache in your back drags you back to the land of the living.

Ugh. 

You rub the crust from your eyes and wiggle your toes with the awkward effort that comes from heavy sleep. It’s late afternoon, the sun sinking low in the sky, falling in gentle patches over the crumpled comforter. Reality comes back to you in slow, muzzy chunks. 

You’re lying in Peña’s bed. He’d ridden you hard, then tucked you in afterward, snuggled comfortably beside you while you’d drifted off. 

The lazy smile dies on your lips as you remember just why Javier Peña had felt the need to throw you against the wall and fuck you like there was no tomorrow.

Your apartment. A blazing fireball. Smoke and ash and rubble. Emilio’s broken body. 

You choke back a sob. 

Javi.

Your chest throbs as you remember how he’d looked at you, eyes shining and desperate. 

“I thought I’d lost you.” 

How he’d held you close, tucking you gently under his chin as if you were the most precious thing in the world. Wild sex in the hallway, gentle sex in his bed. Snuggling up together afterward. His soft confession, “I’m all in, Ears, if that’s okay with you.”

Your brain spins dizzily in an attempt to process it all. Despite all of the pain, fear, drama, and uncertainty of the past 12 hours, you can’t help feeling a profound sense of relief. Sure, you’ve lost everything you’ve ever owned, but at least you have Javi. 

That thought still boggles your mind. 

You roll over, kicking your feet to untangle them from the sheets. Javi’s side of the bed is long cold. Sighing, you haul yourself up on your elbow, surprised when you have to catch your breath to do so. 

God, you’re more sore than you thought you’d be. 

Your heart races as you stand, and you press your hand to your breast bone, feeling a little woozy. Gray spots swim in your vision, and you blink hard, forcing them away. You hadn’t realized you’d stood up so fast.

Slowly, you patter naked into the hallway, following the sound of Javi’s voice. He’s in the kitchen with his back turned to you, speaking lowly into the telephone. He’s still shirtless. 

You crack a grin at the memory. 

Now that you’re standing up, you’re starting to feel a little more stable. Thoughts are still fuzzy and distant, and your pulse thrums skittish in your ears, but at least you’re not going to pass out. Your chest feels weird, though, like your lungs have been scraped raw, and taking a deep breath sets something throbbing deep in your back. Your head aches like a bitch, too. 

Fuck Pablo Escobar and his fucking bombs. 

You snatch Javi’s green shirt off the kitchen counter, still lying half-folded where you’d dropped it this morning. Javi raises his brows at you, and you shoot him a wink as you slip into it. He’s still on the phone, talking to Messina, you think, but his eyes follow you darkly as you make your way to his bathroom in search of some pain medicine.

Climbing onto the toilet to peruse through Javi’s bathroom cabinet feels like more effort than it really ought to be. Again, your heart speeds, and you double over, suddenly panting for air. 

A minute or so later, Javi finds you sitting on the toilet lid with your head in your hands. 

“Hey,” he says, pausing as he notices your position. He drops to his knees in front of you, taking your hands in his. “What’s wrong?” His voice is laced with concern. 

You look up at him. He’s all dark eyes and somber expression, watching you warily with a deeply furrowed brow. “Just a little dizzy,” you admit, hating to see him worry over you. “I was looking for a tylenol. My back is killing me.”

Javi blinks, as if the thought of keeping medicine in a medicine cabinet has never occurred to him. 

“I can find you something,” he says, and somehow, you just know that means he’ll be sneaking across the landing to borrow from Connie’s stash. “But baby, are you sure I don’t need to take you to the hospital? You look a little pale.”

“I’m sure, Javi,” you answer firmly. The thought of getting dressed and leaving the apartment is absolutely abhorrent right now - you are still bone weary. You decide to offer him a compromise. “If it really bothers you, I’ll see somebody tomorrow after work.” 

Javi shakes his head. “You’re not going in tomorrow, babe,” he says slowly. “I already talked to Stechner.” There’s a little bit of hesitation in his tone, like he’s wary of how you’ll react. “Once word got around about the bomb, everybody was looking for you. I didn’t mean to butt in, but I really didn’t want to wake you, either.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, almost apologetically.

In a different situation, you think you might be annoyed by his interference. But Javi is staring at you with those solemn, worried eyes, one errant curl falling across his brow, and you find that any frustration you feel is buried deep beneath exhaustion and maybe even a little gratitude. “Guess I’ll let it slide,” you tell him, cracking a small smile. “This time.”

He answers you with a tiny breath of relief and a quirk of his lips. “Good.” One long thumb massages your knuckles absently. “He’s put you on leave for the rest of the week. Says get some rest and maybe some therapy, and he’ll see you on Monday to talk logistics.”

You snort. “Asshole.”

Javi’s expression is a little darker as he agrees. “So,” he says, leaning back on his heels to pin you with an intense stare. “Doctor tomorrow?”

“Doctor tomorrow,” you promise, allowing him to pull you to your feet. “Tylenol now.”

“Bossy,” he complains, reaching up to stroke your cheek like he just can’t help touching you at every opportunity.

“Assertive,” you’re quick to correct, swallowing back a shiver. All of this soft, sweet caressing is very new.

Javi grins, a gentle, fond expression that crinkles his eyes and makes him look years younger. “Have I mentioned how good you look in my shirt?” he murmurs, meeting your lips for a slow, deep kiss that steals your breath. One hand roams up to gently cup your breast. 

“You don’t have to,” you answer smugly, catching that wandering hand in a firm grip. Your heart is racing again, but for all of the wrong reasons. “Now, go raid Murphy’s medicine cabinet for me, please.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughs, shaking his head at the fact that you know him so well.

That woozy feeling redoubles just as soon as Javi shuts the door behind him. You bite your lip, counting back the hours since you’ve had anything to drink besides coffee. Even that had been a long time ago. Probably you’re just dehydrated.

You make your way to the kitchen, feeling numb and detached as you shuffle through the cabinets. Javi has a startling lack of normal drink wear, but you manage to find a nice set of crystal tumblers lurking above the sink. 

Typical.

Again, climbing requires an alarming amount of effort, and something uncoils painfully in your chest as you reach over your head for a glass. You flinch, and three of the tumblers go flying, shattering on the floor with a horrendous crash.

Startled and off-balanced, you stumble to your hands and knees, heedless of the glass shards that are digging into your bare skin. Your vision is graying at the edges again, and you can’t fucking breathe. 

“What the fuck?” Javi’s voice is hard as he slams open the front door. “Babe?”

“Sorry,” you wheeze with the very last of the air that’s left in your lungs. Panic sets in, your body responding to the acute lack of oxygen in the only way it knows how. “I was -”

Speaking sets you coughing, and suddenly, you’re coughing so hard that you can’t stop, great, wrenching spasms that send pain racketing through your entire body.

Javi drops the bottle of pills he’s holding. They rattle against the floor. “Ridiculous woman,” he grits between clenched teeth, reaching down to haul you to his chest. You know he doesn’t mean it. “You are not fine.”

You press your fingers to your lips, one last rasping cough ripping its way out of your throat. When you pull them away, they are covered in tiny spots of blood.

Javi freezes as he sees it. “Jesus Christ.” 

Your teeth are chattering, your entire body shaking. “I’m -”

“Goddammit, if you tell me you’re fine one more fucking time, Ears,” Javi growls, allowing the threat to trail off.

You shake your head. “I’m not,” you manage. Everything hurts, and words are difficult right now. Your throat is raw, and you still don’t have enough air. “I’m sorry. I was, but now I’m not.”

“Come on,” Javi’s voice is terse, worried. You have the foresight to grab his sweats from the counter before he sweeps you off your feet. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

♠

notes/confessions:

I promise, promise, promise, this is going to turn into fluff. Please don’t kill me!

Originally, Aftershocks was going to be a huge one-shot, but nah. I thought I’d try smaller chapters for once (read: chaotic jay cannot plan shit to save her life). 

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from my tags!

Tags: @jedi-mando, @perropascal, @aerolanya, @pikemoreno, @bitchin-beskar, @mostly-megan, @huliabitch, @starsandmando, @starlight-starwrites​, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13, @yespolkadotkitty

Javier Peña tags: @magpie-to-the-morning, @tiffdawg, @danniburgh

#javier peña #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #narcos #pedro pascal #narcos netflix #pedro fanficiton #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #javier peña fanfic #better love #aftershocks

[mcheang]

The girl squad overhear Adrien and Marinette talking/arguing about Lila; they learn that Adrien knew Lila was lying and told Marinette to take the high road. When Adrien again says that the lies aren't hurting anyone, the girls confront him and explain just how the lies could hurt them. They also learn about Lila harassing Adrien and threatening Marinette. Bonus: Chloe redemption and having her care about Adrien as a friend.

Friends stand up for each other

Post Ikari Gozen. This is a draft.

While bonding with each other, Kagami and Marinette relate about their familial akumatizations. Marinette told about Weredad, Befana and Bakerix. Kagami talked about her mother and her own experiences.

Marinette: did I mention I’m sorry.

Kagami: do not be upset. You were nervous. Besides, you didn’t mean to, unlike that Lila girl.

Marinette: you know Lila?

Kagami: not exactly. I was busy practising one afternoon, then all of a sudden a random number sends me a picture of a stranger kissing Adrien.

Marinette startled. “Wait, if you never met Lila, how did she get your number?”

Kagami: Adrien thinks she must have copied off his contacts list.

Marinette: that is so wrong

Kagami: indeed

Marinette: lying is one thing, but this is downright harassment and invasion of privacy.

Kagami: lying?

Marinette: Lila likes to make herself sound grander than she really is. Apparently she’s Ladybug’s best friend.

Having met Ladybug, Kagami raised her brows skeptically. “With how Ladybug values her privacy, I’m surprised anyone believes that claim.”

Marinette sighed. “My friend Alya runs the Ladyblog. She gets very excited over any rumor about Ladybug.”

Kagami: like thinking Chloé was Ladybug despite being saved by her from Stoneheart?

Marinette: it is so nice to finally meet someone who does their research.

Kagami: I developed an interest after my own akumatization. But back to this liar, why haven’t you exposed her?

Marinette: I tried to. But she puts on this sweet front and people think I’m just jealous about Adrien.

Kagami: if they could see us now, they might change their minds.

Marinette: I doubt it. Things have gone too far. And the only other witness who believes me is Adrien, and he wants to take the high road and let Lila’s lies crumble on their own.

Kagami frowned. “He told me as much when I asked him what he was going to do about her.”

Marinette: be honest with me, do you wish we didn’t have to take the high road.

Kagami: the question is, would we be taking it if it didn’t involve Adrien.

Marinette snorted. “Alya would scramble to bring the truth to light asap. Rose would want to warn everyone so nobody gets their hopes crushed. And Alix already has her brother coming up with fantastical ideas, she doesn’t need someone else to do it in school too.”

Kagami: then we have our answer.

Marinette stopped. Kagami followed suit.

Marinette: we do, don’t we.

Kagami: It’s a shame that, based on what you’ve said, people would say we’re jealous.

Marinette: so how do we prove we’re not?

Kagami: I need a chance to improve my planning skills (especially since she ruined Ladybug’s first plan) and this is an excellent way to bond.

Marinette grinned.

The next day, the girls in class were astonished to see Marinette and Adrien arguing in the distance.

Lila hasn’t arrived yet. (Tikki may have locked her in her bedroom.)

Curious, Alya led the group to spy on their endgame. They were just around the corner, out of sight, but able to hear everything.

“...too long and her influence is only growing stronger.”

“She’s done nothing serious yet.”

“Are we supposed to wait until something bad really happens before Lila’s exposed?“ This again? The girls barely hid their groans. On a side note, how did Marinette convince Adrien to join her team?

“We’ll stop her before she goes too far,” Adrien assured Marinette.

“Really? Like how you stopped her from taking Kagami’s phone number? Lila’s already convinced Mylene to let her join in on her fundraiser. What if she steals the funds?”

“Relax. Lila’s not going to do anything that daring. She’ll probably just flake as usual.” Wow. Adrien really thinks bad of Lila now. What did Marinette say to him?

“Adrien, we’re talking about a girl who loves to get what she wants. Do you honestly think Lila will be satisfied with a simple no show. She’ll insist she handle the funds to make up for her absence.”

“We don’t have any proof she’s a thief. Ok, she’s a liar. But who doesn’t lie?”

“Adrien…I saw her steal your dad’s book.”

“What?!” Adrien’s outcry expressed what the girls were thinking.

“How do you think I know she’s a liar. I saw Ladybug confront her right after I saw her dump a book in the bin.“

Pause.

“Do you honestly think she won’t stoop so low as to steal Mylene’s funds if she didn’t even care that you were under house arrest?”

Silence before Adrien struggled to say, “She didn’t mean for me to get pulled out of school.”

“Oh come on!” This time the outburst came from Alix, one of the first to recover.

Adrien and Marinette turned around. Adrien paled. “Were you girls eavesdropping?”

Alya glared at him, “Why so upset? It’s not like we’re hurting anybody.”

Adrien cringed from the mocking tone.

Rose looked tearfully at Marinette. “All this time, you were trying to protect us, weren’t you? And we only accused you of being jealous.”

“You’ve finally seen the light. Hallelujah!”

Adrien: you girls aren’t going to tell anybody else, right?

They stared at him in disbelief. “Of course we are. Duh.”

“But then Lila won’t have any friends in our class!”

Alya scoffed. “Like I’m letting Nino listen to anymore of her garbage.”

Mylene nodded furiously. “Ivan and I trusted her!”

Alix: I have to tell Nathaniel. It’s what friends do. Oh, and Kim, too I suppose.

Rose: And Kim will tell Max, who will tell Markov.

Juleka: That leaves Chloe and Sabrina…but they don’t like anyone else but you, Adrien.

Adrien stammered. “It’s mean of you to do that.”

Alix laughed. “Oh, we’re mean? How about you? Did you care to tell Alya her blog credibility is being ruined?”

Mylene: Did you think to warn us that Lila might always be absent at our volunteer parties.

Marinette: Did you consider Kagami’s feelings when you told her you would do nothing to scold Lila for upsetting her.

Adrien looked down, unable to find an answer.

A sharp voice barked out. “Get back, you peasants!”

Chloe had arrived. “Need I remind you Adrikins is still new to having more than one friend. His only real teachers are cartoons with their happily ever afters. While I don’t really care if Lila steals and brags about falsehoods, I care if she does that to you, Adrikins. Dupain-Cheng told me about the photo and asked me to talk sense into you!”

Chloe was plan B. Marinette had asked Kagami to share the photo. Chloe was outraged. She saw that it was a forced kiss, and learned from Kagami how Lila was basically a snoop.

Adrien: Chloe, what do you mean exactly?

