#then got home from school to more homophobia | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

andvys · 8 months

Text

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 4

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, mentions of drugs, allusions to homophobia

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Summary: Steve finds himself yearning for your attention.

Word count: 7k+

A/N: @nemesis729 I had to put in one of your ideas/suggestions! thank you for the inspiration <3

series masterlist

Let go. Just let go. Let her go. He has been repeating those words in his head since, well, since he left you. He can’t understand what it is that just pulls him back to you all the time. Whether it’s all in his head or not. He keeps coming back to you and it irritates him because why does this keep happening?

He left you because he didn’t love you, he left you because he fell in love with her but why isn’t it enough? Why isn’t his love for the other girl enough for him to finally push you out of his mind and out of his life? You seemingly had no problem doing it with him. You pushed him out of your life already so why can’t he do the same?

The conversation with Billy only left him feeling more irritated.

Shouldn’t he feel peace, knowing that you aren’t hurting anymore? Shouldn’t he be content with his life now that he finally got what he wanted?

He doesn’t feel at peace and he doesn’t feel content and it causes anger to rise up in him because why?

Why, why, why…

Maybe it’s a good thing that he couldn’t find you anywhere after the conversation with Billy. He looked for you but you were nowhere to be found. He wanted to talk to you about the essay, despite you telling him that you’d call after school. He most certainly would have talked about something else, something that would make things even worse between the two of you.

The tiny voice in his head that kept telling him to let go, eventually got to him. He gave up on trying to find you and he went to find his girlfriend instead. He took her out for a late lunch at Benny’s Burgers and then brought her to the book shop she loves so much before he ‘begrudgingly’ canceled their movie night– Nancy didn’t seem to mind it that much, saying that she would rather work on her project anyways. After he had dropped her off at her house, he went home, walked into his empty house and waited for your phone call.

But you never called.

“Is it just me or does Steve seem different?”

Heather looks at you through the mirror, annoyance flashing in her eyes in an instant at the mention of your ex boyfriend. She lowers the dress that she was holding against her body and sighs.

“Different how?” She asks as she hangs it back on the rack before she reaches for the purple one, the one you claimed as your favorite.

You shrug, “I don’t know, it’s just, he seems less– nevermind.”

Chrissy raises her eyebrows at you, “no, no.. keep going.”

You blush a little, regretting bringing him up. You look around the bustling store, Heather isn’t the only one looking for a dress for the winter formal next week, a few girls from school are around as well. In fact, Carol Perkins is here too, currently holding up a baby blue dress, just the sight of her makes you want to throw up.

You never liked her or her boyfriend. Steve had always been friends with Tommy. Carol only came along when she started dating the unfriendly jock. When you had only been friends with Steve, you never hung out with them, you didn’t like them and you didn’t get along with them, not even when you started dating Steve and you were forced to tag along. You always hated the way Steve behaved when he was with them, he always turned into someone else, he let them influence him into doing things that he normally wouldn’t do. They always laughed behind his back, they used him for money and for popularity. You tried showing him that they weren’t real friends but he didn’t believe you or maybe he just didn’t care about what you thought of them.

She must’ve changed his mind after only one month of dating, he dropped his friends. She got through to him after only one fucking month.

“He wants to work on the stupid essay with me– he never did that before, he always convinced me to write them for him, even when I wasn’t part of them and now he wants to write it himself and he started reading Pride and Prejudice, willingly!”

“That’s because he’s already crawling back to you,” Heather mumbles, “they always do that.”

Chrissy nods.

“Not that I’d ever take him back but I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Then what is the case, y/n?”

You shrug and look down, “I let go of things so I’m not holding onto him or what we used to have if you think that. I don’t want him anymore, not after what he did. It’s just, I’m starting to realize that he truly never loved me. He never changed for me. It’s not that I asked much of him, I just wanted him to drop his toxic friends and for him to start doing better in school so we could go to college together, I just wanted what’s best for him but he never cared about what I wanted. Yet, he cares about what she wants. He dropped his friends for her right away, he started doing better in school for her. That’s what you do when you love someone, you do better for them,” you pause, looking down, you play with the hem of your cheer skirt, “you are willing to change for the right person… So, I guess she is the right one for him. I never was.”

Heather and Chrissy share a look, one of pity. Both girls know that you have let go of your first love but the pain and the heartbreak is still fresh. Steve had always been there, all your life, he had been by your side. He was your friend and then he was more than that, you were hopelessly in love, blinded by it to see how bad he was treating you or how he never even deserved to have a chance with you.

Neither of them can imagine the pain you are still going through– he was the one for you.

“I don’t think that she is the right one for him, I think that he’s a blind fool, that’s what he is,” Chrissy says.

Heather raises her brows, “he’s a real fucking clown, that’s what he is. He dropped the hottest girl there is because he set his eyes on some shiny new toy that’s no one touched before and now he is already crawling back. Not even two months in and he’s already back in your bedroom.”

You scrunch your face up at her words, raising your head, “don’t say it like that, makes it sound like we hooked up.”

“You wouldn’t, right?” Chrissy asks as she stares at you with big eyes, “h-hook up with him or, I don’t know.. kiss him?”

You instantly shake your head, “no! It’s bad enough that I have to do this stupid assignment with him. I don’t ever want him near me again, King Steve is dead to me– besides, he has her now so..”

“Yeah and he cheated on you with her,” Heather says with disgust in her eyes, “he’ll do it again– or, she will do it.”

“Oh and she will.”

At the sound of her voice, you all share a look of annoyance. Heather rolls her eyes, she throws the dress over her forearm, putting her other hand on her hip as she looks at the redhead.

You and Chrissy turn your heads to look at Carol, who as always, is chewing her gum and twirling her hair as her eyes flicker back and forth between the three of you.

“I’m sorry but who invited you into this conversation?” You ask, giving her a false smile.

“Oh, I just thought that you’d be interested in hearing about what I had to say but hey–”

“Tell us,” Chrissy says.

Carol tilts her head, laughing a little.

The cashier behind the counter raises her head, finally tearing her eyes away from the magazine she’s been staring at for the past forty minutes, she looks between you all, mumbling something under her breath that you can’t make out, the Christmas music is too loud.

“Nancy has a new friend– Jonathan Byers.”

“And?” Heather shrugs.

“Well, they seem to be getting really cozy with each other. She is canceling date nights just to hang out with him and Steve is an idiot, I mean he always was so he is kinda blind to the whole thing but when Tommy made a comment about it, he blew up on us, he left us stranded on some parking lot–”

“We don’t wanna hear your sob story about why King Steve stopped being your friend, Carol.”

She looks down at you where you are sitting on the couch, eyes flashing with irritation but the grin remains on her lips.

“Well, all I’m gonna say is, their relationship isn’t going to last. Weirdly enough, she started being a little distant ever since he deflowered her. Wouldn’t it be funny if that’s all she wanted him for?” She giggles, giving you a pitiful look, “for sex? I mean, getting to have your first time with King Steve must be really special, right?”

Irritation sparks inside of you but you don’t show it. A smile tugs at your lips and you shrug, “not really, Carol. There is nothing special about a man, ever.”

Your friends chuckle at your words.

Carol lets a small laugh leave her lips, though it’s more sarcastic.

“So, who knows, maybe she stole him from you to hop on his dick, maybe she has a thing for wanting things that she can’t have– although, she did get what she wanted,” she snorts, “but Nancy’s eyes are on the little freak and his eyes, well,” she pauses, smirking at you as she eyes you up and down, “they are elsewhere too,” she chuckles.

Carol walks past you and Chrissy, staring at the dress in Heather’s hands, she touches the silk material with her fingertips before she brushes past her.

“If I were you, I’d get him back, y/n.”

You want to scoff and roll your eyes but that’s exactly what she wants from you. You tilt your head and raise your brows at her.

She glances back at you over her shoulder, “I mean, losing your boyfriend to some loser is pathetic, especially for someone like you, y/n. I mean, the queen of Hawkins High losing to some little nerd?” She laughs.

You lean back against the couch and cross your arms over your chest. You couldn’t care less about your stupid title.

Heather squints her eyes at Carol and steps closer to her, “you know what’s pathetic?” She asks, not giving her the chance to respond, “drooling over some guy who isn’t your boyfriend and walking around trying to stir shit up.”

“Yeah, she moved on if you haven’t noticed,” Chrissy mumbles from beside you.

Carol turns around, she looks at you before she eyes your friend, “with who? You?” She laughs.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips. The smugness on her face, the everlasting smirk and the amusement in her eyes is so irritating to you.

You fail to notice the blush on Chrissy’s cheeks or the embarrassment in her eyes. Carol smirks, she notices the look on her face and so does Heather who narrows her eyes, glaring at Carol and eying Chrissy slowly.