Chloe: I don’t care about exposing that liar…much…let’s wait for a slow day before we bring out the popcorn. What I care is that she’s sexually harassing you. i see her constantly moving into your personal space as you lean back. i saw her force that kiss on you so can have a souvenir you never agreed to. Now I hear she’s been snooping around your room, instead of actually studying. Adrikins, I love you, I know what our parents can be like, but that doesn’t mean you should let everybody walk all over you like that.

The girls pause as they take in what Chloe has been saying. Lila has been sexually harassing Adrien.

Adrien croaked out, “What should I do?” He wasn’t asking Chloe. He was asking everybody.

Marinette softened. “If you can’t say no yet, then ask for help. Tell Nino and the guys how Lila’s been bothering you. They’re your friends. If you can’t tell any of us your troubles, then who? Friends are here for each other, no matter what.”

Adrien nodded slowly. While he didn’t like being a tattletale, he also admitted he wanted Lila as far from him as possible. And if Lila was wrong, then he should tattle then? Right?

Alya: as for exposing Lila…

Chloe: we are not doing any exposing until we get a slow day.

Alix: When is a school day not a slow day?

Sabrina: When we learn to expect an akuma at least once a week.

Alya: There was an akuma 4 days ago.

Juleka: There should be one soon, then.

Mylene: How about 2 days after the next akuma attack? That gives us enough time to research, time for the akuma excitement to die down, and time before the next akuma shows up.

Chloe scowled: fine.

Alya: I’ll get right on it!

After that, Lila was irritated that whenever she tried to approach Adrien, someone would block her path, asking for help or stories or whatever. And Mylene had kicked her out of her charity after deciding that Lila was so busy, she didn’t want to interfere with her work with Ali. Ugh. Maybe Lila could convince Mylene to let her handle the cheques later. And the girls didn’t seem to want to hang out with her anymore. Before they always invited her out, but now they claim they’ve accepted her busy schedule. When Lila claimed to be free, someone asked her to help them with some chore.

After the debut of Monsieur Rat, Lila was called to the Principal’s Office. When she came back, she was accompanied by Mrs Rossi and Damocles.

Damocles: Class, I believe Miss Rossi here has something she would like to say.

Lila gritted her teeth as she forced out the words: “Ladybug is not my Best Friend. I don’t know Prince Ali. Jagged never had a kitten….”

The list went on, so many were her lies. While Ms Bustier gasped in betrayal, the girls were secretly munching on candy. Except for Chloe who was openly savouring her honeyed popcorn. Lila glared at her, suspicious of her involvement. Damocles coughed but said nothing. The boys were shocked and angry. It was one thing to unknowingly sexually harass Adrien, it was another to take advantage of their trust.

Mrs Rossi: As of now, my daughter will be heading to a convent school. The nuns there are known for being alert to their students’ activities, and are used to liars. It will also be far enough away that Hawkmoth can’t akumatize my daughter, who apparently thinks I would not be interested to know she has been akumatized who knows how many times!”

Lila: I told you it was only 2 times!

Mrs Rossi: akumas are newsworthy information! (Ok, how she missed out on the heroes defeating the villains is beyond me. For a diplomat, she is ridiculously oblivious about Paris.)

Alya: then who cast that illusion of Ladybug on Heroes Day? Lila was certainly around to be akumatized.

Lila gaped at Alya, who showed no surprise at her exposure. was she behind this?

Chloe gave a wave. “Bye bye, Lie-la”

After this, the girls were insistent Adrien learn to expose any wrongdoings or he is only enabling the bully. Chloé was more of the opinion he should learn to stand up to his father. Nino was on Chloé’s side for once.

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #lila salt #adrien salt #ml salt fic #adrien redemption #adrien learns #marinette & kagami #chloe redemption #lila busted #lila gets exposed #lila is exposed #post ikari gozen #long post

[everlarkficexchange]

That’s Just Tachy

Written by: @everybirdfellsilent

Prompt 153: Best friends!Everlark who have always been in love with one another. Katniss is in a pretty serious accident, of course Peeta visits her every single day. He notices that every time he enters the room her heart monitor beeps due to elevated heart rate. He notices and finally mentions to a mutual friend (Madge? Finnick?) how it’s sweet that she gets excited to see her friends, said friend rolls eyes and is like uh yeah ok “friend”. Peeta’s all what? Cue suspicion so next time he visits her he takes it a step further and gives little touches (brushes her hair back, strokes her cheek, grazes her arm? LET IT BURN) to see what happens. Sure enough her HR skyrockets. Tell us all the sweet and suspenseful details :))) [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone] (@peetamewllark)

I do not own The Hunger Games or it’s characters. All credit where credit is due.

Thank you to @xteenwolfwritingsx, @smartalexy, and @papofglencoe for looking this over for me!

Warnings: Some language. (I think?) Mostly just fluff, though. (Rated K-Teen.)

Word count: 6,712

A/N: This didn’t turn out quite how I wanted, but it is what it is. 😆 It was a 2k document I sat down to flush out and suddenly it was over 6k words, so I figured it was time. I like to write where you just jump right in kind of like a TV show, but that didn’t really work for this prompt, and was a sort of learning curve for me. But I still hope you all like it! This was fun to write, and I have loved this prompt from the beginning. (Especially the “LET IT BURN”. Haha! So here are my two lovesick idiots who don’t know it until it’s right in front of their face. I have missed writing for them.)

Xxx

“You guys coming?” Jo called from up at the front of the group as they made their way across the quad. 

Glancing back over her shoulder, Johanna stopped, effectively stopping Gale and Finnick as well, and they all stared at the two stragglers of the group who were locked in some kind of glare off. 

“I don’t trust him,” Katniss stated, her eyes never wavering from his. 

“Me?!” Peeta cried in disbelief. “You’re the one with impeccable aim and on the archery team, why in the world am I the bigger threat here?”

“Because you started it.”

Gale huffed. “Started what?”

“Poking me in the sides at the most inopportune moments all day.”

Gale sighed heavily. “Catnip….”

Her head snapped his way, the glare now on him, she missed the two thumbs up Peeta sent Gale from behind her in thanks. “You know I hate that nickna-”

The rest of her sentence stopped abruptly as she felt two strong and familiar hands start to play her sides like a piano, and it was a wonder she avoided letting out a screech. Batting the hands away with her own, using the thin folder in her hand to swat at them as they tried to come near again, she couldn’t help the smile that crawled across her face, muttering nonsense at the lighthearted taunts Peeta sent her way. 

Finnick rolled his eyes, smiling almost imperceptibly. “Come on, let the lovebirds be.”

As the three up ahead continued on, Peeta and Katniss called a truce, both breathing heavily, an errant chuckle here and there the only noise as they caught their breath. 

“So are you meeting up with Haymitch before work today?” Peeta asked, staring at the ground as they began to follow their friends. 

“Yup,” Katniss nodded, looking at the ground herself, but glancing over at Peeta every now and then. Each time made her heart race just a little bit more, and she wasn’t quite sure how that made her feel. “I need to talk to him about enrolling in one more course, or how to get some extra hours somehow.”

“Well, we’ll meet up when you’re off work later, then, and you can tell me how it went.” He looked up and right at her. “And, you know, if Haymitch doesn’t have any ideas, I can always try and talk to our professors and see where that gets us.” His voice was smooth and deep, and he playfully bumped shoulders with her as they continued to walk. 

She couldn’t help but blush at the implication, knowing Peeta could sell anything to anyone with the way he spoke. “I’ll think about it,” she managed to get out. “But I have to work late tonight, so I’ll just text you when I get off, and we’ll go from there. Sound good?”

“Sure,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets, and she couldn’t help but sigh in relief knowing he wouldn’t be poking her for the foreseeable future, making him smirk. “How late?”

“I’m not sure exactly. They just said some may need to stay late.” She shrugged, clutching her folder close to her chest. “But not too late, I don’t think. Definitely before midnight.”

“I’ll see you at midnight, then.”

Xxx

She’d been in an accident. An awful, terrible accident. 

There were more details, he was sure, but his mind tuned out of any further conversation past that. Images flashed in his mind, everything from horrendous to benign, of the condition she was in, or would be in. Did she need surgery? Did she need a kidney? A really big bandaid?

All he knew was that he’d be there for her. They all would. Because that’s what friends do. They protect each other, it’s just what they do.

Xxx

They went in as a group, right before visiting hours were over that same day. 

He didn’t know what exactly he was expecting, but he still had a breath catch in his chest at the sight of her. 

Gale and Johanna were teary eyed as they walked around to the opposite side of the bed, Gale gently taking Katniss’ hand in his where it lay beside her on the bed, and Jo hanging back behind him, almost as if to have a barrier between her and the situation. 

Finnick stood beside Peeta on the opposite side, up by her head, and rested his hand beside her head, supporting his weight. Normally one for a playful nudge or flirtatious tuck of hair behind one’s ear, his lack of physical touch and in fact distance between his hand and her spoke volumes. “Hey, Katniss,” he said softly. The hitch in his voice not missed by anyone in the room, or the shuddering breath he took in after. 

Her eyes fluttered open, and while still somewhat glassy from the pain medicine pumping through her system, she let out a tentative smile, and gently squeezed Gale’s hand back. “Hey,” voice scratchy from lack of use. “What-” she coughed a rattling cough, making everybody in the room cringe. “What happened?”

“You were in an accident,” Finnick’s voice came out much stronger than before, relief painting his tone. “No one else was hurt, they think you just fell asleep at the wheel coming home from work.”

Her pulse kicked up just slightly at the info, but her typical poker face was in full swing. 

“Don’t worry, your job is giving you paid leave until you are totally recovered. You shouldn’t have been working that late, anyway.”

Her eyes flicked over to Peeta as he spoke, her heart monitor seeming to glitch as it registered a missed beat. 

“They just don’t want a lawsuit,” Johanna muttered, causing Katniss to laugh, which turned into a major coughing fit. 

A nurse poked her head in, pushing some buttons on machines that started to let off incessant beeping, and letting them know visiting hours were over. 

They all filed from the room, including the nurse, but Peeta stayed behind. Reaching out to take her hand in his left, he gave it a squeeze, and smiled. “I’ll be back by tomorrow. We’ll go over the assignments coming up.” 

Her heart monitor started an intermittent beeping again, a light flashing at the top. “Shhhhhh, it’s okay.” He reached up to brush a piece of hair behind her ear, and the monitor started going crazy, the nurse coming in, lightly scolding him and ushering him from the room. Turning off all the beeping, the only sound was Katniss’ shallow breathing and rapid heart rate. 

One last squeeze to her hand, and he was out the door. He faintly heard the nurse say, “Calm down, honey, your boyfriend can come back by tomorrow.”

Then the monitors started going off again. 

Xxx

True to his word, the next day Peeta showed up as soon as his last class was over, giving him just a few hours with her, as opposed to every other day when his schedule allowed most of the afternoon, if she’d let him stay. 

He smiled at the thought. She did love her time alone. But however long she’d let him stay, he would.

Rounding the corner into her room, he saw Haymitch on the other side of the bed with his hand on her shoulder, grinning down at her, and Katniss sitting more upright than the night before scowling up at him.

Following Haymitch’s glance up, she met Peeta’s eyes, and almost instantly startled away to look at the floor when her heart monitor started beeping like the night before. 

Looking at it with knit eyebrows and a slight smirk, he made his way into the room. “So you got defective machines, huh?”

Pushing a button on the rail of the bed to make the head go up slightly, she sat a little further up, muttering, “Something like that….”

Haymitch snickered, quickly coughing to cover it up, moving to the recliner in the corner of the room, observing them over the top of a magazine he grabbed from atop a nearby table. 

At some point during the exchange, a nurse must have come in and turned off the alert, though Peeta still noticed the rapid beeping of her pulse. 

Holding up the assignments, giving them a little jiggle and raising an eyebrow in question, Peeta set them down on the little rolling table over her on the bed when she gave him a little nod.

Reaching out to touch a few pages absently, she finally muttered in a scratchy voice, “You came back.”

It took a moment before Peeta realized she was talking to him, but he quickly shook his head and said, “I said I would.”

They stared at each other for a moment before the monitor started beeping again, Katniss sighing and reaching out to push a button and silence it. Looking back to Peeta, she held his gaze before darting it all over the room, looking anywhere but him. “They said I could do that.”

Haymitch snorted from behind the magazine, earning daggers of a glare from her. 

“Thanks for coming by, Haymitch. You really didn’t need to.” Her tone was sincere in her thanks, but also very clear in her sarcasm. 

“Nonsense, sweetheart!” He lowered the magazine to his lap, which made a slapping sound against his thighs. Feet propped up on the footrest of the recliner, legs crossed at the ankles, he just smiled. “I’m your advisor, and I’m here to advise in any way I can.” He glanced at Peeta. “On whoever I can.”

He snickered, blocking the tissue box she threw at him with his arm, before pulling the magazine back up to read. 

Chuckling softly, Peeta pulled up a nearby chair to sit next to Katniss. “Luckily, we have all the same classes, except for one, which Finnick will bring by. He gets off before me, so he said he would swing by on his way home.”

Katniss just nodded, staring at the pile of papers on the little table. 

The nurse came in with a little cup of pills. “Time for your medicine!” She glanced at Peeta and smiled. “See? I told you your boyfriend could come back!”

Katniss started choking on the water she had used to take the pills, spluttering as Haymitch guffawed in the corner. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she choked out, taking another quick sip as the nurse pushed the button to silence the alert to her elevated pulse yet again, not even sparing it a glance, taking the empty cup when Katniss was done with a smirk. 

The nurse looked at Peeta with a raised eyebrow.

“Yup, just friends,” he clarified, and wasn’t really sure if he liked the way that made him feel.

“She just really loves her friends. Close knit. Tight bond,” Haymitch said emphatically to the nurse. 

She smiled at him. “I see.”

Xxx

The next day Peeta sat next to Finnick in one of their shared classes, in the back row of the stadium like seating. Finnick leaned back in his chair, hands knit behind his head like he was laying out in the sun lounging on a pool float somewhere.

After a few moments Finnick turned his head just slightly toward Peeta on his right, his eyes still on the ceiling. “So what you’re telling me, is her pulse was elevated the whole time you were there?”

“Yeah,” Peeta said, tossing his hands up a little in exasperation and letting them lightly slap back down on to the desktop. “I was concerned at first, but then,” he smiled, looking down to the desktop for a moment, playing with his pencil, then looking forward again. “Then I realized it was whenever we talked, specifically, not Haymitch or the nurse, and I put it together. She’s just really glad to see her friends, I think. I mean, I don’t blame her, that place is all greys and whites and blah.”

When Finnick didn’t respond, Peeta looked to his left to find Finnick still splayed back, but looking right at him. “Just ‘blah’?” He stared blankly at Peeta. “You think she’s happy - so happy it sets off alarms - that her friends are bringing a dash of color into her world?”

“….Yeah?” Peeta was hesitant to answer, shrugging his shoulders as he responded. 

Rolling his eyes, Finnick rolled his head back toward the ceiling with the movement, scoffing and letting out a small chuckle. “Uh, yeah. Okay, ‘friend’.”

“What-” Peeta huffed, looking for the right words, “What are you- What do you even mean, Finnick?”

Finnick shrugged with a smirk, everyone quieting down when the teacher walked in. Looking to his friends one more time, Finnick spoke in a hushed tone as the teacher began the lecture. “You’re a great friend, Peeta.”

They both looked forward toward the lecture happening in front of them, but Peeta wasn’t absorbing anything, his mind going a million miles a minute trying to figure out what Finnick meant. 

He had his suspicions, but, no…. Surely not. Finnick was crazy.

Xxx

He had waited until the end of the visit to test Finnick’s theory. 

As he went over the notes he had taken, reading them aloud to Katniss while she sat with the bed a little straighter up than the day before, her head back and eyes closed while she listened, he kept looking at her. Wondered what was going on in her head. Silently daring her to open her eyes and meet his. 

Shaking his head as Finnick’s voice echoed in his head, he went back to staring at the paper as he read, not even looking up.

The medicine she was on for pain made everything blurry, so he had volunteered to read to her. But as he went on, he found himself unconsciously speaking to the rhythm of her heart monitor, her pulse holding steady for the time being. And he couldn’t help the little grin that came across his face.

“And that’s it,” he said, closing his notebook and looking up to see Katniss blinking her eyes open, letting them readjust to the hospital room’s bright lights. 

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice a little stronger than the day before. 

Reaching out like the day she came in here, he gently took her hand in his, giving it a soft squeeze. “Don’t mention it.”

He glanced to the monitor that registered what looked to be a missed beat or two, but her pulse stayed fairly even, going slightly higher, but not enough to set off any alarm bells - on the machine or in his head.

The nurse came by and poked her head in the door, announcing that visiting hours were almost over, then came all the way in to the other side of the bed. 

Katniss looked at the needle in her hand with disgust. “I hate this medicine,” she said offhandedly. “It is supposed to help me sleep, but it just gives me nightmares.” Looking at Peeta as the nurse injected the medicine into her IV, her pulse started to quicken. 

Absentmindedly packing up his stuff, Peeta looked to the monitor when it finally started beeping and flashing. Swinging his backpack onto his shoulder, he noticed a particularly high spike, setting off new alarms he hadn’t heard before, and he looked to Katniss worriedly. 

As the nurse came around the foot of the bed to turn off the machines, fiddling with them after the blaring stopped, Katniss spoke quietly, “Peeta. Stay with me?”

It was a question, not a statement or demand, and he so wanted to give in and ease her mind as she fell asleep, but visiting hours were over. 

Katniss looked like she was starting to drift off to sleep, reaching for him blindly with the hand he had held moments before. 

The nurse looked between them, smiled and winked at Peeta as she made her way out of the room. “I’ll come check on her in a few hours. You know, she is allowed one person to stay with her.”

Setting his backpack on the ground, Peeta went to the hand still outstretched for him, and held it tight. 

“Peeta?” Her voice was small and barely awake.

“Yeah. I’m here. Go back to sleep.” He went to go over to the recliner in the corner, but her hand clutched his with a strength he didn’t think had returned to her yet, keeping him beside her. 

“Stay with me.”

This time it wasn’t a question but a statement, a demand, and it made him smile. Glancing to the monitor again, he saw her heart rate settle back down as the chair he had moved over earlier scraped against the floor as he pulled it closer to her bedside, still clutching her hand tightly in his own.

“Always,” he said matter of factly, as if any other answer were wrong. 

Resting his chin on his hand, giving hers one last squeeze, he stared at her and smiled softly. He found himself yawning and drifting off to sleep soon, preparing for the nightmares, and dreading the moment he would finally have to let go.

Xxx

Peeta woke to sunlight hitting his eyes, blinking them open only to squint and lift up his left arm to block the rays slipping through the blinds. Looking toward Katniss, he saw her staring at him, already wide awake, and she even smiled a little bit. 

“Good morning,” she said, her voice leaps and bounds better than previous days. 

“Morning,” Peeta mumbled, sitting up from where his head still rested on his hand, groaning at his stiff back stretching for the first time in hours, and swiping at his face, hoping he hadn’t drooled in his sleep. His hand froze over his eye as he blearily gave it a rub when he heard a giggle.

Eyes snapping to Katniss, he saw her smiling broadly and uninhibited. “You really aren’t a morning person, are you?” she asked.

Yawning, Peeta spoke through the stretch. “You’re really a morning person, aren’t you?”

She threw her head back and laughed the first real laugh he had heard in days. Leaving her head back against the bed she sighed. “No,” she said honestly, and they both chuckled. “No, I’m really not, but that was the first night of sleep I have had since being here, and I guess I needed it, so thank you.”

Reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, Peeta let his hand linger, and heard the monitor spike, making him smile. “I can tell. Your hair is crazy.” 

She scowled at him but it melted into a chuckle and pink cheeks.

Letting his hand fall slightly, down to her cheeks, he traced the back of his finger over her blush. “You’re getting your color back. That’s good.”

She reached up to grab his wrist gently, groaning what sounded an embarrassed reply. 

“Hang on,” he mumbled, and she lightly held on to his wrist as he moved down to trace her lips with his thumb.

Her breath hitched and the monitor beeped faster again. 

Grinning impishly, he swiped his thumb on the side of her mouth as if wiping something off, and said softly, “You drool.”

She shoved his hand away, once again trying to scowl but ended up snickering along with him as he jokingly wiped his hand on his jeans, making a ridiculous face before chuckling himself.

Xxx

Since it was a Saturday, Peeta took his time, lingering at her bedside, and lounging in the chair he had slept in, despite Katniss telling him repeatedly to go sit in the recliner in the corner, so he would be more comfortable. 

Instead of comfort, he took the chance to sit by her and steal a glance every now and then, since he no longer got to do it in class. He always felt a sense of calm when looking at her, much like last night, when Katniss’ heart rate had calmed down when he agreed to stay. Something just felt right. 

They brought her a breakfast tray, if it could even be called that. Peeta stared at the tray just like it that sat in his lap, thanking the nurse who had given it to him with a wink and a smirk, and trying to decide what exactly was on the tray that they were trying to pass off as “food”. 

Standing up after the nurse left, he walked his tray over to the nearby counter, turning to see Katniss glaring at him. 

“If I have to eat this, you have to eat this,” she hissed, gesturing to the food then him with her fork. 

Peeta gulped. “How about we share?”

Katniss narrowed her eyes at him briefly, before mumbling a “fine”, looking back to the food and picking at the imposter waffles. 

The TV was playing softly in the background, the only other noise aside from Katniss’ incessant fidgeting. 

“Are you okay?” Peeta asked after what felt like the millionth time, and tried to swallow the “waffles” that didn’t seem to want to be eaten as much as he didn’t want to eat them.

Katniss grimaced. “Yeah, it’s just,” she fidgeted again. “This is the most uncomfortable bed, and I can’t find a way to help it anymore. They changed my medication to something a little less potent, so now I’m feeling all the aches and pains and itches and everything glorious.”

Peeta chuckled. “Well, how about we get up and walk around the hallways a little bit, and after that I can give you a little massage?” He had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling at her wide eyes. He didn’t need a machine to know her pulse was elevated, her cheeks gave that away as they tinged pink. Ever since Finnick had made his “observation” the day before, he’d found himself being much bolder than he had ever been before. “I mean, it can’t be too much different than kneading bread….”

Katniss simultaneously choked and chuckled at the same time. “The medicine I’m due for in a few minutes makes me really dizzy, and I’d have to use the walker, and-”

“And I’ll help you,” Peeta interrupted, earning him a scowl. “I’ll walk right beside you in case you need help, and catch you if you start to fall.”

“And if I can’t walk the whole time you’ll go find me a wheelchair at the nurses station, right?” Katniss rolled her eyes with a little scoff, but her cheeks still bloomed in a bright blush. 

“No, I’ll just carry you if it comes to that.”

“Oh.” Was all Katniss could muster, a short decisive nod in confirmation as she sat the bed up all the way, lowering her propped up feet and pushing away the tray of “food”. “Could I- I mean, Can you-” she stuttered out, timidly reaching her hand out in a request for help up.

Peeta scrambled to his feet, immediately offering his hand to help her sit totally upright, easing her legs over the side of the bed and lowered the rail on the side to help her even more. 

She turned toward the edge of the bed, her feet dangling off the edge in the yellow socks with grippy bottoms they kept replacing every day, and flitted her eyes over to the walker in the corner, Peeta following her gaze and immediately reaching over with his long reach to grab it, placing it in front of her. 

“Can I have my robe, please?” she asked in a small voice, pointing to where it hung on the bathroom door. “These hospital gowns are drafty in all the wrong places.” She pulled a hand down her face, sighing at the words that kept coming out of her mouth. “Sorry, too much information.”

Peeta smiled as he handed her the robe. “No, I get it. I’ve been in here once or twice, remember?”

She smiled sadly. “Yeah, I remember.”

As Peeta helped her into the robe, he also smiled sadly. Staring at the floor, memories he’d rather forget started flashing through his mind. He must have spaced out, or maybe he clutched her shoulders just a little too tightly, but the next thing he really registered was Katniss holding his face in her hands, searching his face frantically. 

“Stay with me,” she echoed her words from last night, once again not a question, but a matter of fact. 

Locking his eyes on hers, he found the fog clearing. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, letting his gaze dart around the room. “Thanks,” he finally muttered, smiling sadly one last time before he cleared his throat and smiled a bit more genuinely. “Now quit procrastinating.” 

Xxx

They made it a few laps around the floor before Katniss was too tired to make one more round. When they passed back by her room, they went in and saw that the food trays had been removed, thankfully, and the bed linens changed. At the foot of the bed sat a new hospital gown, bright yellow and folded neatly, on top of it a matching set of those same yellow socks. 

“Feel up to changing?” Peeta asked her as he helped slip off her robe, carrying it back to the hook on the bathroom door. 

“I guess,” Katniss sighed, her breathing labored. “Makes the most sense to do it before getting back in bed.” 

“Let me know if you need any help,” he said, holding the bathroom door open as she shuffled by, the gown and socks clutched tightly to her chest with one hand, the other holding the back of the hospital gown together as best she could. 

Closing the door all but a sliver, Peeta stood right outside in case she needed help, absently staring at the TV. His mind was far away, though, thinking about all the times he had been the one in here, and she had visited and helped him. He didn’t dwell on the reason he was there, but the fact she had come to help. 

“Peeta?” Her small voice echoing around the small bathroom caught his attention. 

“Yeah?” He cleared his throat.

“I need some help tying this gown.”

Now it was his turn to have his cheeks go pink. Nothing is more awkward than a hospital gown. The door slowly swung open, and her back was revealed to him, her hands clutching the back tightly around her hips, but her back was on full display, making him swallow thickly. 

It was moments like these that he found himself getting lost in an emotion he only ever felt around her, but he never fully understood. If he had to describe it, it was how he pictured love feeling.

Slowly walking into the little room, he stepped up behind her, closer than needed, and noticed she was shaking as he reached for the little ties. 

“Are you cold?”

“Y-yeah,” she stuttered out, looking at the floor. 

Slowly tying a double knotted bow so it wouldn’t slip open on accident, Peeta accidentally brushed his fingertips on the soft exposed skin of her back, and she instantly stilled. “Is that too tight?” he asked softly. 

“N-no. But can you tie the top one a little looser? I think when I sit down it might be just a little too tight.”

He nodded, reaching up to tie the top strings in just one bow in case she wanted to adjust it, and his skin brushed her clavicle, making her shiver once again. 

Leaning in toward her ear, he spoke in a low voice, “Can you please hold your hair up? I don’t want to get it caught in the strings.” 

The shivering turned into a violent shudder before she nodded, lifting her hair up with her free hand not clutching the lower part of the gown closed, and took deep, steadying breaths.

“Thank you,” she breathed, letting go of her hair as he set his hands on her shoulders, pulling her back flush with his front gently, and placing his chin gently on one shoulder, his cheek right by her ear.

“Don’t mention it,” he said in a quiet tone much like her own. With their bodies so close, he could feel her rapid heartbeat against his own, and they both were above average.

“I’ll let you take care of the lower ties.” He took a few steps back before turning to go back to the room. Her voice so close behind him startled him. 

“I think I will leave those open. I’ll be under the covers anyway, and it makes it a little easier to move and sit in that bed. But I could use your help switching out these socks…. If you don’t mind.” She smiled timidly. “Bending over is still really hard.”

Nodding, he gestured her to the bed and helped her sit on the edge. Pulling off the old pair and putting on the new, he heard her hooking the various little monitors back up as she settled back in. Looking up he saw her plug the pulse monitor back in and immediately the machine started blaring like it had before. Looking up at her with wide eyes, they both glanced at the monitor as the nurse came in and turned it off. 

“Why does that keep happening?” Peeta questioned her. “Isn’t that something bad?”

The nurse smiled kindly at him. “That? Oh, that’s just tachycardia. Elevated heart rate. The machine has certain parameters set for ‘normal’ and sometimes exertion or excitement can make your pulse shoot up to what the parameters deem ‘too high’. It’s completely safe.” 

She leaned into Peeta. “But between you and me, I think it’s just you in general that keeps making hers go off. You have some effect on her, no one else who visits has it going off this much. Someone named Finnick had it going, but she was laughing really hard. Haymitch seems to put her in a bad mood - or annoyed - and that sets it off sometimes. But you, you make it go off the most. I’d be very unhappy about that if she wasn’t looking so much better having you here.” The machine went off again, and the nurse glanced at a mortified looking Katniss before smiling knowingly at Peeta. “Just push this button if it happens again.” Reaching out she silenced the machine once again, winking at Katniss, before promptly leaving the room. 

Katniss and Peeta just stared at one another for a long moment before he clapped his hands together and said, “Now how about that massage?”

He reached out and shut off the machine before it let out too many alerts.

Xxx

If he had thought it through, tying the gown before the massage wasn’t the brightest idea, but he was so glad he had because it was one more excuse to be so close to her. He was surprised she wasn’t swatting him away with how ticklish she tended to be. 

The head of the bed was lowered enough for him to squeeze in behind her, and they finally settled on her sitting between his legs as she hugged a pillow to her front as she slightly bent forward, and laid her head on a pillow on the little rolling table they had locked to sit in front of her. Her head was turned to her right so he could see her profile, and her typical braid going over her shoulder had been done so he could have easier access to her shoulders and neck. 

He wanted to take a moment to just admire her, but he understood the horribleness of a hospital bed, and went to working on her shoulders immediately. Working from the bottom of her shoulder blades up to the top of her neck, he tried to be gentle not entirely sure what might still hurt from the accident, but dug in to the knots he found, earning appreciative groans from her. 

He worked down to her lower back, right above her hips was as much as he could get to, and he made a mental note to ask the nurse for a heating pad next time she came in. Even his baker trained hands couldn’t work that tension out without some help.