“I know what you are, Chrissy–”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Heather interrupts her, “go and find yourself a dress, it’ll take you some time,” she says, eyeing the redhead up and down.

Chrissy squirms in her seat, she begins to twist the ring on her finger. You frown when you notice it, knowing that it’s a nervous habit of hers. Carol’s words confuse you a little but you don’t think too much into them. She leaves after giving all of you her judgmental looks.

Heather turns back to you both the moment Carol is out of eyesight. Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head, “I swear to god, she is everywhere– are you okay?” She asks you.

You nod, “yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, plastering a smile on your face.

Both of them look at you skeptically but instead of questioning you, they quickly change the topic, knowing that you desperately need the distraction.

“You know what you should do? You should pick out the hottest dress,” Heather smirks as she looks through all the dresses, “show up at the snowball and make him see what he lost.”

A smile tugs at your lips.

“Yeah and make him regret everything,” Chrissy smiles, nudging your shoulder.

You giggle, shaking your head, “I don’t even have a date.”

Heather laughs, waving you off, “I know a few guys who would be happy to take you to the dance.”

“Yeah, me too..” Chrissy mumbles.

You shake your head at them and get up, walking towards Heather, you reach for the dress in her hands, “how about we make you two look hot. I don’t feel like going anyways, so…”

Heather sighs, her shoulders slump, “come on, we’ve been talking about this since the summer.”

“Yeah. We talked about our matching dresses,” Chrissy says as she gets up as well, “we can still find a pretty one for you, y/n.”

��And a date.”

You truthfully don’t care about the dance anymore, you only wanted to go there because of Steve, the thought of him picking out a tie that matches your dress and him inviting you for a slow dance seemed so perfect and romantic for you back then, now it’s just something that no longer matters to you. You don’t feel like going to the dance with someone who couldn’t care less about you and the thought of sitting at a lone table while your friends have the time of their lives makes you want to slam your head against the wall.

Shaking your head, “no, there’s no one I’d wanna go with.”

“Are you sure about that?” Heather mumbles as she squints her eyes at you.

Furrowing your brows, you chuckle, “uh yeah, I am sure.”

Chrissy eyes Heather with a curious expression, “what do you know?”

“Nothing,” you snort, “she knows nothing, Chris.”

Heather smirks.

“Is this about Billy Hargrove ‘cause if so, ew?” Chrissy mumbles, clearly not liking the idea of you going out with Billy.

“Not Billy,” she smirks and turns around, “although he did tell me something very interesting,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

Sighing, you turn away from your friends and chuckle, “you didn’t hear anything, Heather.”

“Oh yeah?” She asks, “and what about the stoner you’ve been hanging out with?”

Chrissy gasps, “what stoner!”

“There is no stoner!”

Steve’s back aches when he wakes up, a groan falls from his lips, he opens his eyes, feeling a little disoriented when he looks around the living room. He fell asleep on the loveseat his mom always relaxes in when she reads one of her favorite novels. Rubbing his eyes, he frowns a little. Your book is lying on his chest, he must have fallen asleep while reading it– while he was waiting for your phone call.

The phone call that never came.

He waited and waited but you never called. Time wouldn’t pass, no matter what he did, it just didn’t pass while he waited for you to call him. Eventually, he reached for the book in his backpack and continued reading it, though his eyes kept straying away to the telephone.

His thoughts kept going back to you just like they do now.

What did you do last night?

Where were you last night?

Who were you with last night?

Why didn’t you call?

Using a bookmark, he puts it in between the pages that he has to reread again. He closes it and puts it down. He feels a little irritated. What is this radio silence? You promised to call, you broke it, the promise. You were never one to break promises.

He canceled his date with Nancy just for you, so you could both work on the essay, together.

Frowning in annoyance, he walks towards the telephone, grabbing the receiver, he dials your number, still remembering it. But just like he suspected, you don’t pick up the phone. He calls you once, twice and a third time until he finally gives up.

Why won’t you pick up?

Sighing, he slams the receiver back into place. He runs his fingers through his messy hair and shakes his head as he makes his way into the kitchen to brew some coffee. His mind is occupied by you. Not her. You are not the girl he should be thinking about. He should be thinking about her, he should be planning a date or think about the right Christmas present he should get her, instead he thinks about you. It’s always you.

The morning goes by and so does the afternoon. He takes a shower, he cleans his room, he reads, he starts writing the essay, he even cooks and still no call from you.

By the time the evening rolls around, he is fuming. What is more important than an essay? You were never one to abandon school work, it was always your first priority. What changed?

He grabs his textbook, his coat and his car keys before he makes his way out of the house. Only as he steps out into the cold, does he notice the blanket of white enveloping the streets of Hawkins. Snowflakes are falling from the sky, the silence is almost eerie.

The snow always reminds him of you, the way he kissed you for the first time after removing the snowflake from your lashes.

He sighs, shaking the thought of the way your lips felt when they touched his for the very first time. He makes his way towards his car, removing the snow off the windshield before he gets inside. Throwing his textbook on the passenger seat, he rubs his hand together to warm them up a little before he starts his car.

It’s only a five minute drive to your house, yet, tonight it feels longer than that. He doesn’t know why.

He parks his car behind yours, which is luckily the only one in your driveway. But the house is dark, no lights are on. He doubts that you are home, he still gets out of his car. Locking it, he puts the keys in his pocket. The snow crunches beneath his shoes. The cold air stings his cheeks a little.

He rings your doorbell twice, the way he always used to do.

You don’t open.

He knocks and rings the doorbell again.

Still you don’t open.

Where are you?

It’s on Monday when he finally sees you again. You are standing by your car, holding your backpack against your hip, rummaging through it. Your hair keeps falling in front of your face, you are muttering something under your breath.

Steve approaches you with a frown.

You don’t notice him coming, only as he stops in front of you, accidentally kicking some snow towards you.

“Where have you been all weekend?!” He asks, throwing his hands up.

Raising your brows, you stop rummaging through your bag and lift your head to look at him. The stressed expression on his face makes you want to laugh. He has dark circles under his eyes, his hair is a little messy but that might be because of the wind.

“I’m sorry?” You chuckle.

His hazel eyes flash with confusion, he shakes his head a little, “where have you been?”

“How’s that any of your business?” You mumble as you zip your backpack shut and pull the strap over your shoulder, brushing past him, he instantly follows you.

“I– we were supposed to work together, remember?” He exclaims, staring at you in disbelief, “I waited for you all night on Friday, I showed up on Saturday night and you weren’t there!”

You notice the curious eyes on you– not his but the ones of the students when you walk into the school with him hot on your heels.

“I was busy.”

“With what?” Steve asks, furrowing his brows, “I know school is your first priority, since when do you put anything else before it?”

You shrug, looking over your shoulder to glance at him, “since I changed my priorities.”

“And what are those?”

“Those are none of your business, Steve.”

He follows you to your locker.

“We lost three days, y/n! We could have made some progress!”

You squint your eyes and turn to look at him, he looks stressed.

“Do you think I wanna work with you?” You mumble, “I got better things to do.”

Steve shuts his mouth. Sighing, he leans against the locker next to yours and takes a moment to look at you. You abandoned your cheer uniform yet again. Your hair is open, you are wearing a sweater that looks way too big on you and a plaid skirt. He can smell your perfume, it’s not the same one anymore.

“Like what? Hanging out with stoners?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“We got five days to work on this stupid essay, I can write it in one day!” You exclaim, not bothering to answer his question that he so desperately wants.

You don’t look at him directly and you don’t tell him what he wants to hear, yet again.

“I don’t wanna work on it on the last day!”

Rolling your eyes, you shut your locker and put your hand on your hip, facing him again.

“You know what, fine,” you sigh. You narrow your eyes at the redhead who walks past you, already wearing a smug look on her face when she looks between you and Steve.

“Where do you wanna meet up today?” You ask with a bored expression on your face.

Steve blinks. For a moment, he stays quiet and he looks at you, he looks into your eyes, desperately trying to read them. What happened to you? You don’t seem like yourself, you seem different. He steps closer to you, your perfume isn’t the only thing he smells, there is a hint of smoke and weed lingering. He swallows, concern rushes through him. Your eyes are a little red rimmed, from crying or from smoking weed, he can’t tell.

A part of him tells him to ask if you are okay, the other part tells him that it’s not his job to ask you this question, not anymore.

“Hello?” You mumble, waving your hand in front of his face, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Uh, we could meet up at the coffee shop downtown?” He suggests.

You nod, “yeah, sure. I’ll meet you there after school.”

You don’t give him the chance to respond, you turn around and walk away before he can even utter a word. Steve frowns as he watches you leave. He might never get used to this, to the cold shoulder you are giving him. It’s been a long time since he had seen a side of you that he used to know, now you just seem like a stranger. You changed, it’s obvious you did. Every smallest thing about you is new to him.