“Is the pressure okay?” He kept asking, to which she answered a groggy sounding yes every time. Finally instead of an answer he got a snore in response. Glancing to her face he saw her peacefully asleep, not even a flinch as he found yet another knot near her shoulder blade. He worked on it gently for a few minutes, not seeing her flinch once, but finally decided that was enough for now. 

Someone cleared their throat to his left, and he snapped his head to see Finnick leaning in the doorway, ankles crossed, arms crossed over his chest, and a smirk across his face that was absolutely beaming. 

“Friends,” he said quietly, but with emphasis, snickering, before hanging his head and gently shaking it.

Double knotting the one tie and loosely tying the top one again, Peeta slowly eased out of the bed, taking the pillow Katniss was hugging and adding it to the one that had been behind his back, slowly lowering her back until she was laying on the slight incline of the bed, her snoring not wavering once. He took the pillow her head had been on on the tray and gave it to her to hug like the other one, and she clutched it tight, snuggling into the blankets he pulled back up over her.

Walking past Finnick, Peeta gave him a dirty look before continuing out into the hall, pulling him along by the elbow when Finnick didn’t follow, closing the door all but a crack so he would hear if she woke up or the machines went off. 

Finnick was just smirking.

“Why did you have to say anything the other day?” Peeta hissed. “Everything was fine until then, and now I can’t think about anything else.”

“Could you before? Really?” Finnick prodded. “I mean, sure, you didn’t sit an analyze her heart rate, but can you honestly tell me you didn’t think about her, look at her and get that feeling you can’t really describe but understand, and just know this person is supposed to be in your life?” It was quiet for a minute before Finnick spoke in a softer voice. “I get it, man.” He put a hand on Peeta’s shoulder, despite Peeta’s arms still being firmly crossed. “It’s the same feeling I get-”

“Let me guess, it’s the same feeling you get when you see me?” Peeta’s sarcasm was off the charts. 

Finnick threw his head back and laughed. “Well, yeah, but in a different way. No, man, it’s how I feel when I see Annie.” Peeta’s face softened at the mention of Finnick’s fiancé. “And no matter how long we have been together, that feeling doesn’t change. It gets more comfortable, yeah, but it’s the same feeling, same emotion.” He smiled a goofy smile and looked off in the distance over Peeta’s shoulder. “It’s like…. You look at them and….” He met Peeta’s gaze again, “you know you’re home.”

Peeta had to glance over his shoulder to see if Annie was actually there, because the way Finnick had stared down that hallway, Peeta was almost certain she had to be there. 

Letting his arms drop as he sighed, his shoulders hunching, Peeta rested his forehead on Finnick’s chest and groaned softly. 

Snickering, Finnick pushed him to arms length, hands on his shoulders, and gently shook him until he met his eyes again. “You’re here. You’re safe. This is real.” He sighed. “It’s a really messed up situation, but it’s where you are.” He grinned impishly. “Now go get her and tell her you love her, you idiot, before I do.”

Gently shoving Peeta back toward the room, all thought of flipping Finnick the bird faded from his mind when he heard Katniss sleeping fitfully, moaning softly in what sounded like pain or distress, and her monitor registering a higher and higher pulse rate. 

The nurses words about what causes the elevation came back to him, and Peeta was in the room and beside her faster than Finnick could say “go”. 

The door shut softly behind him, but it was enough to make Katniss sit upright in bed, wide eyed, immediately grimacing and groaning as she grabbed her midsection.

Peeta put a hand on her shoulder, and she immediately flinched, but looking up and seeing his face, relief washed over her features, and her pulse began to calm down. “You’re okay,” he reassured softly. 

“Thank you,” she all but whispered. “I am now that you’re here.”

They looked at one another and shared a soft smile, their eye contact never wavering. 

“Scoot over,” Peeta said simply, jutting his chin forward as if to motion to her which way to go.

“What? Why?” Katniss asked, but did as he asked. 

Slipping his shoes off, Peeta took the pillow she had been hugging away form her, ignoring her lighthearted protests, and stuck it a bit further up than her pillows, and climbed in the bed in the spot she had made for him. Pulling the sheets up over them, he laid his head on the pillow slightly further up, and gently pulled her so that she was resting on his chest, hugging him like she had clutched the pillow. 

“You slept better leaning forward when I was giving you the massage, I figured this might help-”

They heard a snort from the doorway and both looked to see Finnick in the exact position he had been in only minutes earlier. “You two idiots are going to be the death of me,” he muttered softly with a smirk, hanging his head once again with a gentle shake.

Looking back to one another, Peeta began again after a moment of silence, “Really, it was just an instinct, I’m sorry if I- I can get out of you want-”

He was cut off by Katniss firmly planting a kiss on his lips. Pulling away just enough to speak, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“Always,” Peeta responded without even thinking.

They both smiled when they heard Finnick whoop and say something about “finally” from down the hall before the door clicked shut.

Searching each other’s face, eyes flitting this way and that, from lips to eyes to nose to lashes, the space between them slowly began to close again, until it finally disappeared and was lost in a kiss, then another, and some more. 

In longing touches, laughter, and whispered discussions. 

Stolen glances and hidden smiles. 

The distance between them stayed small, much like the distance between each heart beat, until finally the nurses cleared her to no longer need the monitor. Probably more for their own sanity than anything else. 

When she finally got dressed in normal clothes and was discharged, she came out of the bathroom after braiding her hair, and smiled as Peeta waited for her by the door, his own broad smile across his face, one hand outstretched for her. When they were within touching distance, he firmly gripped her hand with his, reaching out to touch the tip of her braid with the other, fiddling with it absentmindedly, a goofy grin on his face.

Walking the few feet to the waiting wheelchair the hospital insisted she leave in, Peeta let go of her hand, but stayed as close as he could. After she finally was in the passenger seat of his car, he once again took her hand across the console, threaded their fingers together, and they both smiled. 

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Looking at him now, she understood her feelings of only a few days ago, walking through the quad with stolen glances. 

“Ready,” she said. 

Shifting the car into gear, Peeta gave her one more dazzling grin, and one last squeeze of her hand, before he turned to look at the road, and they rode in comfortable silence, and that wonderful feeling, of knowing that that special someone loves you back. 

After a few minutes, Peeta finally piped up, “Just so you know, that truce I called in the quad the other day? That only extends a few more days.”

Katniss turned a glare on him and he snickered.

#everybirdfellsilent #lovely-tothe-bone #prompt 153 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

[7-wonders]

i've never been kissed before so you volunteer but i decline, we're best friends and it would be weird, but a couple hours later i lay awake in my bed and i can't stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you and suddenly i regret what i said x Jim 😚

This prompt was meant to be a Jim prompt 🥺 also Jim is college-aged, as he is in everything that I write about him.

//

An end-of-the-year camping trip with friends is, in your opinion, the best way to celebrate being done with finals. Surrounded by nature and those you care for, with good food and good laughs...there’s really nothing else you can ask for. It’s a small group, but it’s the group that you’ve known for almost two years now, since freshman year of college.

The eight of you are gathered around a campfire, roasting various foods to see how they’ll taste and throwing things into the pit to see the flames spark and crackle. Drinks are flowing, joints are being passed; you could say that the vibes tonight are immaculate.

“Okay, okay,” Xavier Plympton, an acting major with a desire to bring aerobics into the 21st century, speaks up. “Never have I ever...gotten arrested.”

A couple of groans are heard around the circle, and you watch to see who takes a sip of their drink and lowers a finger. Jim, you expected, since he told you about his arson streak in high school. You’re best friends, so of course you’ve told each other everything. The always dark and mysterious Michael Langdon, not so much.

“Really, Michael?” you say in disbelief.

He shrugs. “I was a troubled teen.”

“I want to go next!” Medina, Jim’s twin sister, yells. “Never have I ever--”

“‘Dina, that’s not how the game works. One of the people that takes a drink does the next ‘never have I ever,’“ Jim explains.

She huffs, rolling her eyes before continuing anyways. “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping.”

Most people in the group take a drink, yourself included. This is one of the only times you have drank while playing this game. It’s not that you were a goody-two-shoes growing up, or that you had strictly religious parents or anything like that. You’re just cautious, and you tend to overthink things until the moment has passed. 

“Well, look who finally drank!” Of course Jim would notice that you had been noticeably absent from the game.

“(Y/N) hasn’t been drinking?” Montana Duke cries in disbelief. “Are we not fun enough for you to pay attention to?”

“No, it’s not that!” you assure. “I just...haven’t done most of the things that you guys have been saying. I’m not going to drink when I haven’t done something; that defeats the purpose of the game.”

“Okay then, your turn, since you finally drank,” Montana smirks. “Say something that will get us all out.”

“Montana, that seems kinda mean-spirited,” Mallory Howell pipes up.

“It’s fine, I’m not a pussy.” Maybe it’s the alcohol giving you confidence, or just you finally being out of fucks to give, but you toss the rest of your drink back and stare at the fire. “Never have I ever been kissed.”

The group erupts in shouts and you roll your eyes, even though you can feel your cheeks heating up almost immediately.

“You’re serious? Never?” Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, resident rich girl of the group, yells. She’s always super loud when she’s high. “How?”

“I don’t know. Just never felt like kissing anybody I’ve been on a date with.”

“Shit, (Y/N), we gotta get you some action,” Xavier says.

“I could be your first kiss,” Jim says suddenly, anxiously taking a hit from a joint when he feels everybody’s eyes on him. “Y’know, that way you could get it over with, and it’s not with some stranger or somebody that you don’t like.”

“That’s, uh--I mean, that’s super nice, but...we’re best friends. I think it would make things a little weird, y’know?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jim chuckles with a shrug. “Sorry, I’m super high.”

That dispels the sudden tension, and everybody laughs.

“Okay, Mallory, you’re next,” you say, directing the attention to the brunette. You can’t help but glance at Jim, who’s looking right at you. He raises his cup to you, and you feel unexpectedly shy, quickly looking back into the flames.

//

The fire’s long-since died down, everybody retreating to their tents as the chill of the night took over their senses and sent them to sleep. Everybody, that is, but you. Medina’s dead asleep next to you, snoring softly, but you’ve been staring at the red fabric of the tent for at least an hour now, unable to stop thinking about what Jim said. Would he actually want to kiss you? Or was he just saying that to be nice? You can’t help but to think about what it would be like if you had said yes to his offer. What would it feel like, to kiss Jim Mason? His lips are probably soft, and he just seems like he would be a good kisser.

You sigh, running your hand over your face and sitting up. You quietly throw a hoodie on, trying not to wake up Medina. Though, from the sounds of it, she’s not waking up for anything. Unzipping the front of the tent, you crawl out and walk towards the remnants of the fire. From the light of the moon, you can see a silhouette sitting on one of the lawn chairs, obviously having the same idea as you.

Blue eyes look up at you, and you stop in your tracks when you realize it’s Jim. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No. Medina’s snoring.”

“Would have thought you were used to that by now, what with you two being roommates for two years.”

“Most of the time, I am.” Jim pulls an empty chair close to his, gesturing for you to sit. “It’s so peaceful out here.”

“Yeah, it is. I wouldn’t mind living out here.”

You’re both silent for a while, taking in the nature around you. “Jim?” you say finally.

“What’s up?”

“Did you...mean what you said? About being my first kiss?”

“I mean, yeah. But you’re right, we’re best friends, it would probably make things weird.”

“Well, what if I was okay with taking that chance?” It feels like the air shifts, goosebumps rising on your skin as Jim looks at you and moves closer.

“Can I be honest?” You nod. “I’d be perfectly fine with things being weird.” His hand comes up to caress the side of your face, and you bite your lip.

“Will you kiss me?” 

Jim looks from your eyes to your lips and back again, leaning in and gently pressing his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut; it’s everything that you thought kissing Jim would be. His lips are just as soft as you had imagined, and he kisses you so tenderly that you think you finally understand what the books mean when they say a person swoons. Jim pulls away, grinning at the dazed look in your eye.

“Was that okay with you?” Jim asks.

“More than okay.” You kiss him again, cautiously. “We should have been doing this a lot sooner.”

//

@dark-mei-rose @michaellangdon @xavierplympton @blakescoven @hecohansen31

#jim mason #jim mason imagine #the tribes of palos verdes #ttopv

[delphinidin4]

“Abominable neglect and unkindness”: Fanny Price and Trauma

I have C-PTSD, and it’s really been on my mind as I’ve been rereading Mansfield Park by Jane Austen: her heroine of Fanny Price is so OBVIOUSLY traumatized that I started making notes upon notes upon notes in my kindle copy on her symptoms and their causes. A couple of my followers said they’d be interested to read my analysis if I wrote it up, and it doesn’t take much to encourage me to put a few thousand words on the page screen! So below is my (probably WAY too long) analysis of Fanny Price’s emotional trauma and complex PTSD (a form of PTSD often caused by long-term emotional abuse/neglect). It’s hella long. sorrynotsorry lol

*unleashes inner academic*

Part 1: How Fanny Price Was Traumatized

Trauma 1: She is taken from family and home. 

Okay, imagine this: You’re ten years old. You grew up in a noisy, lower-middle-class family with multiple little siblings and both your parents. You are the oldest girl, and are important to all the members of your family because you act as “playfellow, instructress, and nurse” to your younger siblings. You are also “exceedingly timid and shy”. And suddenly you find out that your mother is SENDING YOU AWAY--far, far away--to aunts and uncle and cousins you’ve never met before, to be raised by THEM instead of your parents. Leaving everything else out of the equation for a second, that by itself would be ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATING.  You would feel like your parents didn’t love you and didn’t want you. You weren’t important to them. You might wonder what you did wrong to be sent away. And THEN it turns out you’re NEVER COMING BACK. EVER. Fanny doesn’t see her family again until she is, I think nineteen years old. At first, she doesn’t even have the means to write to her brother William, which was to be her ONLY connection to her family: it seems her parents don’t write to her at all over the course of the novel.

All of this would be bad enough. But to come to a place that was entirely alien to everything you had known... I mean, think about it. This is Mansfield Park, an ENORMOUS house with MANY servants, a completely different way of doing things. There’s MONEY. Even the items around you are of a totally different quality than you’re used to: Austen says of Fanny’s initial impression of Mansfield, “The grandeur of the house astonished, but could not console her. The rooms were too large for her to move in with ease: whatever she touched she expected to injure, and she crept about in constant terror of something or other; often retreating towards her own chamber to cry.” The accent people speak with is probably different. The vocabulary is probably different. And everybody DEFINITELY thought she was under-educated (more about this in a bit) because she didn’t have the education of a gentleman’s daughter--because she ISN’T a gentleman’s daughter. It must have caused her intense culture shock.

Trauma 2: William’s absence

It’s clear that in her childhood in Portsmouth, William is the dearest member of Fanny’s family (see below for a discussion of her parents). When Fanny first arrives at Mansfield, Edmund discovers that, 

dear as all these brothers and sisters generally were, there was one among them who ran more in her thoughts than the rest. It was William whom she talked of most, and wanted most to see. William, the eldest, a year older than herself, her constant companion and friend; her advocate with her mother (of whom he was the darling) in every distress. ‘William did not like she should come away; he had told her he should miss her very much indeed.’ 

Fanny’s one really warm and loving connection seems to be with William, and she is parted from him, first by her move to Mansfield, and then by his going to sea:

Once, and once only, in the course of many years, had she the happiness of being with William. Of the rest [of her Portsmouth family] she saw nothing: nobody seemed to think of her ever going amongst them again, even for a visit, nobody at home seemed to want her; but William determining, soon after her removal, to be a sailor, was invited to spend a week with his sister in Northamptonshire before he went to sea. Their eager affection in meeting, their exquisite delight in being together, their hours of happy mirth, and moments of serious conference, may be imagined; as well as ...the misery of the girl when he left her. Luckily the visit happened in the Christmas holidays, when she could directly look for comfort to her cousin Edmund.

Fanny continues a correspondence with William when he is at sea, but it’s clear that his long absence from her life is very difficult for her.

One final note on her being parted from her family for long intervals: I think we might actually see a sign of this trauma in an emotional flashback later in the book.

For those unfamiliar with complex PTSD, flashbacks don’t always mean that you have a sort of hallucination of a traumatic experience. In the case of complex PTSD and PTSD from early childhood trauma, flashbacks often occur in the form of “emotional flashbacks”: instead of re-experiencing the sensory  input of the traumatic experience (seeing and hearing the experience all over again when triggered), emotional flashbacks consist ONLY of the emotional content of the trauma. They result in sudden rushes of negative emotions such as fear, shame, sorrow, despair, embarrassment, anger, etc. This may be partly because the trigger is acting on so many different traumatic memories at once (the brain can’t just pick out one to show to you) and partly because the traumatic memory being triggered is from so early in your childhood that you don’t have a direct memory of it anymore, just the trauma memory. Emotional flashbacks can be identified by comparing the emotional response to the stimulus: If the emotion is inappropriate for the situation or inappropriately intense, it may well be a flashback.

In this scene, Miss Crawford--whom Fanny does not care for at all--is taking her leave of Fanny: I find it to be illuminating.

And embracing her very affectionately, “Good, gentle Fanny! when I think of this being the last time of seeing you for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do anything but love you.”

Fanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything of this, and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy influence of the word “last.” She cried as if she had loved Miss Crawford more than she possibly could.

It sounds to me as if Fanny is having a negative reaction that is out of proportion for and inappropriate to the situation. Miss Crawford is leaving, and Fanny is GLAD that she is leaving. Nonetheless, she is involuntarily emotionally “affected” by Miss Crawford’s goodbye, and cries far more than is actually in keeping with her feelings. It seems like Fanny is triggered by the leave-taking and “the melancholy influence of the word ‘last’.”  Fanny has had traumatic leave-takings from her family and her beloved William; and things like “This is the last time I’ll see you for who knows how long” must have been said to her before in intensely traumatic situations. So it’s no wonder she gets triggered by this situation’s similarity to those and has an out-sized emotional response. Separations from her family and from William were definitely traumatic to her and reminders of them now trigger trauma responses.

Trauma 3: Emotional neglect by parental figures

Fanny might not have been so badly traumatized by leaving her family and being separated from William if she had had emotional support from adult caregivers. Research has shown that if a child has even ONE adult to whom they can talk openly about their feelings, that can insulate them against the effects of trauma.

Fanny doesn’t have this. Both Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram are emotionally neglectful and distant.* Lady Bertram is pleasant, but is entirely self-centered and doesn’t really GAF about anybody or anything that doesn’t directly affect her. While she never abuses or hurts Fanny with unkindness, she also never comforts her, listens to her, or seems to do anything but get Fanny to fetch and carry for her and do half her sewing for her. There is a total lack of emotional  connection between them until considerably later in the story. 

[*Footnote: Miss Lee is surprisingly absent from the narrative and seems to be of no emotional support to Fanny whatsoever.]

Sir Thomas is worse. While he intends to take good care of Fanny--and to his credit, he does make sure she has her material needs met, is well educated, gets exercise, etc--he cannot be said to be NICE to her. Even when she first arrives, when he is trying his hardest to be kind, Austen says, “Sir Thomas, seeing how much she needed encouragement, tried to be all that was conciliating: but he had to work against a most untoward gravity of deportment.” He’s not good with kids, and he seems to be highly critical of Fanny, especially before his return from Antigua. Apparently he used to terrify her in childhood by catechizing her on her lessons in French in English, which implies he constantly found her wanting. His parting words to her on the beginning of his voyage to Antigua are downright scalding:  “If William does come to Mansfield, I hope you may be able to convince him that the many years which have passed since you parted have not been spent on your side entirely without improvement; though, I fear, he must find his sister at sixteen in some respects too much like his sister at ten.”

JFC, Tommy-boy. Throttle back a little, can’t you?

He’s not popular even with his own daughters: Austen says of Maria and Julia, “Their father was no object of love to them; he had never seemed the friend of their pleasures, and his absence was unhappily most welcome. They were relieved by it from all restraint”. Sir Thomas comes across as a bit of a martinet, always finding fault and always saying no. At best, he doesn’t seem to be at all warm and encouraging, and appears to be almost entirely ignorant, not only of what Fanny’s character is like, but also about his own daughters’ characters.

There’s also the problem of his lack of understanding and compassion for Fanny. She describes him as “all that was clever and good,” but both his cleverness and goodness frequently seem to be lacking. He doesn’t understand Fanny’s feelings any more than he understands those of Maria, sending Edmund to sound Fanny out on the subject of Mr. Crawford because he CANNOT understand how a woman might not love a man that was clever, pleasant and rich. While he provided the money to raise Fanny, his disregard of her is clear when he sends her on a long visit to Portsmouth, where her health suffers. Even Crawford recognizes Sir Thomas’s likeliness to neglect her:

I know Mansfield, I know its way, I know its faults towards you. I know the danger of your being so far forgotten, as to have your comforts give way to the imaginary convenience of any single being in the family. I am aware that you may be left here week after week, if Sir Thomas cannot settle everything ... without involving the slightest alteration of the arrangements which he may have laid down for the next quarter of a year.

Sir Thomas, while priding himself (and being praised by others) as being so kind and clever, has low emotional intelligence and too little care for Fanny. Despite his occasional kindnesses, and her claim on his care as his direct dependent, she is not one of his priorities.

Of course, Fanny’s own parents would have had the strongest effects on her earliest years (especially considering the Prices didn’t seem to have a nanny or governess, so Mrs. Price would have been responsible for all her education, as well).  It’s clear that Fanny’s mother didn’t show her much love in her early childhood: Mrs. Price is described as 

“the ‘mama’ who had certainly shewn no remarkable fondness for her formerly; but this [Fanny] could easily suppose to have been her own fault or her own fancy. She had probably alienated love by the helplessness and fretfulness of a fearful temper, or been unreasonable in wanting a larger share than any one among so many could deserve.” 

We can see Fanny here doing what so many emotionally neglected children do, making excuses for their parents and assuming that the emotional neglect and abuse they suffer are somehow THEIR fault. Many emotionally abused or neglected children believe that they’re too loud, too needy, too much, and even ugly, blaming themselves for their parents’ rejecting and disgusted behavior toward them.

It’s proven, however, when Fanny goes home, that her parents are just as neglectful of her as she felt them to be formerly. Her father is “negligent of his family”, and her mother clearly does not really love her:

Mrs. Price was not unkind; but, instead of gaining on her affection and confidence, and becoming more and more dear, her daughter never met with greater kindness from her than on the first day of her arrival. The instinct of nature was soon satisfied, and Mrs. Price’s attachment had no other source. Her heart and her time were already quite full; she had neither leisure nor affection to bestow on Fanny. Her daughters never had been much to her.* She was fond of her sons, especially of William, but Betsey was the first of her girls whom she had ever much regarded. To her she was most injudiciously indulgent. William was her pride; Betsey her darling; and John, Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles occupied all the rest of her maternal solicitude, alternately her worries and her comforts. These shared her heart: her time was given chiefly to her house and her servants.

[*Footnote: I have to stop here for a moment and mention poor Susan, whom I like better at every reading. With Mrs. Price only loving her sons and Betsy, with Mary dead and Fanny gone, Susan was for years THE ONLY completely unloved child in the house, which must have been pretty awful. It’s clear that Fanny and Susan have suffered rather similar fates in being raised without love, and Susan only responds more with irritation and Fanny more with tears:  “Susan was only acting on the same truths, and pursuing the same system, which [Fanny’s] own judgment acknowledged, but which her more supine and yielding temper would have shrunk from asserting. Susan tried to be useful, where she could only have gone away and cried”. Please tell me somebody’s written a sequel about Susan?]

Again, while Mr. and Mrs. Price are not CRUEL, they’re not KIND, either. They are deeply emotionally neglectful toward Susan and Fanny, and Mrs. Price shows favoritism for the rest of her children, thus hurting her daughters further. Fanny’s probable surmise when she was sent away that she was not loved or wanted by her parents unfortunately appears to be very true. While an adult like Fanny can rationalize such behavior by her parents (even if it pains her), a child cannot do so, and the Prices’ lack of love for their own daughter must have been traumatizing and contributed to her belief that she can never matter to anybody (more on this in a bit).

Trauma 4: Lack of Companionship: Maria and Julia (and Miss Lee)

Fanny’s education when she arrives at Mansfield is not that of a gentlewoman--hardly surprising, given both her family’s socioeconomic position and her mother’s busy-ness with her family and general indolence. Maria and Julia’s education on scholarly subjects is clearly much stronger (they’re also 2-3 years older than her), and we know that their moral education was neglected, so that they only care about whether Fanny is rich and well-educated like themselves:

They could not but hold her cheap on finding that she had but two sashes, and had never learned French; and when they perceived her to be little struck with the duet they were so good as to play, they could do no more than make her a generous present of some of their least valued toys, and leave her to herself, while they adjourned to whatever might be the favourite holiday sport of the moment, making artificial flowers or wasting gold paper.

They’re generous enough to give her presents (though their least-valued belongings), but not generous enough to actually spend time with her, and it appears that this pattern holds throughout Fanny’s time at Mansfield.

At first, Mrs. Norris, Sir Thomas, and Miss Lee all think her actually stupid instead of just ill-educated: we are told that not only did Miss Lee “[wonder] at her ignorance,” but

A mean opinion of her abilities was not confined to [Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris]. Fanny could read, work [that means “sew”], and write, but she had been taught nothing more; and as her cousins found her ignorant of many things with which they had been long familiar, they thought her prodigiously stupid, and for the first two or three weeks were continually bringing some fresh report of it into the drawing-room.

You would think that the adults at least would realize that Fanny hadn’t had the opportunity of a gentlewoman’s education, but no, they attribute it to natural stupidity instead of opportunity:

“My dear,” their considerate aunt would reply, “it is very bad, but you must not expect everybody to be as forward and quick at learning as yourself.”

It is only Edmund who perceives that Fanny is not only NOT stupid, she’s actually clever:

He knew her to be clever, to have a quick apprehension as well as good sense, and a fondness for reading, which, properly directed, must be an education in itself. Miss Lee taught her French, and heard her read the daily portion of history; but he recommended the books which charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected her judgment: he made reading useful by talking to her of what she read, and heightened its attraction by judicious praise.

One wonders, if a sixteen-year-old boy hadn’t decided to undertake part of Fanny’s education himself, how much worse off would she have been?

That Fanny’s companionship fell almost entirely to a teenage boy six years her senior who spends most of the year away at boarding school/university, is a ringing indictment of the behavior of Maria and Julia, and of those who should have been encouraging them to make a friend of their cousin.

Trauma 5: Mrs Norris (who gets a fucking section all her own)

Here we are. We’ve finally come to it. The other four traumas would certainly have been sufficient to cause C-PTSD, but JFC, Mrs. Norris could have caused it all by her lonesome. While she comes across as amusing in Austen’s sardonic style, she is absolutely toxic for Fanny’s mental health.

Mrs. Norris seems to have had an out-sized effect on the three Mansfield girls. Generally, mothers were in charge of the education of their daughters (even if indirectly, through a governess), so while Sir Thomas did examine them on their lessons, it was really supposed to be Lady Bertram’s job to see to their practical and moral education. But Lady Bertram is an absolute zero, a completely passive character, and Austen says directly that, “To the education of her daughters Lady Bertram paid not the smallest attention.” So it seems like the much more active Mrs. Norris stepped in, and her influence was extremely strong with all three of them, despite her being married and having her own house and her own concerns for the first seven or so years of Fanny’s time at Mansfield.

We can see her influence with all three in the fact that all three of the Mansfield girls end up evaluating themselves in almost perfect accordance to how Mrs. Norris evaluated them. Maria, the golden child*, became very spoiled and proud and thought she could do almost whatever she wanted. Fanny, the scapegoat, came to believe that her only worth was in being “useful” (Mrs. Norris’s hobby-horse) and that she could never be of any importance to anybody. And Julia, while closer to Maria’s level of treatment than Fanny’s, also suffers from comparisons to the golden child:

That Julia escaped better than Maria was owing, in some measure, to a favourable difference of disposition and circumstance, but in a greater to her having been less the darling of that very aunt, less flattered and less spoilt. Her beauty and acquirements had held but a second place. She had been always used to think herself a little inferior to Maria.

[*footnote: Treating one child as the golden child and one as the scapegoat is a very common tactic of abusive caregivers. The scapegoat becomes entirely worn down in self-esteem so that she is powerless to fight back against the abuse. The golden child and other children see how the scapegoat is treated and try hard not to rock the boat because they don’t want to end up like that.]

Mrs. Norris teaches Fanny from the beginning to judge and reject her own natural emotions. On her first traumatic separation from her family, Mrs. Norris lectures her incessantly on how she ought to be HAPPY, not sad:

  Mrs. Norris had been talking to her the whole way from Northampton of her wonderful good fortune, and the extraordinary degree of gratitude and good behaviour which it ought to produce, and her consciousness of misery was therefore increased by the idea of its being a wicked thing for her not to be happy.

Fanny is taught to regard her own natural feelings as “wicked”, especially when they are a negative reaction to how the Bertram/Norris family treats her. While she can see some of her own feelings as just--when they have been sanctioned by Edmund’s judgment--any feeling that tends away from perfect gratitude toward the Bertram/Norris family she immediately rejects as an immoral response. She frequently takes herself to task at these moments. Anger and resentment are natural responses meant to help us protect ourselves against mistreatment from others, and this self-defending response is entirely squelched by Mrs. Norris’s behavior to her.