You used to be on time. Whenever he would pick you up for date nights or for school, you would already sit on your porch steps waiting for him with an excited smile on your face. He was the one who showed up late, now it’s you.

It’s 5:25 pm when you finally walk into the coffee shop. I’ll meet you after school, you said. School ended two hours ago, he went straight to the coffee shop, he even chose your favorite spot and waited for you as he continually looked down at his watch.

You look around and he has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes, he is annoyed. When your eyes find him, you take a moment to look at him, he sees the way you look at him, even from afar. You look irritated and annoyed, just like he does, still, you make your way over to him. Pride and Prejudice is lying open on the table, you see the page number; 301. Surprise is what you feel when you stare at the number, you raise your brows. Did he actually read that much?

“Hi,” you mumble.

Taking your coat off and scarf off, you throw it on the bench before sliding into the little booth.

“Yeah, hi,” he mutters angrily, “I waited for you for two hours!”

Leaning back, you raise your head to look at him. His hazel eyes are filled with anger and annoyance, it’s almost amusing to you.

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” He exclaims.

His brows knit together and his cheeks grow red.

“We didn’t make any plans–”

“You said we’d meet after school, y/n.”

“Yeah but I didn’t say when,” you smile, “I’m here now so relax, Steven.”

“Where were you?”

Where were you, Steve? You had asked him this question so many times, yet you never got an answer so why should you give him one?

“I was busy doing stuff.”

He opens his mouth to speak but decides against it, he clenches his jaw and turns away from you to look out the window. He deserves it, he knows he does. It had taken him some time to realize some things but ever since Nancy and a couple of kids had stepped into his life, he began to see things a little clearer. He began to realize that he mistreated you, though he is still in denial because the guilt is just too heavy.

He stood you up. He showed up late. He was awful to you. Now you are doing the same thing to him and he knows he had it coming. Deep down, he knows it. But he feels the ugly burning in his chest, the one he only ever felt when he saw Billy flirting with you or any other guy.

Where were you? Were you with Billy? With the Stoner?

“Did you actually read it?”

He turns back to you, you look at him in curiosity.

“Yeah.”

“Seriously?” You ask, “301 pages?”

He nods, “yes.”

You are genuinely impressed. For someone who always hated reading, he is quick. What did she do to him that you couldn’t?

Giving him a lopsided smile, you raise your brows, “impressive. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I mean, there’s some good quotes in there. I just don’t like the slow burn.”

“Really?” You ask, leaning your elbows on the table, you move closer, “I love the slow burn– what quotes do you like the most?”

He blinks as he stares at you, this is the first time you talk to him ‘normally’.

“Uh, I’ve written some down,” he mumbles, squinting his eyes as though he tries to remember, “I think it’s uh – ‘they walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt– a-and… uh–”

“And said, for attention to any other objects.” You mumble, finishing the quote for him. You refuse to look into his eyes but your heart is bleeding in your chest.

“Y-Yeah.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“We do not suffer by accident.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. He can see the way you stare at your hands, awkwardly, avoiding his eyes. The silence between the two of you is loud and awkward.

“It’s a good one.”

“Yeah..”

Steve feels the urge to reach out and take your hands in his, he doesn’t know why. When you look up at him and your eyes lock with his, his heart stops beating for a moment. He can’t read you, not anymore. He knows that you have built up high walls around you, not letting him see you anymore. It bothers him because he wants to see you so badly, he wants to know what you are thinking about, what you are feeling. If you still have feelings for him..

“Y/n–”

“I started working on it already!” You interrupt him, “do you wanna read what I have so far?”

He sighs, shoulder slumping and his expression sinking for a moment. “Y-Yeah, I wanna read it.”

“Okay,” you whisper as you slide the notebook towards him, “I uh, I’m gonna get myself something to drink.”

“Yeah sure.”

You push yourself up and smooth down your skirt before you take the first step away from the table. Your emotions are in overdrive, you still feel so much anger for him but deep down, beneath all the layers of anger and pain is the yearning, the longing in your heart that you still feel for him despite the way he treated you.

You preferred the radio silence between you two in those weeks you have pretended that he stopped existing. It was much easier to deal with all of this when you stayed away from him but now you can’t. The thought of spending time with him, every day for the rest of this week makes you want to cry.

Having to look at him and feel yourself still wanting him, makes you hate yourself. It fuels the anger and worsens the ache in your heart. It makes you want to run away. At one point you even think it’s worth dropping the essay and risking failing the class just because you don’t want to be around him but you would only make things worse for yourself. Steve Harrington isn’t worth the bad grade.

You make it through the evening, dodging questions that aren’t related to the essay. You continue giving him the cold shoulder, only speaking up when needed. You want this to get over with quickly.

The next day goes by similarly, Steve asks questions and you stay silent. He tries to find out more about who you spend time with. He asks about Billy and mentions the Stoner, Billy told him about but he gets nothing from you, absolutely nothing.

Why should you tell him anything?

Why should you tell him who you spend time with? Why should you tell him where you have been all weekend? You don’t owe him anything. He is not a part of your life anymore, yet he keeps acting like he is, he keeps prying and throwing questions at you that he knows he will get no answers to.

You don’t care how annoyed or frustrated he gets with you, he has no reason to even ask those questions.

On Wednesday, Steve finds himself in your bedroom again. He is sitting on your carpet, staring at all the chaos in front of him. You kept criticizing his texts, crumbling up all the papers and throwing them on the ground. It’s been hours and hours of writing and rewriting, you barely made any progress.

Now you are rewriting his part.

The dark denim jacket is still in your room. Maybe it’s just yours. At least he hopes it is.

“Why don’t you like Mr. Darcy?” You break the silence.

“He’s arrogant.”

You snort, “you should meet yourself.”

A little offended, Steve scrunches his face up, “what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you are arrogant and you’re a dick,” you murmur under your breath, thinking that he won’t hear.

But he did hear, he doesn’t speak up, though. He wants to hear what else you will say about him. After weeks of no reactions, no arguments, no anger directed at him, he is left wondering what you think of him. The past few days you have been calm but the energy surrounding you tonight is tense.

“You are wealthy and arrogant like Mr. Darcy and you can be condescending sometimes. That’s something I never liked about you, the way you treated people who are less popular and liked than you are. You can be mean.”

“Mean?” He asks.

You push yourself up on your knees and look down at him, “yeah, you were mean to me.”

He looks up at you, a strand of hair falls in front of his eyes, his lips are set in a frown. He doesn’t look angry or pissed, he looks curious.

“When?”

You promised yourself that you wouldn’t do this, that you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing him that he got to you, that his actions hurt you. Another part of you doesn’t care, it’s all in the past, you don’t have to show him what you feel now, right?

“All the time, Steve.”

His face falls a little, his lips part, he looks like he wants to say something but he can’t form any words, right now. He stares into your eyes, the tugging feeling in his chest returns. The urge to apologize the way he wanted to do two days ago comes back.

You look at each other for a while. The only sound being the howling wind outside. The music stopped playing a while ago. You watch the way his eyes soften, the way they flash with sadness and regret, it makes your heart hurt.

Your hand itches to reach out to him, to run your fingers through his hair and smooth it out, to touch his cheek and feel him again. He looks at you differently now. He talks to you differently now and it hurts.

He is much more gentle and kind. It hurts to know that it’s her whom he changed for.

He grew up with you, he was your friend first, he was your lover first, he was your boyfriend first but you were never good enough for him. You see the way he is with her, even when everyone, including him, thinks that you don’t look at him anymore, you do. You secretly watch him. He touches her gently, he kisses her softly, he stares at her and smiles when she isn’t looking, he kisses her hand and carries her books, he wraps his arms around her waist and he gives her his jacket when she is cold. He loves her, he genuinely loves her.

You wonder if he knows how horrible she is, how cruel her words can be – but then again, his words were just as cruel when he spit them in your face before he shattered your heart into a million pieces.

Now he looks at you with those eyes that you longed for when he was still yours. Soft eyes. Now, you can’t stand them. You don’t want him to look at you like that.

You force yourself to look away from him. You stand up and pick up all the papers on your bed, throwing some of them in the trash.

Steve watches you, not taking his eyes off of you yet.

“But also, you’re kind of a clown, so you’re very far from being like Mr. Darcy.”

Steve tilts his head up to look at you with a frown on his face, a laugh tumbles from his lips, “a clown?”

“Yeah,” you smirk when you notice the offended look on his face, “they call you King Steve but you’re really just a clown who entertains all the girls.”

“Uh–”

“Really, I know college isn’t on your list of things to do in life but maybe a circus would do for you.”

“Look who’s being mean now,” he murmurs as he stands up.

“I’m not being mean, I’m just being honest,” you say, “you’re a clown just like all the other douchebags on the basketball team. Honestly, I don’t know how it just occurred to me that you all look ridiculous running after one ball – but then again, you also do that with everything else in life, you all see one desirable woman and you are all running after her like a hungry pack of wolves.”

Steve looks a little caught off guard, though he doesn’t look mad, not even in the slightest. If you had said these things to him two months ago, he would have gotten off on you.

“Yet you still go for clowns like me?”

You laugh, “oh you admit to being a clown?”

He rolls his eyes at you.

“No, I don’t go for clowns like you anymore, Steve. I think I learned my lesson. I’d never do that again.”

Instantly, his eyes flicker to the denim jacket on your chair. So it certainly isn’t Billy’s.

“So.. you didn’t sleep with Billy?”

A look of disgust that you can’t fight off this time crosses your face and you shake your head, “what ever made you think that I want to fuck Billy Hargrove?” You ask. “In what world would I touch that man?”

“Well, he told me.”

You snort and shake your head in disbelief.

“Billy says a lot of things that aren’t true.” Except for the one time he did tell you the truth.

He won’t argue with that, he knows you’re right. Still, a part of him believed him.

You walk towards him and bend down to pick up the crumpled paper balls on the ground. You also throw them in the trash.

“Who’s the stoner you’ve been seeing?” He blurts out as his eyes stick to the jacket again, “is that his jacket?”

A part of you wants to laugh in amusement, the other part of you is pissed at him for sounding so jealous. If you wouldn’t have figured it out by the tone in his voice, then you would have known by the look on his face.

You know Steve like the back of your hand. Right now, he is jealous. Why? You have no idea. He never loved you, he never actually wanted you. He wanted to own you and that’s what he still does in his head. That’s why he keeps asking you all these questions, that’s why he lets Billy’s words get to him. That’s why he hates the thought of you being someone else’s.

You walk towards him with a smirk on your face, “none of your business, Harrington.”

To know that it troubles him so much to the point that his cheeks glow red makes you feel satisfied.

“Just tell me, please.”

You snort, “no way.”

He steps closer to you and looks down at you with pleading eyes. What the hell?

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I wanna know,” he mumbles. He pokes at your waist, making you flinch. He knows that you are ticklish. He does it again but this time, you grab his finger.

“Stop that!”

He uses his other hand, poking the other side of your waist, hard enough for you to giggle.

“S-Steve, stop!” You snap at him, trying to keep a straight face but when he does it again, you flinch and try to step back but he pulls his finger out of your grip and wraps his arm around your waist to keep you from escaping.

“I’ll stop when you tell me,” he says. His eyes light up when you giggle again. You squirm in his arms, trying to push him away.

You don’t know how it happens but for a minute, you get so lost in the moment. For a minute, you forget about everything that had happened, you forget about the heartbreak and the pain that he had put you through, you forget about how he had cheated on you, how he had lied to you, you forget about the things he spit in your face, you forget about how he never loved you. For a minute, you forget it all.

What starts off with him poking your waist, ends with him tickling your sides and making you giggle and laugh as you step closer and closer to your bed. Steve is chuckling as he holds your squirming body against his. You try to fight him off but he is much stronger than you, you poke his sides but you don’t get much of a reaction out of him, if anything, it makes him hold you even tighter.

Tears from laughter well up in your eyes, your stomach begins to hurt from it all. As you near the edge of your bed, you stumble backwards when the back of your knees hit the mattress. Instinctively, you hold onto him and pull him down with you. When your back hits the soft cushions and he lands on top of you and you feel his chest pressed against yours for the first time in a while, you know that this should have been the moment for you to snap out of it and push him away but you are still in the bliss of the moment. Right now, you are in the past where things are still good.

You are still giggling and he is still chuckling. His nose bumps against yours and it only makes you laugh harder as you look into each other’s eyes. He lets go of your waist but he stays on top of you. His heart is racing, you can feel it.

Yours is racing too – and then, it flutters when his hand reaches out to cup your cheek. His fingertips graze your skin and his eyes roam your face. His other hand, pushes your hair away from your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. Steve is so lost in the moment, he admires you, your pretty eyes, your beautiful face, the feeling of your body against his, the racing of your heart. He finds himself moving closer to you. It only feels right to do it.

There is this feeling between the two of you. Neither of you can describe it but it only makes you yearn for more. It fills you with false hope knowing that it will crush you again, a moment later.

While his smile lingers, yours falls quickly when you snap out of it and realize what is happening, right now. Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart stops beating and you freeze when you feel his lips brushing against yours.

Everything comes crumbling down, all the walls that you had built around you, all the strength you had found within yourself to push him out of your life, all the peace you have made with living a life without him.

It all fell down and one minute is all it took.

next part

tagging friends and mutuals only

@mysticmunson @screammunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @hellfire--cult @sherrylyn628 @somethingvicked @take-everything-you-can

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things angst

2K notes · View notes

laundrybiscuits · 1 year

Text

(Continued from this snippet! Content notes: police interrogation, homophobia)

“You don’t look gay.” The detective gives Steve a very obvious once-over. Steve tries to look gayer as subtly as he can.

“Sorry,” he says. “Guess I’ll have to let my boyfriend know you don’t think I look gay enough to fuck him.”

The detective’s face twists slightly, like he’s smelled something bad. “No need to be like that. I’m just saying, I bet a good-looking guy like you could get a girlfriend pretty easy.”

“You’re not my type,” says Steve. He smiles with his teeth, even though his heart is going fast and he can feel his palms starting to sweat.

The detective’s hands tense, and Steve wonders if he’s about to get hit, but they relax again and the detective sits back.

“Just doing my job,” says the detective. “Because, funny enough, we asked around with all your little friends, and it seems like you used to be a bit of a ladies’ man.”

“Things change,” says Steve.

“In fact…seems like none of your friends ever even saw you talk to Munson before. Moved in different circles and everything. I remember what high school was like.”

The detective leans close.

“So why would the captain of the swim team, a nice normal boy from a good family with a string of pretty girlfriends, ever—ever—stick his neck out like this for some murdering scum like Munson? That’s what I’m trying to figure out, here.”

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that,” says Steve. His mouth is dry. His pulse is thundering in his ears. “He didn’t kill anyone. He was with me the whole time. He’s—he didn’t kill anyone.”

“Hm,” says the detective.

It takes a while for them to stop interrogating him. They keep asking him the same questions over and over, trying to trip him up. He asks for water and doesn’t get it. In the back of his mind, a hysterical little voice is shrieking Scoops Ahoy! I work for Scoops Ahoy!, but he manages to keep it locked down. Doesn’t let himself get baited, just keeps repeating that Eddie was with him the whole time and neither of them know anything.

It takes a while, but it’s over eventually.

When he leaves the station, Eddie’s standing outside with Hopper and Joyce Byers, wearing a shirt and jeans that definitely belonged to Jonathan at some point. Eddie’s got his hands tucked into his armpits, looking antsy and tense, but he’s free and standing on his own two feet. It’s a pretty big upgrade from when Steve last saw him about a week or two ago.

It’s almost too easy to go straight over to him, wrapping him up in a tight hug like they’ve had their arms around each other a million times.

“Oof. Easy there, tiger,” laughs Eddie. “I’m, uh, still a little fragile.”

“Sorry,” says Steve, and loosens his hold. He doesn’t let go all the way.

“Come on, boys,” says Joyce. “I’m taking you two home. Steve, Eddie’s been staying with us, but we’re a little short on spare beds and it’s not great for his recovery. We’re moving him to your place until we can figure out something better, okay?”

———

Joyce drops them off and helps carry in a few garbage bags full of Eddie’s stuff. There’s not that much.

And then the door closes behind her, and Steve’s alone with Eddie for the first time since—actually, maybe ever.

“So,” says Eddie. “What…the fuck, Harrington.”

“Is that an actual question?” Steve says. He rolls his shoulders, trying to get some of the stiffness out. “I mean, didn’t Hopper and Mrs. Byers explain everything to you?”

“Kind of? I mean, I still think this is probably the worst idea of all time, but they told me—anyway, what I meant just now was a much more personalized and individual what the fuck. As in, why the fuck would you agree to any of this? You know you’re never gonna get another girl in this town to look at you now.”

“Dumping me already? Ice cold, man.”

Eddie groans and actually throws his hands in the air in frustration. Steve hadn’t known people did that in real life.

“Jesus christ.” Eddie wheels around and grabs two of the garbage bags. “I can’t do this right now, I need to take a fucking nap. We will be discussing this later.”

“Still don’t know what there is to discuss,” says Steve, but he picks up the last garbage bag and leads the way to the spare room.

Eddie pitches forwards onto the bed, arms outstretched and face mashed into the pillow. “Fuck yes, I am going to marry this goddamn mattress. Hit the lights when you leave,” he says, slightly muffled.