Mrs. Norris’s behavior toward Fanny is not only emotionally abusive; it is also at least physically neglectful, if not physically abusive. Despite the fact that everyone agrees that Fanny “is not strong”, Mrs. Norris makes a lot of difficulties in Edmund’s attempts to make sure Fanny has a horse to ride, and also refuses to allow Fanny a fire in the East Room, even in the middle of winter, a privation that ever Sir Thomas thinks bad enough that he countermands it--though doing so with a little explanatory disclaimer to Fanny explaining why Mrs. Norris MEANS well and why Fanny shouldn’t dare to be angry, or indeed anything but immensely and forever grateful for their neglectful treatment of her:

Your aunt Norris has always been an advocate, and very judiciously, for young people’s being brought up without unnecessary indulgences; but there should be moderation in everything. She is also very hardy herself, which of course will influence her in her opinion of the wants of others. And on another account, too, I can perfectly comprehend. I know what her sentiments have always been. The principle was good in itself, but it may have been, and I believe has been, carried too far in your case. I am aware that there has been sometimes, in some points, a misplaced distinction; but I think too well of you, Fanny, to suppose you will ever harbour resentment on that account. You have an understanding which will prevent you from receiving things only in part, and judging partially by the event. You will take in the whole of the past, you will consider times, persons, and probabilities, and you will feel that they were not least your friends who were educating and preparing you for that mediocrity of condition which seemed to be your lot. Though their caution may prove eventually unnecessary, it was kindly meant; and of this you may be assured, that every advantage of affluence will be doubled by the little privations and restrictions that may have been imposed. I am sure you will not disappoint my opinion of you, by failing at any time to treat your aunt Norris with the respect and attention that are due to her.

~*GAAASSSSS-LIGHTINNNNGGGGGGG*~  

“Oh, shit, you’ve been freezing to death here for years because your aunt’s an abusive asshole. Oh, but there are three million excuses for her, and also you’re SO GOOD AND GRATEFUL that I KNOW you’ll never allow yourself to see it for the abuse it was, and aren’t you so GRATEFUL to us all for everything we’ve done for you? We MEANT well. And being abused was good for you anyway. If you ever get mad at your abusers I’ll treat you with withering criticism.” 

*gagggg* I could write an entire essay explicating the gaslighting in that passage ALONE.

I could go on and on about Mrs. Norris’s abusive behavior toward Fanny, but I think most of it’s perfectly obvious to the reader. I think a very interesting argument might be made on whether Mrs. Norris would count as having a form of narcissistic personality disorder--always worried about her own importance, living through her golden child Maria, taking everything out on her scapegoat, insisting always on associating her own value with that of Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram and insisting on Fanny’s status being lower because her own self-esteem is dependent on being as good as her sister Bertram and better than her sister Price. Might be interesting.

Part 2: Fanny Price’s Trauma Responses

Complex emotional trauma expresses itself in a number of symptoms and behaviors. We’ve already talked about emotional flashbacks, and I’m going to look at four more major aspects of Fanny’s trauma responses.

Anxiety and Hypervigilance

People with PTSD often suffer from hypervigilance, where their body is constantly on high alert for threats in their environment. These threats are not only physical threats (resulting in things like jumping really hard at sudden noises) but also interpersonal threats. For instance, whenever I hear people talking really quietly in my house, I stop whatever I’m doing and listen REALLY HARD because I’m worried they’re talking about me and it’s gonna be bad.

Fanny exhibits this same behavior when she has retreated to the East Room when Crawford is in the house to propose to her:

She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening, trembling, and fearing to be sent for every moment; but as no footsteps approached the East room, she grew gradually composed, could sit down, and be able to employ herself, and able to hope that Mr. Crawford had come and would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter.

Nearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing very comfortable, when suddenly the sound of a step in regular approach was heard; a heavy step, an unusual step in that part of the house: it was her uncle’s; she knew it as well as his voice; she had trembled at it as often, and began to tremble again, at the idea of his coming up to speak to her, whatever might be the subject. It was indeed Sir Thomas who opened the door and asked if she were there, and if he might come in. The terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed all renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine her again in French and English.

Her trembling at the sound of her uncle’s footsteps looks like hypervigilance, and the fact of her childhood “terror” being “renewed” sounds like she’s having another flashback, since she so strongly associates the presence of her uncle in the East Room with those painful childhood visits. She reacts with physical symptoms of stress, trembling at his approach.

Fanny’s anxiety and hypervigilance also demonstrates itself in her being constantly convinced that people are going to be angry with her. When she turns Mr. Crawford down, for instance, she is CONVINCED that Miss Crawford is going to be furious with her, and fears to meet with her. Edmund tells her Miss Crawford isn’t REALLY angry with her, but cannot convince her:

The promised visit from “her friend,” as Edmund called Miss Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny, and she lived in continual terror of it. As a sister, so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of what she said... she was in every way an object of painful alarm. ...The dependence of having others present when they met was Fanny’s only support in looking forward to it. She absented herself as little as possible from Lady Bertram, kept away from the East room, and took no solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her caution to avoid any sudden attack.

Fanny is so terrified of a polite confrontation with Miss Crawford, whom she has never seen angry before, that she spends DAYS trying to never be alone so that she’ll feel protected by the presence of company! Of course, when Miss Crawford DOES visit, she’s nothing but friendly. But Fanny’s PTSD couldn’t allow her to believe that until it happened. Her anxiety is intense, and this sort of thing happens repeatedly over the course of the novel.

Over-accommodation of others / people-pleasing

Childhood emotional trauma frequently leads to people-pleasing behavior: doing what you do not want to do simply because someone else wants you to.  To understand this, you have to put yourself into the point of view of a very young child or an infant. Children depend entirely on their caregivers for survival: they are aware of this on an instinctive level. If the caregiver shows them very conditional love, only appearing pleased with them when the child does things they like and displeased when the child does things that inconvenience them, the child quickly learns that they need to please their caregivers in order to survive. “Mom gets angry when I cry--Mom doesn’t like me to cry--if Mom gets angry at me, I could starve to death--I need to not cry.” Obviously this line of thinking happens on a subconscious rather than a conscious level, but it’s incredibly powerful nonetheless. I have found myself in situations where a person with some kind of power over me--a doctor, for instance--shows displeasure with something I say to them, and I INSTANTLY find myself backing off, making light of it, taking back everything I said, etc, even though I very much meant it and it needed to be said. The people-pleasing instinct is very strong and difficult to overcome.

In Fanny’s case, it isn’t just a matter of her caregivers showing her inconsistent love in early childhood. Even as an adult, she is fully aware that she needs to please the Bertrams, or she--and her family!--are SCREWED. She is entirely financially dependent on the Bertrams. If she displeases them, not only can they make her life at Mansfield even MORE uncomfortable than it already is, but they can send her back to Portsmouth. Even worse, they could stop their financial support of William and the financial support they are periodically sending to the rest of her family. Huge things hang on Fanny’s pleasing the Bertrams, and it’s small wonder she has developed the habit of trying to please everybody constantly (even her un-pleasable Aunt Norris).

Fanny repeatedly does things she doesn’t want to do, simply because someone asks or tells her to, even if there’s likely to be no major consequences if she doesn’t. One example is on Miss Crawford’s last visit to Mansfield, when Fanny is trying her darnedest to avoid speaking with her alone:

[Miss Crawford] was determined to see Fanny alone, and therefore said to her tolerably soon, in a low voice, “I must speak to you for a few minutes somewhere”; words that Fanny felt all over her, in all her pulses and all her nerves. Denial was impossible. Her habits of ready submission, on the contrary, made her almost instantly rise and lead the way out of the room. She did it with wretched feelings, but it was inevitable.

Fanny doesn’t want to talk to Miss Crawford alone. Fanny doesn’t NEED to talk to Miss Crawford alone. Fanny could stall, perhaps until Miss Crawford left. Nonetheless, the MOMENT Miss Crawford asks it of her, Fanny does it--even though she’s clearly terrified, feeling it “in all her pulses and all her nerves” (more on this physical reaction later). She acts almost like Ella Enchanted: she literally can’t say no.

Likewise, she doesn’t take opportunities she is offered to do things that she DOES wish to do. After a very long description of how much she wants to dance one evening, when her only chance of a partner is Tom, the following exchange occurs:

When he had told of his horse, [Tom] took a newspaper from the table, and looking over it, said in a languid way, “If you want to dance, Fanny, I will stand up with you.” With more than equal civility the offer was declined; she did not wish to dance. “I am glad of it,” said he, in a much brisker tone, and throwing down the newspaper again, “for I am tired to death.”

Fanny DOES want to dance, and the way that he worded the question, she could very well have said, “Yes, please,” and gotten up to dance with him. He has made it obvious that he doesn’t want to dance, and she has picked up on this and said--not only that they don’t have to dance, but the LIE that she doesn’t WANT to dance--in order to please him. Later Austen points Tom out as a hypocrite when he complains, “It raises my spleen more than anything, to have the pretence of being asked, of being given a choice, and at the same time addressed in such a way as to oblige one to do the very thing, whatever it be!” But while it is true that Tom left Fanny LITTLE choice in the matter, it is also true that a stronger character, like Miss Crawford, could probably have found a way to say that she DID want to dance, even with such an unencouraging questioner. Fanny cannot do this: she has been conditioned all her life to give in to people--because her very SURVIVAL has depended on it.

In particular, Mrs. Norris has squelched Fanny’s independence of spirit very firmly. At one point she observes, very unfairly,

There is a something about Fanny, I have often observed it before—she likes to go her own way to work; she does not like to be dictated to; she takes her own independent walk whenever she can; she certainly has a little spirit of secrecy, and independence, and nonsense, about her, which I would advise her to get the better of.”

As a general reflection on Fanny, Sir Thomas thought nothing could be more unjust.

Obviously, Mrs. Norris is completely wrong about this. But as long as she can project* the fault of independence on Fanny, and punish Fanny for this false fault, she can prevent her from ever developing it. By picking on the least little supposed sign of independence and harping on it for ages, Mrs. Norris can prevent Fanny from ever developing a will of her own.

[*Footnote: this is another thing narcissists do: they project their own bad behavior on to others. Mrs. Norris is definitely not secretive, but she is very “independent” and has a lot of “nonsense”--instead of consulting with others about what they actually need in any given situation, she TELLS them. She has no spirit of cooperation, and all her “services” to others tend to be officious and useless.]

Low self-esteem

I thought about putting this together with the section on Mrs. Norris, because Fanny’s self-esteem has been so much shaped by her aunt. This is the kind of message Mrs. Norris is constantly drilling into her about the lowness of her importance:

The nonsense and folly of people’s stepping out of their rank and trying to appear above themselves, makes me think it right to give you a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company without any of us; and I do beseech and entreat you not to be putting yourself forward, and talking and giving your opinion as if you were one of your cousins—as if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia. That will never do, believe me. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last.

This message is so entirely in keeping with the messages Mrs. Norris has been indoctrinating Fanny with over the years that she has fully internalized it. When a primary caregiver tells you over and over again that you do not matter to anyone, you come to believe it:

[Fanny:] “I can never be important to any one.”

[Edmund:] “What is to prevent you?”

“Everything. My situation, my foolishness and awkwardness.”

“As to your foolishness and awkwardness, my dear Fanny, believe me, you never have a shadow of either, but in using the words so improperly. There is no reason in the world why you should not be important where you are known. You have good sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure you have a grateful heart, that could never receive kindness without wishing to return it. I do not know any better qualifications for a friend and companion.”

“You are too kind,” said Fanny, colouring at such praise; “how shall I ever thank you as I ought, for thinking so well of me.”

Fanny’s “I can never be important to any one” sounds very much like a triggered teenager sobbing, “Nobody will ever love me!” even while friends next to her are demonstrating that they DO love her. The survivor of this kind of abuse comes to a place where their beliefs do not reflect reality because their beliefs instead reflect the intense emotional rejection they have received from their main caregivers*. Fanny is important to Edmund, William, and Lady Bertram, but is convinced that she not only is NOT important to ANYONE, but never CAN be. She also convinced that she is foolish and awkward, probably by the early experiences at Mansfield when she didn’t know all the intricate rules of high society and was far behind Maria and Julia in her education. Fanny, though she is extremely shy, manages to carry off most things with surprising grace, and she is clever and has a wisdom and common sense in some things far beyond her years. Yet she is CERTAIN that she is “foolish and awkward”, because she has been repeatedly called so by authority figures in her life and almost all of her family at Mansfield.

[*Footnote: these extreme beliefs are often couched in “black-and-white” language: “EVERYBODY hates me, NOBODY loves me, I’ll NEVER be able to do it right, I’ll be alone FOREVER”. We can hear this in Fanny’s “I can NEVER be of importance to ANY ONE”.]

Fanny not only thinks very lowly of herself, she also is afraid of being praised or of anything that could possibly raise her self-esteem. For instance, in a discussion with Edmund, she explains why she never wants anybody to notice her:

[Edmund:] “Your uncle is disposed to be pleased with you in every respect; and I only wish you would talk to him more. You are one of those who are too silent in the evening circle.”

[Fanny:] “But I do talk to him more than I used. I am sure I do. Did not you hear me ask him about the slave-trade last night?”

“I did—and was in hopes the question would be followed up by others. It would have pleased your uncle to be inquired of farther.”

“And I longed to do it—but there was such a dead silence! And while my cousins were sitting by without speaking a word, or seeming at all interested in the subject, I did not like—I thought it would appear as if I wanted to set myself off at their expense, by shewing a curiosity and pleasure in his information which he must wish his own daughters to feel.”

“Miss Crawford was very right in what she said of you the other day: that you seemed almost as fearful of notice and praise as other women were of neglect.”

She is literally fearful of notice and praise--because Mrs. Norris has told her repeatedly throughout her life that she must NEVER shine more than Maria or Julia, must NEVER take attention away from them--a sort of vicarious narcissism. And Fanny feels that to receive a compliment, to state her own opinions, or even to TALK much in company is “stepping out of her place”, the high crime and misdemeanor of Mrs. Norris’s upbringing.

I was raised by a narcissistic caretaker, and I am sometimes suddenly overwhelmed with terror that I’m taking too much attention to myself and that I’m therefore BAD somehow. Because a narcissist (or their proxy, the golden child) must always be the center of attention, the scapegoat is emotionally punished for ever taking the spotlight. Mrs. Norris is disposed to be upset when Sir Thomas holds a dance in Fanny’s honor, and is only reconciled to it because SHE will be able to make herself the center of attention in the preparations.*

[*Footnote: I think another argument can be made for Mrs. Norris’s narcissism in her response to Crawford’s proposal to Fanny:

Angry she was: bitterly angry; but she was more angry with Fanny for having received such an offer than for refusing it. It was an injury and affront to Julia, who ought to have been Mr. Crawford’s choice; and, independently of that, she disliked Fanny, because she had neglected her; and she would have grudged such an elevation to one whom she had been always trying to depress.