For a second, Steve finds himself stepping forward with a hand outstretched to—do something. He’s not sure what. Touch Eddie’s hair, or something dumb like that. His face warms. He’s really glad Eddie isn’t looking at him and doesn’t see how he’s kind of just standing there with a hand out for no reason.

He turns around, flicking the light switch on his way out, and doesn’t look back.

#steddie #the document title for this is literally “2 cakes”#bc again...there is already a fic with this premise. by bonitabreezy. as I have already said: please go read that instead!#this is like the writing equivalent of a figure study #don't know where it's going or if it's going anywhere. I truly am just vibing with increasingly dubious historical accuracy.

2K notes · View notes

beesspacedotorg · 3 months

Text

Dibs

Summary: You get close with your new pack, especially the Luna. 5.5k words

Warnings: it's omegaverse. guys. it's omegaverse. there's gonna be omegaverse in it. reader is an omega, so is lino. there's mommy kink. towards lino. uh. there's s3x. what else. readers genitals and pronouns are not specified or elaborated on at all B). one (1) piss joke. poly ot8 and it's implied they all bone but there's no actual boning that happens. there's boning described once for two seconds.

Notes: I have almost all of the legendary fish in stardew. this was inspired by this ask that @hyunsvngs got like two days ago. it was also finished yesterday, but I was busy so I didn't post it. thanks to my friends who read it and gave me feedback. uhm. that's all.

Hyunjin is the one who finds you. You’re both in the same class at university, a filler class, something to do with philosophy, and you group up on a project to discuss the differences in the eastern and western versions of the practice.

“Do you think the whole ‘Alpha Mindset’ that’s going around these days could be a facet of modern philosophy, or is it just omegaphobia repackaged?” You’re dicking around on your laptop in class. After assigning the project, your teacher gave up on doing their job, which would be great, but attendance is still mandatory.

“Probably repackaged, hey I have a question for you.” Hyunjin sets his phone down when he asks, tilting in his seat to face you and your heart skips about seven beats in your chest.

He’s pretty, almost pretty enough that it’s annoying, that and he smells nice. It took you two weeks of classes to muster up the courage to ask him on a date only for him to say that he has seven boyfriends but he’d be more than happy to be friends. You would sell your soul to the nearest evil spirit to be lucky enough to have one boyfriend, much less seven, but you aren’t going to let a good opportunity slip out of your hands, so you took his offer of friendship even though you wanted- want- more.

“Yeah, what’s up?” You can feel that this conversation is bordering on serious, a topic that you and Hyunjin broach often. He’s the poetic type, and often you find yourself discussing the intricacies of human emotion with him. He seems nervous though, nervous enough that you temporarily pause Papa’s Pizzeria and boot up 2048 instead, giving him as much attention as you can offer.

“So. Okay wait. Give me a second, I have a list of questions to ask you. Seungmin made me a flowchart.” You smile at him, he’s cute. Seungmin is one of his boyfriends, Hyunjin spends more time than is strictly necessary talking your ear off about how smart and cute and talented Seungmin is. You’d be jealous if you hadn’t seen Seungmin pick Hyunjin up from school one time. Your pants filled with slick so fast you had to hide in the bathroom for half an hour pretending to be sick until you calmed down enough to head home.

“Okay. Uhm. Would you consider us to be good friends?” His voice sounds slightly robotic as he reads from his script and you laugh slightly before confirming.

“Oh, that’s great. Me too. Uh. Do you have a boyfriend?” He pauses. “Or a girlfriend, or a partner?” He adds those last two as an afterthought, rushing through them and you laugh again.

“You would know if I managed to pull that off, Hyunjinnie.”

“What about that pretty girl from your math class?”

“She only dates Alphas unfortunately.”

“Damn.” He doesn’t sound very sorry as he says it, but you can tell he’s trying to be nice. It irks you just a tad, but you think this conversation is leading up to something so you drop the irritation and motion for him to continue.

“Okay, if ‘no’, the next question was,” he’s mumbling to himself and you snort slightly. “Do you have a pack?” You blink. He’s never asked you this before and you shake your head. Where you’re from, people have moved away from forming packs, something about a post World War 2 culture shift and traditional values and homophobia and what not. Your generation is working to bring them back, but the only pack you have is your immediate family. You haven’t gotten close enough to anyone on campus to try and start one, and the one time you felt the need you were swiftly friendzoned.

“Ah. No. I don’t.” He hums sadly.

“Okay. Would you like one?”

“Hyunjin…” You’re starting to feel slightly defensive, and you’re not sure if you like where this is going.

“Wait. Wait. Let me finish.” He huffs. “I told Chan these questions would weird you out, but what do I know?” He sets his phone down and grabs the hand that was busy moving the 2048 tiles around on your computer screen.

“I have a crush on you.” You blink, rapid fire. “And I would like to date you. And also so would my seven boyfriends. But we can get to that later. I got here first, I call dibs.”

In the version of this you tell your friends and family, you accepted immediately and you and Hyunjin went on your first date that afternoon. In reality, you stood up so fast you almost passed out and hightailed it to the bathroom to have a mild panic attack. Hyunjin was kind enough to grab your things and wait for you. He was also kind enough to wait the months-long process of you being generally distrustful of him and his intentions until you decided he was actually serious and that you wanted to give it a try.

Which leads you to where you are now, in the passenger seat of Hyunjin’s car, hands outrageously sweaty as you prepare to meet the rest of the pack for the first time.

“Listen, we don’t have to.” He says. “I’ve talked it over with the rest of them, it can just be you and I. I like you, I want to date you.”

“No, no. Even if it does work that way, I’d have to meet them eventually.”

“Yeah, but meeting ‘my boyfriends that you have no commitment to’ would probably be easier than meeting ‘my boyfriends who might also become your boyfriends.’”

“I can guarantee you it wouldn’t.”

“Jeeze. You should talk to someone about that.”

“Insurance.”

“Channie has good insurance.”

“I’m not legally dependent on him.”

“Oh.”

He grabs your incredibly sweaty hand in his huge and not-so-sweaty one and holds it for the rest of the drive. When he pulls into the driveway he kisses said hand and bats the other one away from the door handle.

“Don’t worry. I got it.” Usually, he would just walk around the car to open it for you, today he bodily throws himself over the hood before doing a weird roll and a cartwheel. You laugh and he opens it and helps you out. He smiles.

You’re still laughing at him as he guides you to the front door and opens it, you’re laughing as he helps you take your shoes off, and you’re laughing through introductions.

“What’s so funny?” Jeongin asks, and you burst into more laughter as you remember the way Hyunjin chucked himself over the car. You’ve calmed down enough to tell him just as you hear yelling from a different room.

“Hwang Hyunjin! How the hell did you get dirt on your shirt? We told you to pick them up, not stop for mud wrestling!”

(You do, eventually, tell Jeongin what happened. He demands a live demonstration and almost cries at it.

“It’s just so dumb! He’s usually graceful and he just- How did he move his body like that?”

“That was the ugliest fucking cartwheel I’ve ever seen.”)

The pack is nice and touchy and, best of all, they want you around.

Heeelllloooooo

hi jisung

Jisung ??? Are you mad at me or smth?

hi jiji

Okay great

WHat are you doung today

And don’t say “your mom”

your mom

ah shit

uh. nothing. sleeping. eating. pissing.

In my mouth?

????????????

Ignore that.

Anyways.

Come over :D

You can do all of that here

In my bed >:)

I was over there yesterday

Idc. I’m sending over Changbinnie with the car <3

I’M NOT PREPARED TO LEAVE THE HOUSE

Good thing you’re just coming to hang out with me then

So, you like them. You’re comfortable with them, there’s only one problem.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“How do you even know that?” Seungmin levels you with a stare.

“It’s physically impossible to hate you-”

“Not true.” Seungmin stares again. You stare back. He rolls his eyes.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“He doesn’t talk to me.”

“He’s shy.”

“Well! So am I! Only one of us can be shy in this relationship and I call dibs!” Seungmin huffs and smashes his head into a pillow.

“Kim Seungmin, if you mess up my nest, I’m kicking you out.”

“This is my bed.”

“Not anymore.” He fixes the pillow and holds your face in his hands.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“What if he does? What if Luna doesn’t like me?” Seungmin plants a kiss to your nose and lets you cry.

haihai

Minho?????

I’m the only one without a cute nickname

rectify that immediately

what should I call you then

Idk. I’ve never had to give myself a nickname.

anyways

a little puppy told me that you think I don’t like you

kim seungmin is dead to me

say your goodbyes

kkkkk

no need for that

I could smell your tears on him after you went home

I thought he scared you away

it took a very long time to get him to fess up >:)

what did you do

nothing he doesn’t enjoy

anyway

Luna is sorry

for making you think he doesn’t like you

come over tomorrow

I’ll make it up to you >:)

???

I’m not really up to boning rn, sorry to say

>:( that’s not what I meant

Jisungie says you like this game

Stardew Valley

he says it has multiplayer mode

I downloaded it on our switch for us to play together

just us

everyone else can suffer

oh.

just us?

unless you’d rather have company

I think Channie is free

NO THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT WE CAN PLAY IT ALONE

chan is free you say >:)

Yah! I called dibs on you!

I’m kicking him out of the house tomorrow

teehee

Stardew with Minho is surprisingly fun. You put him in charge of fishing while you spend your days toiling in the mines. He starts beef with Harvey, the local doctor, after you tell him that Harvey is your go-to love interest when you play the game solo.

“He’s pixels! Code and pixels!”

“I don’t care! This stupid doctor wanders onto our farm and charges me money for passing out on my own land. And! He’s stealing my Omega. He needs to go. How do I replace him?” You let out a laugh and ignore the flutters in your stomach when he casually lays claim on you.

“Do you get this upset when Felix or Ji talk about their media crushes?”

“... I don’t see how that’s very relevant to the conversation.”

“You’re silly.” He huffs at you.

“Why is this fish ugly?”

“That’s a- You just caught a legendary fish. Do you know how hard that is?”

“It’s ugly. I’m selling it.”

“No, don’t! Let me buy a fish tank! We can display it on our farm!”

“Why would you want to display this?”

“You can only catch one per save file.” He rolls his eyes but dutifully places the fish in the tank when you return to the farm. You kiss his cheek and watch his ears turn red.

After that, spending time with Minho is easy. You can’t really imagine what it was like being in the pack without having his attention on you. Felix starts joking that he’s been replaced as Minho’s favorite. (He stops because it starts to make you mildly upset, but also because you’re pretty sure Minho sucked the soul out of his dick right after he first made that joke.)

It comes to a head around exam season, this time, you and Hyunjin don’t share any classes, and annoyingly, Chan is too busy to eat much less help you settle, so you end up floundering with anxiety and stress and lack of sleep.

“Jagi? What’s wrong?” It’s Minho, his scent lavender and undercut with something sugar coated.

“Everything.” Your head is in your hands and you’re shoving your palms into your eyes to push back tears. Minho hums, hand coming to the back of your neck to scruff you just slightly.

“What’s your schedule like right now?” You shove your calendar at him and he hums, considering for a second before he’s hauling you up by your armpits.

“Wait- I have to study. I can’t just-”

“You have to eat.” This is the harshest you’ve ever heard him speak to you, but strangely enough, you don’t feel scared. “You have to eat and sleep and maybe shower and cuddle with Luna because he misses you and then you can get back to studying. Yeah?”

His suggestion makes you whine and struggle in his hold a bit. His hand returns to your neck to re-scruff you.

“Settle. I’m not asking, jagi, I’m telling.” You huff and pout at him, but he’s the pack’s head Omega for a reason, and who are you to question his authority? So you listen, going limp in his hold and forcing him to bear your weight.

“I see why you and Seungminnie get along so well. You’re listening, but not without struggle, hmm? Brats. The both of you.”

“‘M not.”

“You are. But that’s okay, Luna will train it out of you some other time. You’ll learn to behave.”

You can ignore how his words sent a spike of heat to your belly, but you can’t ignore the way he smirks at the change in your scent.

“Oh? Do you like that?”

“... I thought I was supposed to be eating.”

“Nice subject change. But yes, you are. Sit there and let me handle it.”

He feeds you and helps you shower, despite your many protests that you’re gross and can handle it yourself he refuses to back down.

“Let me do this for you, hmm?” His eyes are soft. “I don’t have to if you really don’t want me to, but I want to take care of you. Let me take care of my baby.” So you do, melting under his soft gaze and softer words, and he must be doing something with his scent, because you feel mildly scent drunk as he drags you into his nest.

“I’m allowed in?” You’re surprised. You’ve never been in his room before, most of your hangouts happening in the living room or Chan’s room when he’s not home because Minho thinks it’s funny to bother the Alpha. So you’re slightly out of it and a lot surprised and Minho looks a little upset that you asked but he takes your arm and shoves you onto his bed, rearranging his nest around you before climbing in himself.

“Of course you’re allowed in. You think Kim Seungmin is allowed in here and you’re not? You think I let a sweaty, post-gym Changbin in here but won’t let you? You’re silly. Hush.”

“But-”

“Hush.”

“Okay.” He hums, satisfied at your submission and wraps himself around you.

“Luna will give you a reward when you finish exams.”

“What if I don’t pass?”

“You still deserve a reward for trying.” He kisses your head and you fall asleep like that, curled around each other, comfortable in his bed and warm in his arms.

“I’m finished!” You wander into the house the next week, fully prepared to spend your break doing absolutely nothing.

“Yay! With what, exactly?” Changbin asks. You hang your self off of him, forcing him to drag you along as he putters around the kitchen.

“With exams! Didn’t Yongbokkie and Minho ban you from the kitchen?”

“Well, yes. But what they don’t know won’t kill them.”

“What who doesn’t know?” It’s Minho, and you giggle as you push your face in between Changbin’s shoulder blades. He’s so big and warm. You want to bite him and also want him to hold you against a wall for unholy acts. Your hands wander around while he’s stuttering out a lame excuse to grope his chest.

“Wh- Hey! I’m busy getting threatened here!”

“Yes. I’m busy celebrating being a genius. It seems we both have full schedules.”

“Celebrating,” Minho steps next to you and taps you until you look at him, cheek still smushed against Changbin’s back. “Are you finished with exams then?”

“Mhm.” Your eyes are closing. Changbin really is comfortable, he smells slightly like chocolate and raspberries, and you could do with a celebratory nap.

“That’s great!” You’re being tugged away from your napping spot. “Come, Luna promised you a reward.”

“My nap.”

“You can’t sleep standing, you’re not a horse.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

He crosses his arms after closing the door to his bedroom.

“Do you want to nap before or after your reward?”

“What’s my reward?” The sentence hasn’t been out of your mouth for very long before he’s cupping the back of your head and kissing you.

“Oh. Oh. This is a good reward.” He smiles against your mouth, gently pushing you back towards his bed.

“Yeah? I thought you’d like it. I can smell you, you know.” Your back is hitting the mattress and there’s a shirt by your head that you think Hunjin was looking for a little while ago. “When you stare at me for too long, I can smell how needy you get. We all can, but I called dibs.”

“Dibs?” Your hands are under his shirt squishing his pecs.

“Mhm. Dibs. Hyunjinnie got to date you first. Kiss and hug and hold your hand. But do you know what I get to do first?” You shake your head and he gives you a wicked smile before he leans down next to your ear. “I get to fuck you first. Not Channie, not our Alpha, not Hyunjinnie who found you first. Me, your Luna. I get you first.” You inhale, shaky, and your legs shake slightly with the way blood rushes away from your brain. You can smell how your scent spikes and you can smell how Minho’s spikes in return. He smells so good, you want to get your mouth on him, so you do. You pull him down until his neck is in reach and seal your lips around the scent gland there, licking the sweat from his skin and letting your lungs fill with nothing but him.

“Jagi,” his voice is breathy, he pulls your head away from his neck and you whine. “You’re gonna get yourself scent drunk and I want you to be present for the things I’m going to do to you. Be good for me.” You pout slightly at him but nod, you’ll be good for him, you’ll do anything he wants. But you want to kiss him again, you want to kiss him so badly that you think you’ll die without it. You throw yourself up, arms circling around his neck as you press your mouth on his and you knock him off balance a bit. You’re upset when he tilts, separating your mouths and you push and push until suddenly he’s on his back under you, but you’re finally kissing so you don’t care all that much.

“Eager.” He’s too busy trying to talk to kiss you and you nip at his lip lightly until he gets the message.

“You’re only getting away with this because this is the first time,” he warns. “Next time, I won’t be so lenient.” You think he might be lying, that he’d let you do whatever you want regardless of how many times you fall into bed together, but you aren’t in the habit of letting other people know you have an advantage so you let it go.

You’re grinding down onto him, chasing friction as your pants fill with enough slick that you worry you might be in heat, whimpering with every movement when he grabs your hips, stopping you.

“Minho, why?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Don’t you wanna get your pants off? Hmm? Feel me bare?” And suddenly, you do. He’s so smart for knowing that, you think. You let him slide your bottoms off and tug at his until they’re gone and there’s nothing separating the two of you save for the fact that you can’t fuse into one person.

You settle yourself back over him and oh. Omegas are supposed to be small, in the dick department, and you suppose compared to an Alpha, he might be. But he feels so good against you, he’ll feel so good inside of you, that you don’t much care, pawing at him desperately. He chuckles and grabs your hand, flipping you back over so he’s on top again.

“Baby, don’t tell me you’re already gone?” You are. You’re so gone. If you’re being honest, you were gone the second he kissed you. He does it again and you whine into his mouth.