Mrs. Norris is DETERMINED to put Fanny down, as the scapegoat, and is offended that one of her golden children (her emotional stand-in) is shown less honor in this situation than the scapegoat. For the scapegoat to be elevated and her narcissistic stand-in to be neglected induces a narcissistic rage.] 

“Sensibility” and High Sensitivity

In the 18th century, a theory and “culture of sensibility” grew up in places like Britain, France, Holland, and the British colonies. Encyclopedia.com’s article on sensibility states, “Sensibility (and ‘sensible’ and ‘sentiment’) connoted the operation of the nervous system, the material basis for consciousness.” But the workings of the nervous system, they believed, affected more than just the physical body. Some people, it was held, had greater sensibility than others: their nerves were more easily affected by not only physical but also emotional and moral input, and they responded accordingly--not just in word and in deed, but in tears, blushes, trembling, fainting, etc. It was believed that people’s emotional responses AND physical responses could tell you something about their physical AND moral makeup. A truly modest woman, for instance, would blush and look confused when confronted with something that offended her maidenly modesty. A woman--or indeed, man--who was truly moral and “sensible” would be emotionally affected by something sad, such as a tale of oppression, to the point of openly weeping. A heroine of sensibility would most likely faint if threatened with something she found, not only physically frightening, but morally abhorrent (such as a forced marriage). This is part of the reason for what seems to use like excessive emotional reactions in some 18th-century novels: the writer is demonstrating her characters’ moral superiority through their physical sensibility.*

[*Footnote: Encyclopedia.com adds, “The coexistence of reason and feeling was assumed, but the proportion of each was endlessly debated, above all because of what many saw as the dangers of unleashed feelings... [After the French Revolution,]  The debate over the proportions of reason and feeling in persons of sensibility was politicized, and the need for women to channel their feelings toward moral and domestic goals was reemphasized. The word ‘sentimental,’ which had been used positively, became a label for ‘excessive sensibility’ and self-indulgence.” We can see this conflict clearly in Austen’s Sense and Sensibility!]

There is, in fact, a modern equivalent to the 18th century idea of sensibility: the concept of the Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) or Sensory Processing Sensitivity (SPS). First proposed by Elaine Aron's book The Highly Sensitive Person (1996), the theory suggests that SPS 

is a temperamental or personality trait involving "an increased sensitivity of the central nervous system and a deeper cognitive processing of physical, social and emotional stimuli". The trait is characterized by "a tendency to 'pause to check' in novel situations, greater sensitivity to subtle stimuli, and the engagement of deeper cognitive processing strategies for employing coping actions, all of which is driven by heightened emotional reactivity, both positive and negative". (wikipedia)

While some people have mocked this theory as pseudoscience, Aron is by no means the only researcher to have studied it, and a great many people who suffered from people telling them “You’re too sensitive” when they were hurt have taken comfort in the positive affirmation that high sensitivity is a natural phenomenon and can even at times be regarded as a strength rather than a character flaw.

It seems to me that there is a good deal of overlap between those who self-identify or may be identified as HSPs and those who have C-PTSD. Whether this is because greater emotional sensitivity leads to a greater incidence of traumatic responses to negative experiences, or whether high sensitivity is itself a product of repeated childhood trauma, I can’t say. (Heck, it could even be that the HSP’s belief that they’re over-sensitive comes from childhood gaslighting!)

What I can say is that Fanny Price exhibits, not only hypervigilance, but also what Austen would call “great sensibility” and I would call “SPS”. Fanny has the greatest sensibility of any character in the entire novel, even Edmund: she judges more clearly on moral matters than Edmund or Sir Thomas, and has the strongest physical and emotional reactions to stimuli. She seems to be constantly blushing, trembling, or tearing up. This is not only painful to modern readers (who, if they’re not pained by sympathizing with her, may well be pained by what seems to them a lack of proper 21st-century backbone in a main character) but is clearly highly uncomfortable at times to Fanny herself. She might be able to pride herself on her moral discernment (not that Fanny would EVER pride herself on ANYTHING), and she may be in transports of happiness when something good, like William’s arrival or promotion, occur, but she is often “cast down” as well by things that seem to others like trifles. We see this not only in her hypervigilance but also in the depression and the black-and-white thinking which are often the products of trauma. Edmund observes to her, “It is your disposition to be easily dejected and to fancy difficulties greater than they are.” Fanny’s apparent high sensitivity may be just a natural trait (made worse by trauma) or may itself be a product of trauma.

Conclusions

At the end of all this, I’m really not sure what I think about Fanny’s “happy ending”. On one hand, she gets what she’s always wanted in life: companionate marriage with Edmund, valued by Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram, with Mrs. Norris (and Maria) gone forever, and Julia and Tom chastened and better behaved. It seems perfect for her. But a little voice inside of me keeps saying how very unlikely it is. People rarely change as much as Sir Thomas does in the book--and in fact, we are only assured by Austen that Sir Thomas comes to value Fanny more: we don’t actually SEE it. I can’t help but feel that Fanny must still have been subject to ongoing gaslighting about how she was brought up and about respect toward Mrs. Norris and himself. Fanny got what she thought she wanted, but at the same time, she didn’t get free. Especially considering that Austen goes out of her way to say that things COULD have turned out differently and that Fanny and Crawford COULD have been happy together, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Fanny had ended up with the ONLY person in the entire book who truly recognizes how badly she has been treated at Mansfield Park:

[Crawford]: And they will now see their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish they may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness.

#jane austen #mansfield park #trauma #c-ptsd #literature #tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk

[lilbabycee]

tatiana // steve rogers 🌸

↳ summary: you've made a series of mistakes concerning steve and you're not going to stop now, although these mistakes may leave you in some unprecedented circumstances.

↳ relationship: soft dark!steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 5.4k (i got carried away with this one)

↳ warnings: explicit smut, mildly dubious consent, emotional manipulation, cockwarming, dad!steve

↳ author’s note: some more soft dark steve bc we all need it 🤤 this may be one of my favorite steve fics i’ve ever written, so please enjoy! 💖 

The white doves that tell the tales residing inside the heavy book that weighs down your lap flutter downwards, blowing little wisps of air onto your skin as your fingers slacken and the cover of the hardback hits the pages with a soft thud. Perched on the edge of the too-big queen-sized bed with the too-soft mattress, you take a second to breathe deeply, cherishing these moments of peace because these breaths haven’t come easy to you recently. Your head falls into one of your hands, your bones as exhausted as your mind. You have to remember that it’s ten in, hold for five, and ten out just like he taught you, but the thought escapes you as your lungs struggle to intake air in anything but huge, gasping breaths. It feels like someone is sitting on your chest, a weight so heavy having settled where your heart should be, dragging your body further to the ground than gravity.

But you’re unable to help the sincere albeit shaky smile on your face when you admire her, your breathing starting to even out until it’s shallow and steady. Round cheeks squished against the pillow, one of her chubby little hands gripping your sleeve and the other tucked underneath her head, she’s a vision - truly a beacon of light in what is otherwise a neverending spiral into darkness. Carefully and with all of the finesse that your shaking hands can muster, you pry her fingers off of your sleeve one by one, although you know that the chances of her waking up are slim. You love telling her that she can sleep through an earthquake or a hurricane because it always - without fail - elicits that same sweet little giggle from the sleeping girl in front of you and a whiny “Mama!” , her beaming smile enough to warm your heart for the rest of your life.

Tatiana’s long eyelashes - all too reminiscent of her daddy’s - fan against her face while she dozes, her mouth wide open and her soft snores the only sound in the room. Her closed eyes shield you from the most disarming baby blues that never let you forget exactly who her father is, and the thought alone makes the blood pumping your heart run cold, an involuntarily shudder passing through you at the feeling.

He’s just over in the next room and you know it - the apartment is almost entirely silent but you know. He’s waiting, expecting you, knowing that you’ll come to see him at the end of the night. Tatiana’s enthusiasm and your insistence upon reading her to sleep hopefully went unnoticed by him - being alone in a room with him always makes your skin crawl and your heart beat erratically but you know that he can smell the arousal that pools between your thighs regardless of the attitude that you give him on the surface.

Not wanting him to come and look for you, you decide that you’ve spent enough time in this massive bedroom - a converted guest room - that’s far too large for a 3-and-a-half-year-old. You lean down over your baby, hand coming up to brush a thumb over her cheek and then run a hand through over the top of her head, pushing the stray baby hairs out of her face. You make sure to place the book on her nightstand so that you don’t have a fiasco like the last time that you couldn’t find it. It ended up underneath the couch and your daughter was in a mood for the whole day, pouting and sulking when her father told her that he couldn’t find it. It was a gift that was given to you by her favorite uncle, Tony, when she was born: Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Tony considers it essential in developing her love for reading and stories at an early age, and you didn’t argue, the gift so sweet and thoughtful that you make sure to read at least a little to her every night. Making sure to turn her nightlight on, you rise and head to the door, looking back over your shoulder one more time to see her cocooned in her blanket and being swallowed by her mattress. The image alone makes a chuckle rise in your throat and you shake your head before flipping the light switch and closing the door.

Your back is pressed against the hard lines of Tatiana’s door, and your gaze falls on the one at the end of the hallway. It’s been left ajar, almost as if he’s inviting you inside. You know that you shouldn’t - common sense is telling you that you should steer clear of that room for the sole reason that you know exactly what or rather who lays in their bed behind it. Before you even realize what’s happening, a deep baritone is summoning you to, “Come in”.

Silently, you curse yourself, aware that it’s too late to take back any chance of escape that you may have had prior to this, but you press your palm against the white wood of the door so that it slowly slides open. The sight that greets you makes you want to claw at your skin as much as you want to claw at his. The idea of vertical red lines scratched down his back makes you bite your lip and really assess the gorgeous man stretched out in front of you.

At a closer listen, you’re aware that he’s actually been playing music, soft jazz melodies floating through the air that ease your anxiety just a little. His bed is directly across from the door and obnoxiously large and comfortable - it used to be covered in pillows and have a softer mattress and extra blankets, but that was before you moved out. Now, the pillows are somewhere in a closet, as are the blankets, and the mattress is significantly harder than it used to be, although not uncomfortable. But the bed isn’t what’s making your mouth water and a fire ignite in your stomach. It’s the man atop it.

He’s stretched out like some kind of god - picture Dionysus - with the bone structure and physique of Adonis, and you think that if the heavens opened up right now and took him back you wouldn’t bat a single eyelash. The only sources of light in the room are the twin lamps that emanate a bright, white light. The light catches all of the planes and angles of his face, the shadows and highlights alike showing you all of his best features. And he’s absolutely the picture of relaxation, back leaning against the headboard, right hand behind his head and the left holding a book.

He’s only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt that’s slightly rucked up to show the line of abdominal hair that leads down to what you really want, but he may as well have been wearing nothing because you wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes off of this man if you tried. And even from the few meters that separate the two of you, you can feel the intensity of his blue gaze behind his glasses - it always feels like he’s stripping you slowly, carefully, methodically in his mind. Not only is it disconcerting but it makes you feel things that you can only associate with uncomfortable desire. His eyebrow quirks up and the hand that was behind his head slowly slides his glasses down the bridge of his perfect nose until they drop to his side. His lips quirk up into a smug little smirk that you simultaneously want to punch and kiss off his face.

“Hey,” he says your name like a prayer, lips wrapping around the sound and it draws you into the room - you’re almost floating towards him.

You swallow, willing yourself to say something instead of just standing there, staring at him like an idiot. Relaxing your stance, one of your hands finds your hip and the other runs over your hair that you’re sure is a mess from playing with your daughter earlier.

“Hi,” you reply quietly, almost a whisper. He mirrors you, running a hand through his golden hair and then over his clean-shaven jaw - Tatiana prefers it that way.

“She asleep?”

You nod, finding yourself on the edge of his bed as he puts his book face down next to him. Inhaling deeply, he runs his large hands over his powerful thighs and even that small motion has you distracted and you squeeze your own thighs together, shaking your head disapprovingly at yourself. Absent-mindedly, your hand comes up to toy with the pendant of the simple necklace that you always wear, and you watch Steve’s eyes as they follow your movements. They zero in on your exposed décolletage and darken, his tongue running over his plush pink lower lip again. Pulling his phone from underneath his pillow, he makes a point of checking it before glancing back up at you.

“What?”

“You checked the time, sweetheart?”

At the shake of your head, he flips his phone around to show you that it’s four minutes past midnight.

“Shit, are you kidding me?” you groan almost childishly, rising hastily and making your way towards the door. “I’ve got work tomorrow - I wasn’t supposed to stay this late.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve quickly moves to stand up and placate you, rounding the bed to come and stand in front of you with his hands out. “It’s not your fault - Tati was excited to see you, you can’t blame her… or yourself for that matter. She’s been asking about you for weeks now, talkin’ everybody’s ear off about it. She doesn’t get to see us all the time, you know that-”

You know it all too well. Frankly, you’re proud of your success - there’s no reason that you shouldn’t be. You were lucky enough to land a key internship at Stark Industries as a college student that really gave you a leg up in a lot of your future professional life. You were already set to inherit what is now your publishing company from your father, but you were unsure about whether or not that was something that you wanted to devote your life to. Sooner rather than later, something clicked for you and that was when you decided to pick up your father’s life’s work, reassuring him that it would be left in capable hands so that he could eventually retire peacefully. Not that he doesn’t still hover because he does, giving you advice whether you want it or not and making final decisions in places where you’re torn. Initially, there was a lot of discontent within the company concerning your father’s replacement: he is something of a legend in the publishing world and even you were terrified that you wouldn’t be able to live up to their expectations. You had to prove that you deserved to have the CEO position that your father appointed you to, show people and yourself, more importantly, that you were worth being there as much as any other employee. It took some years, but you love your job, so much so in fact that your mother - a former dentist - is often concerned that you’re working yourself to an early grave.

Unfortunately, this leaves little time for you to spend with your family, especially your daughter. Your job requires an exorbitant amount of international travel, meaning that your house barely looks like a home because most weeks, it’s empty.

Sighing, the thought in itself makes a grey cloud hang over your head to shroud you in despondency. Steve notices and the corners of his lips turn downwards as he boldly approaches you and gently grabs your upper arms. His touch in itself makes you soften and he dips his head to try and catch your eyes. When he does, he gives you a crooked, boyish smile that makes the crease in your eyebrows disappear and your lips curve into a shy grin.

“I know it’s part of your job,” Steve’s voice drops even further, hands rubbing up and down your arms, thumbs stroking the cotton of your shirt. “But she misses you… why don’t you just stay over?”

This makes you freeze in place and try and free yourself from his grip, but he only tightens it, that same compassionate look in his eyes.

“Baby,” before you can reprimand him for using the pet name, he anticipates your next words and shushes you so that he can continue, “I bet Tati would love to see you when she wakes up tomorrow morning. Imagine the look on her face - she’d be overjoyed. Just think about it.”