“Noisy little thing. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Make sure my pretty Omega is all satisfied before you leave my bed.” He smiles and then he’s kissing his way down your neck and grumbling about the shirt you’re still wearing before his mouth is on the place where you’re leaking slick and suddenly your brain is falling out of your ears.

Your hands grab onto his hair and pull, hips arching up into his mouth. You think the sound that you let out could be heard from outer space, but in your defense, he’s good with his tongue.

“I knew you’d taste good.” You have no idea how he’s still talking, but the vibrations feel nice enough that you don’t want to stop him, that and you don’t think you could stop Minho from doing much of anything at this rate.

“We talked about it, you know.” You didn’t know. The pack talked about you? You quickly lose your train of thought as he slips one of his fingers inside of you. Small, he always says. They don’t feel small.

“It was all Jeonginnie could talk about during his last rut.” Minho huffs and you can see him roll his eyes despite the fact that yours are closed. You weren’t there for his last rut, too nervous and too busy with school to stay. It had caused quite the fuss and you had to spend extra time with Jeongin before and after to soothe him.

“Knuckle deep in Yongbokkie and all he could talk about was you. How good you’d taste, how warm you’d be. He’s lucky that Yongbokkie has the hots for you too, otherwise he’d be down one appendage.” The implication of the youngest Alpha getting his dick chopped off by Felix makes you laugh, but the knowledge that the pack desires you knocks the wind from your lungs. Either that, or the thing Minho is currently doing with his fingers.

He licks you again, and then places his mouth around your hole and sucks, like he’s trying to drink the slick straight from your body. The sound it makes is absolutely obscene, and your face heats at it, hands coming up to hide.

“No, no. Move your hands, jagiya. Let me see you.” He’s moving, mouth no longer on you and you hate it, but your embarrassment outweighs everything else so you don’t move your hands and instead shake your head at him. He pauses, hand stilling inside of you.

“No? Did you just tell me no, sweet thing?” You shake your head again.

“You didn’t? It seems like you did. Seems like you still are.” He’s laughing, or, he was.

“I thought you were going to be good for me. Do I have to turn this reward into a punishment?” That’s the one that does it, your eyes go wide and your hands fall from your face to grab at him, head shaking violently.

“No! No! Mommy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I was just nervous, please. I’ll be good. I’m good.” It takes you a second to register what you’ve said, and when you do your hands move up to cover your face again. Minho catches your wrists.

“Mommy? Yeah? Am I your mommy, sweetheart?” He drops your wrist to cup your face and you’ve lost all coordination. He taps your cheek, just a hint of a slap, but it’s enough to have you looking at him with wet eyes.

“I asked you a question, jagiya. Answer mommy when he talks to you, okay?” You nod, still in a daze and he huffs and takes a hold of your hair.

“What did I just tell you, doll?”

“To answer you.”

“Mhm, and what are you not doing?”

“Answering.”

“So what do you say to me?”

“I’m sorry, mommy. I’m sorry, please let go, it hurts.” He lets go of your hair and gently massages your scalp.

“Hmm. That’s better. And, it’s supposed to hurt, baby. That’s how you learn to listen to your mommy. That’s what a brat like you needs to learn their place.” You choke slightly on your own spit, hands coming up to rest in his hair, playing with it. He smiles at you.

“Good. Now, be good for your mommy, yeah? Be good for your Luna and I’ll make sure you get everything you need. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Yes. I can.” He hums and suddenly his fingers are in you again and he manages to take one of your nipples into his mouth, and you’re already so keyed up that you feel slightly embarrassed when you’re cumming on his hand a moment later.

“Oh, sweet thing. Did I take too long? Hmm? Did mommy tease you too much?” You shake your head.

“No, ‘m sorry, mommy.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Don’t worry so much. You used your brain so well this past week, let mommy do the thinking for you. I’ll tell you when to apologize, how about that?”

“Sounds good.” You’re hot, overwarm, and you're shoving your shirt off the rest of the way and chucking it somewhere. The shirt’s only over your eyes for a second, but somehow Minho has managed to coat his fingers in his own slick and shove them into your mouth. Your eyes roll so far back into your head you’re worried they might stick but he tastes so good that you would suffer blindness for eternity just to have this.

“Mommy, mommy, you taste so good-”

“Shh, I know.” He shoves his fingers far enough back that you gag a little and your eyes water and he coos and wipes at your tears with the hand that was in you, smearing slick across your cheekbones.

His fingers are out of your mouth and he’s between your legs, shoving them apart to get at your hole and then he's sliding in.

“Oh God.”

“Just Minho is fine. Or mommy,” he giggles at you, “since you seem so fond of it.”

Your glare slightly at him, less than pleased with the corny joke, but he shifts his hips and hits a spot that has you keening, arching up into him for more.

“There? Yeah? Jesus. You're leaking so much that I'd think you're in heat if you didn't know any better.” He's right, but it's unfair of him to single you out.

“You are too.” It comes out a lot more whiny than you wanted but he’s nice enough to look offended anyway.

“I thought I took care of your attitude. It seems I have my work cut out for me.” His pace picks up at that, and suddenly you don't have enough brain cells to think, let alone talk back.

You're not wrong though, there's slick everywhere. From you and him, it's soaking through the sheets, it's sticking your thighs together every time he thrusts forward, it's coating his hands and everywhere he touches you. It's loud, the slapping of your bodies accompanied by a wet squish every time either of you moves. It's messy and sticky and slightly gross and you want more. You want to be covered in him and he in you until you smell so similar not even the best drug dog would be able to tell you apart.

Your hands wander searching and searching until you’ve found the place where he’s leaking too and you're coating your fingers in it and smearing a hand over your chest before sticking them in your mouth. You hear Minho gasp and his hips stutter before picking back up.

“Dirty, that’s dirty, Omega. You want me to make a mess of you?” You nod. Of course you do. You want your mommy to do whatever he wants to you. He coos and guides your hand back to his hole, guiding you into fingering him while he’s rearranging your guts.

“Mommy, it’s- you’re so warm.” He hums at you, breath finally turning ragged.

“Yeah? You wanna fuck mommy sometime? I bet you’d be good at it. Such a good little Omega for me, for us.” You do. You would like to fuck him sometime. Anytime really, you bet he’d be so warm. Tight and hot and wet. You have him on your fingers now, but you’re too overwhelmed to really enjoy it the way it should be enjoyed, the way he should be enjoyed. You want to eat him out, drink his slick straight from the source for the rest of time. You wouldn’t need water or food anymore if you could just have him.

“Yeah, I would. Mommy, please. I’ll be good. I’ll do so good.” You’re babbling at him, out of it and barely able to speak. He has to strain to understand you properly.

“You would. Mommy knows you would. Such a sweetheart, you’d make your Luna feel so good, hmm?” And you tighten around him with a loud moan and there’s a bang on the wall connecting Minho’s room to Chan’s and Minho bangs back.

“Yah! Just because you’re too busy to get your dick wet doesn’t mean I am! Leave us alone and go jack off or something!” He huffs and looks back down at you, kissing your nose softly in a stark juxtaposition to the way his hips are probably bruising your own.

“Why don’t you go ahead and cum, baby? Hmm? Mommy’s right behind you.” He shoves his fingers in your mouth again and this time, this time, his fingers are coated in a heady mixture of yours and his slick and that’s what does you in. That’s what makes you cum so hard your legs shake and makes Minho take his fingers out of your mouth lest you choke. He follows not too soon after, and when he pulls out you can see the mixture of cum and slick slide out of you.

“Next time,” Minho’s looking down at it too, “I’ll make sure that stays in. Can’t have it go to waste, can we?”

Despite his earlier promise, he doesn’t let you nap yet.

“But you said-”

“I know what I said. And now I’m saying that you can’t sleep like this.”

He bodily drags you to the shower, again, and changes the sheets before he lets you lie down.

“My hair is gonna be so dry.”

“Where’s the stuff you put in it?”

“At my house.”

“This is your house.”

“I still rent an apartment close to campus.” Minho pauses, shifting so you’re face-to-face.

“Don’t. Come live with us.”

“There aren’t enough rooms.”

“If privacy is what you’re worried about, Luna will build you a room right next to his with his bare hands.” You giggle at him.

“Yeah. But I have to pay a fee for breaking my lease.”

“Luna will take care of it.”

haihai

hi minho what’s up

>:( still no cute nickname?

I feel like it’s inappropriate to call you mommy in a casual setting

oh >:)? that’s my nickname now?

if that’s okay

whatever you want

as long as I have a cute nickname before kim seungmin I don’t care

then why did you harass me about it??????!??!?!

kkkk I had to get you in my bed somehow

“Can you guys stop texting when you’re right next to each other? All of your weird flirting is really interrupting movie time.” Jisung is complaining from where his head is rammed into your stomach.