You know what he’s doing and still attempt to wrestle free, but his hold on you is solid though it doesn’t tighten any further.

“Steve,” you sigh in what sounds like defeat and you can see the spark of hope ignite in his eyes. “You know why I have to get home. I’ll come back tomorrow - I’ve got the whole week here before I head out again-”

“But then what?” he says your name pleadingly, though his tone sounds almost accusatory. “I could be gone on a mission at any time and then some of the team has to take care of her - or your parents, or your sister, or your brother. Look, I try to be here as much as I can but I’m not planning to hang up the shield for a few more years-”

“And I’m not expecting you to, I never said I was, Steve,” you fire back, taking a step towards him with your arms still pinned by your sides. “I get that your missions are unpredictable and unexpected - you can’t help that - but there’s no way that I can lose these clients overseas, especially since I basically just got this position-”

“So you’re saying that you’re prioritizing your job over our daughter?” his voice rises slightly, but his eyes don’t harden at all.

“That’s- are you kidding me? That’s not at all what I’m saying. I want to provide financial stability that’s enough for the rest of her life and with both of us working, she’ll have more than enough for her and her kids and probably her kids’ kids. God, why would you even -”

“You know what she told me yesterday?”

This makes the fire within you die down just a little, your heart skipping a beat when you register the intensity of his gaze and the gravity of his words. You swallow, hands starting to clam up and lips starting to quiver. He knew what reaction this would give you, effectively shutting you up.

“Wh-what- I mean, you know...what did she say?”

Steve suddenly looks away from you, releasing your arms and pacing, turning his back to you. Letting out a distressed sigh, he shoves his hands deep into his mop of blonde hair, planting himself on the edge of the bed and shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t have said anything- I’m sorry, it’s not my place-”

His voice is quiet but also muffled by his hands, but now he’s piqued your curiosity so you can’t just let this go - especially because it concerns the single most important person in your life. Without thinking, you rush over, getting on your knees before him, right in between his open legs. Tentatively, your hands land on his knees and your thumbs trace small circles where they lay.

“Steve,” you call out softly. Nothing happens for a moment - he remains silent and the jazz song is underscored by his ragged breathing. The feeling of nervousness that already set in your stomach drops further and further, blood running like fire once again through your veins. When he finally does look up at you, he looks torn, like a lost golden retriever. He knows very well what that look does to you and you’re more than aware of it yourself, yet you find that you are unable to look away from those eyes that mirror those of your daughter so perfectly.

He says your name quietly, his significantly larger hand covering one of yours that rest on his knee. Though you hate to admit it to yourself, it makes the suspense of the situation so much more bearable.

“It’s just,” Steve hesitates, unable to maintain eye contact with you and sitting up from his hunched position, “she asked me why you were never here…”

Your heart sinks, another lump stuck in your throat.

“And you said…?”

“A-All I did was tell her the truth,” he shrugs, exhaling another shaky breath before looking at you with glassy eyes, “I told her that you’re really busy with work all the time, but every time you’re not at work, you’re trying your best to spend all your time with her.”

Steeling yourself not to cry, you look away from his face and lower your gaze to stare at the carpet.

Ten in, hold for five, ten out.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say lightheartedly, knowing full-well that there’s more to it. Steve manages a chuckle, but it sounds forced so you decide to shut up and listen.

“But then she said that it was okay because she has Nat instead.”

There it was.

You’ve always known that your daughter has been brutally honest - as all children often are - but this is a pain unlike anything that you’ve felt before. Your fingers come up to your chest to clutch at your breast, dying to massage away the aching of your heart. Hot trails of fire spill onto your cheeks and the moment that Steve registers them, he takes advantage of your position on the floor and tucks his hands underneath your arms to drag you up to sit on his lap like a doll.

You’re curled up on top of your ex-fiancé’s thighs, his hand pressing the side of your head into his hard but surprisingly comfortable shoulder, and you’re sobbing your fucking eyes out at the harsh but very real words of your three-and-a-half-year-old daughter. Steve says your name comfortingly and wraps his arms tightly around your body, rocking you back and forth while he shushes you and whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

It definitely hurts to hear: the hectic, distant, fast-paced and frankly insane life that you’ve been trying to convince yourself isn’t your reality is indeed the truth and even your daughter can recognize that. You’re ashamed of yourself, Steve’s kind words only making you feel so much worse.

Between sobs, you attempt to explain yourself but Steve just keeps quieting you, rubbing circles into your back. All he says is ten in, hold for five, ten out.

Once you’ve calmed down a little, you realize the vulnerable spot that you’re in - one you shouldn’t be in. You squirm in his arms like you’re about to get up but once again, he holds you firmly in place.

“I need to head out, Steve- I’ve gotta get some time alone to think about-”

“Or,” he draws out the word, voice having hardened significantly, “you could stay here and when our daughter comes to wake me up in the morning, she’ll find you here too.”

Jerking your head back, you’re genuinely shocked at his audacity.

“Steve, let’s get this straight,” you start, feeling much more confident and calm than before, “if I’m staying here, we are absolutely not sleeping in the same room. We’re not having a repeat of what happened the last time-”

“And what was so bad about the last time, hmm, sweetheart?”

He runs his index finger over your jawline, dragging it down the length of your neck and down to your exposed collarbones.

“If I do recall,” his voice is much quieter but also deeper, “you thoroughly enjoyed what we did the last time.”

His one arm keeps you anchored to him, the other moving from your chest to cup behind your neck and pull you to meet his lips.

“Steve-”

Your protests die in your throat as you feel his soft lips on you, your eyes fluttering shut as he starts to press wet, open-mouthed kisses on your throat. He works his way up to underneath your ear, biting in places that you know you should be worried about him marking before he nips at your earlobe with his perfect teeth and traces the outer shell of your ear with his tongue. It makes you whimper softly, the sound making your eyes shoot open and snapping you out of whatever trance he’s put you in, your spine going rigid.

“We’re not doing this,” you say firmly, placing your hands flat on his chest and pushing backward. He looks resigned but nods, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head instead.

“Fine, but I still insist that you stay here,” he presses. “Not for me, but for Tatiana - think of her. She’ll love it.”

Biting your lip, you consider it for a moment before sucking your teeth and staring heavenwards.

What’s the worst that could happen? And if it’s just so that Tatiana can see you with her in the morning, it’s more than worth having to deal with Steve for a night.

“Okay, fine- fine. You’re gonna need to let me borrow some clothes. If I’d known that this was the plan, I would’ve packed more appropriately.”

Steve’s self-satisfied smirk irks you and he shifts you off of his lap, standing up so that he can disappear inside his walk-in to search for something for you to wear. You can’t help but notice that as he’s walking, he has to adjust the crotch of his sweatpants which aren’t really hiding anything. You clear your throat and look away, the heat that previously ran throughout your body all settles in your core.

Something that smells suspiciously like Steve - soap, pine, lavender and something citrusy - smacks you in the face, making you scowl when the clothing falls to reveal a grinning Steve who looks very pleased with himself leaning against the closet door.

“C’mon,” he gestures to you with one hand, the other shoved in his pocket. “I’d love to get some sleep, so get changed.”

He turns on his heel and heads to another door on the other side of the room, walking inside as he yells, “And make sure to let people know that you aren’t gonna be in tomorrow. We’ve got plans, doll.”

Plans?

The door clicks behind him, and you heave a deep sigh, wanting to fall through the bed. Quickly, you disrobe, folding your clothes and placing them onto one of the armchairs in the corner of his room next to the record player. Looking at what he brought you, you shake your head in incredulity.

This cheeky motherfucker.

He’s only brought you a t-shirt - a white one with the Captain America insignia on the back, the same one that you bought for him as a joke on the first birthday of his that you spent together. You purposely made sure that it was loose enough for you to wear to bed by itself too because he wears all of his t-shirts in a size too small - not that you’d ever complain - and you hated grabbing one of his shirts, putting it on, and finding that it fit you just like one of your own.

You pull it over your head and look back to the empty space on the bed.

No shorts either.

You scold yourself because you should’ve known that he’d pull something like this. But he’s promised that things won’t go to levels that you’re not comfortable with, so you just sleeping in your panties and this t-shirt should be fine.

Maybe?

Entering the bathroom, Steve hands you the toothbrush that he keeps here for you, his own buzzing in his mouth, and you thank him silently with your eyes as you take it from him. Your eyes travel up his body, narrowing because he’s taken off his shirt and his sweatpants, and he is only wearing a pair of grey Calvins, distracting you and making even more moisture pool between your thighs. Steve evidently notices your not-so-subtle staring and tries to hide his smile under the guise of brushing with renewed vigor.

Get a hold of yourself.

The two of you finish up in the bathroom, Steve walking behind you and burning holes into your bare thighs. He turns off both of the lights on either side of his bed as you crawl underneath the heavy comforter, curling in on yourself. You turn away from him, hoping that it indicates that you’re not up for talking and just want to sleep. He moves around a little bit before getting in with you, and suddenly your space is crowded by pillows?

He remembered.

It makes the butterflies in your belly that have been dormant for a long time start to wake up.

Rearranging the pillows in the fashion that you like, you try and put today’s events behind you and make a silent vow to yourself that you will do better, you will try harder to become a better and more present mother to your daughter.

In fact, you’re so absorbed in your thoughts that sleep begins to pull you into its clutches, your eyes drooping lower and lower until your breathing evens out and you’re just on the cusp of it when a strong, hard body molds itself against your back. Any semblance of sleep that you felt just moments ago slips away, your eyes widening.

“What are you doing -”

His hand clamps around your mouth, promptly cutting you off before his other warm hand runs down your front, down your t-shirt before creeping underneath, all while leaving a trail of fire in his wake. You’re thrashing now, knowing that your efforts will be futile because as much as you can tell yourself you don’t want this, it’s everything that you’ve ever wanted.

It was a mistake like this that gave you the best thing to ever happen to you.

His lips touch your ear at the same time his hand flicks your peaked nipple, making you buck your hips back into him. “Oh, sweetheart, look at you.”

He gropes at your breast for another few seconds, his gentle yet firm grip doing nothing to ease the desire that you have for him. A sharp pinch to your nipple sends a lightning bolt right to your cunt. It then moves even further downwards, past down your belly button, hovering over where you need him the most.

“So needy, aren’t you, baby?”

He slips the fingertip of his index finger underneath the band of the lace, snapping it so that you gasp against his hand.

“I’ve been able to smell you all night,” he buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply and the groan from deep within his chest vibrates against your back. Arching your back into him, he uses both of his hands to push your hips into his, hooking his thumbs over the band of your panties and sliding the rest of his fingers underneath. “You wet for me, sweetheart?”

You can do nothing but nod - this is a mistake but you wish that every mistake that you ever made felt this good.

“Good girl,” you can hear his grin while he removes his hands and his index finger slides against your covered core. “This all for me?”

You nod again and he moans loud , louder than the sounds of your desperate panting. The jazz record continues to spin on the needle.

Slowly, he runs a finger up and down your folds, feeling the slick that has dampened your panties. He thrusts up into your ass in response, wasting no more time.

“Please-”

You choke out the word, needing him to extinguish the flames that he’s ignited inside of you.

“It’s okay, doll - I got you.”

And he does, yanking down his underwear over his cock and wrapping his hand around the base. In your eagerness, you shove your own panties down your hips, causing Steve to rumble a laugh and click his tongue at you.

“Baby,” he exhales, evidently amused at your whiny demeanor. “Did you really think you could trick me? Comin’ in here, all shy and nervous but still tempting me… knowing exactly what you’re doin’, hmm? You wanna be a family again, sweetheart?”

With this, he guides the head of his dick to your entrance, rubbing up and down the sensitive skin, taking his time. And in all the time that you’ve known him, Steve is not the type to be patient.

“All you had to do was ask.”

And then he slams into you - really and truly because you jerk forward at his powerful thrust, eyes watering at the sensation. He’s so big that the stretch precariously toes the line between pain and pleasure but just falls on the side of being enjoyable. The sound of skin slapping sin is lewd and filthy and you love it.

Steve’s deft fingers quickly find your clit and press down, rubbing circles into the small nub. Coupled with Steve’s labored breathing and moans in your ear, it doesn’t take you long to be right on the edge of your peak.

“I can feel you, doll,” he whispers, teeth grazing your ear once again. “You gonna cum for me, make a mess all over my dick?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, eyes squeezed shut.

“No, no, no, baby,” he breathes. “Look at me while I make you cum - I want you to know who’s making you feel this good. Tell me who’s about to make you cum, baby.”

Opening your eyes, he flips you around so that you’re facing him, throwing one of your legs over his and he does it all without ceasing his motions. Your body warms in embarrassment, however because you’re chasing your release, you swallow any pride that you may have and give him what he wants.

“You are-”

An exceptionally hard thrust makes you squeal and Steve grunts in disappointment. He’s got one arm encircled around your waist, the other gripping your throat bruisingly tight.

“I didn’t fucking hear you, sweetheart.”

“You are,” you try a bit louder, your ability to form coherent sentences significantly impaired.

“What was that, doll?”

“You are,” you yell emphatically, the pressure being applied to your clit temporarily pushing the words out of your mouth in exactly the way you know he likes it.

He bounces you on his cock, pulling you into a heated kiss before drastically increasing his speed, every thrust upwards poking at your g-spot.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he licks a stripe up your throat and your hands scramble to find purchase on his slick skin. Your nails dig into his back, painting those thin crimson lines he likes so much. “Just like that.”

A strangled moan crawls out of your throat but he shushes you, squeezing your neck tighter.

“I know, I know,” he soothes. “Cum for me, doll.”

And so you do - your thighs quiver and your lips part wide in a silent scream, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your muscles contract around Steve’s dick which sets off his own orgasm but almost stubbornly, he keeps his eyes on your blissed-out face while he spills his own release into you.

Once the two of you come down from your high, your heart racing and your breath erratic, Steve’s tight embrace does nothing to quell your growing anxiety at what the fuck you’ve just done - again.

“Should keep you like this forever,” Steve pulls you into the heated skin of his chest and buries his face into the space between your shoulder and your neck. His cock is still buried inside of you. “Fucked full of my cock for the rest of your life. I bet you’d like that, baby.”

His words make tears spring to your eyes - guilt - and you can’t even give him a response, so all he does is exhale deeply, kissing the top of your head and settling into the sea of pillows around you.

“Night, sweetheart.”

And then he promptly falls asleep, no more words exchanged between the two of you. Truly you can do nothing more but wrap your arms around his neck, the weight of him inside you making it difficult for you to get comfortable, and try to get some rest. The jazz record slowly starts to come to a close.

The moonlight shines through the slits of Steve’s blinds, depicting white horizontal lines across his back. It makes him look like art, you think, running your hands slowly up and down his bare skin. As you do, the light catches on the ostentatious rock on your ring finger.

↳ tagged: @literaturefeen​

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