“Dude. You’re literally not even watching it.” It’s Jeongin now, reaching over to smack Ji’s head.

“And? You’re the one who’s always complaining about how loud they are.” This is news to you.

“Is it really that bad?” Your voice is small and immediately Minho’s hands are touching you.

“No. They don’t know what they’re talking about, they’re just mad that they haven’t figured out how to get you to make such pretty noises yet.”

The room erupts into shouts as people defend themselves from Minho’s claim, you smile at him and tuck yourself further into his side, kicking Jisung out from his spot in your lap.

“Hey! I called dibs on your lap! You can’t take that away!” He’s shoving at your knees, trying to shove them back off the couch so he can lay comfortably again.

“When did you guys even call dibs on all this stuff?”

“It used to be while you were on the drive here,” Felix says, “now we do it while you’re getting a blanket from your room.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“Sure. Just call dibs first.”

#bee blurbs #ft.lino #ft.ot8 #🌵anon #a-bee-o #skz smut #skz x you #skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee know smut #lee know x you #lee minho x reader

833 notes · View notes

gingiesworld · 7 months

Text

Obsessions

Wanda Maximoff x Nerdy Rogers Fem Reader

Warnings: Angst. Mean Wanda. Internalised homophobia. Homophopia.

AN: I have decided this is going to have another part during the college years. I hope you guys enjoyed this and please feel free to let me know your thoughts as it is my first proper wanda x fem reader.

Taglist: @sytoran @ginnsbaker @gb12d @lifespectator

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

18+ MINORS DNI

Everyday was the same for Y/N after she was outed after someone had spread around that Y/N was spotted making out with Carol Danvers. Of course it was Wanda who had spotted the two, especially since she had an unhealthy obsession with Y/N.

Wherever Y/N was, Wanda's eyes followed her, watching her every move. Although she had help of the jocks. Jarvis and Tony were always there to push Y/N into her locker, knock her books from her hands, all the while Wanda watched with a smile on her face.

Although, when they had went too far by slashing one of the tires on her car. Y/N had lost it. Heading straight for the two, throwing punches here and there. Although she was scrawny, she had some power behind her that knocked Tony Stark on his ass.

Wanda watched the entire scene with her lip between her teeth, but she could have murdered her brother. Always the hero he was as he helped Y/N replace the wheel.

"Why did you help that freak?" Wanda askes him when he got in the car.

"Because she needed it." He told her sternly. "And tell your boyfriend and his brother to leave her alone." Wanda just scoffed as she shook her head no as he started the journey home.

"We're seniors Wanda." He scolded her. "Don't you think that this is all a little childish. Bullying Y/N just because of her sexuality."

"Just shut up." Wanda told him. "You do what you want in school and I'll do what I want. Just stay out of my way." Once they had returned home, Wanda exited the car and headed straight to her room, closing the door behind her.

As she heard the sound of another car, she instantly looked out of the window and watched as Y/N got out of her 67' Impala. Watching as Y/N headed inside, her bag on her shoulder.

"How was your day sweetie?" Peggy asked as Y/N entered the kitchen to get a bottle of water.

"Ok." She told her as she turned to her mom. "Are you doing Roast Beef?" She questioned as Peggy nodded with a smile.

"I know it's your's and your father's favourite and I just felt like cooking it." Peggy told her with a smile as she put the chopped vegetables in the pan on the stove. "So tell me, what happened today?" She questioned sternly as Y/N sighed.

"The usual and more." Y/N told her. "I have to get a new tire because the Starks decided to slaah my back left."

"Do you want me to talk to Howard or Maria?" She asked as Y/N just shook her head no.

"I." Before she could finish, the phone had started ringing. Peggy gave her an apologetic look before she answered it. Y/N watched as Peggy spoke to whoever it was, and she could see her mom getting worked up.

"You beat them up." She stated as she looked at Y/N with disappointment.

"They deserved it Mom." Y/N defended as Peggy sighed.

"You don't resort to violence!" She scolded as Y/N just scoffed.

"I worked hard on that car. Dad and I worked hard on that car and if he was here he would be on my side." Y/N yelled.

"But he isn't here is he?!" She yelled back. "Because he is dead!!!" She took a deep breath before looking at her with tears in her eyes. "I know you miss him. I do too but he wouldn't want you to resort to violence either."

"I'm going to bed." Y/N told her. "I'm tired."

"What about dinner?" Peggy asked as Y/N just shrugged, heading upstairs to her room. Closing her door as she let the tears fall, sitting on her bed as she covered her face with her hands.

She knew she was hard on her mom, but she hasn't had to deal with everything Y/N has to deal with. The homophobic slurs that get directed at her as she walks through the halls. All of the girls had basically pushed her out of the changing rooms once they had found out, resulting in her opting to change in the nearest bathroom. Just being herself has become a nightmare, especially when everyone frowns upon her sexuality.

Y/N's room was covered in her works, her comic hero designs and other art pieces that she has a lot of pride in. Something she had wanted to do was become an Illustrator, ever since she read her first comic. It was an XMEN comic and she fell in love with it. So she opted to try and make her own, hoping one day she will be as popular as Stan Lee himself.

She also had her favourite records on shelves, the turntable on the chest of drawers as she picked out her Tracy Chapman record. Sighing as she listened to Crossroads, one of her favourite songs as she lay back on her bed.

"What is with you giving Y/N a hard time?" Pietro asked his sister as she entered the kitchen.

"It's fun." She shrugged as she grabbed a can of soda.

"Is it because she is confident enough to be herself and doesn't care what everyone thinks of her." He stated. "Or is it because you're jealous that she has embraced who she is and you're just a scared little girl who hides behind her boyfriend." With that Wanda just scoffed and pushed passed him, although Pietro decided to tell his parents that he was heading over to Y/N's.

"Hi Mrs Rogers, is Y/N here?" He asked her politely as she just nodded to the garage. He thanked her before he headed to the open door. "Y/N, hey." He smiled at her as he approached the car.

"Hi." She spoke quietly as she was concentrating on doing a check up on the engine. "I'm just changing the oil."

"This is a really nice car." Pietro smiled as he admired the body work.

"It is." She smiled at him. "My dad and I rebuilt it a few years ago." She told him as she wiped her hands as she looked over the car. "It was his idea when I was in middle school, he thought it would bea father daughter project."

"I know I am probably late but I'm sorry to hear about him." He told her with a smile.

"Thanks." She smiled at him. "So, why are you here?" She asked him as he smiled.

"I figured we could hang out." He told her as she smiled.

"Sure." She nodded unsurely. "What did you have in mind?" She asked him.

"Well, I figured we could have some food and maybe play a game." He told her. "I've got the new Harry Potter game and I have been dying to play it."

"Just let me get cleaned up." She told him as she disappeared inside. "I'm just going to hang out with Pietro mom." She told Peggy as she disappeared upstairs to get clean.

She was nervous as she followed Pietro into his home, heading straight to his room just as Wanda came out with a teasing grin on her face.

"So you're going to try and turn the dyke straight?" She teased the two as Pietro turned to her, anger evident on his face.

"Shut the fuck up Wanda!" Y/N told her, surprising the two of them. "I am gay and I don't give a fuck what you or anyone thinks." She turned to Pietro who gave her a proud smile. "I have an Xbox at home if you want to play there? I just don't want to be near someone as small minded as your sister."

"Sure, let me grab the game." He told her with a proud smile. Wanda just scoffed as she turned back into her room, slamming the door.

As Y/N and Pietro played the game, he turned to Y/N with a sad smile.

"What happened between you and Wanda?" He questioned as Y/N shrugged. "You used to be best friends when we were kids. Inseparable even."

"I don't know." Y/N told him honestly. "I remember the very first day of high school. We both promised that we would always hang out before school started but she joined the cheerleading squad and well I was me. The nerd with the glasses." She turned to face him. "I guess we drifted apart and well, she hates me now." She turned away, looking back at the screen. "I guess our friendship never meant that much to her as it did to me."

That was the start of a strong friendship between the two, Pietro walked with Y/N to class, always talking about their plans. The Starks had kept their distance from her as Wanda watched the two from afar.

She had been obsessed with Y/N, especially since the two of them had stopped hanging out. She was under pressure from the popular girls so she become just like them, bullying and making fun of anyone she could.

But the moment she saw Y/N kissing Carol behind the school hall, her heart dropped. She knew that she had feelings for her but she was afraid of what others would think about her sexuality so she spread the picture around the school. Because Carol was on the soccer team, everyone turned to bully Y/N who just took everything that was threw her way.

But the jealousy she was feeling as she saw her brother have the friend who she had had for years before.

"So, what are your plans after graduation?" Pietro asked as Y/N helped him with his car.

"I have just got my acceptance letter for NYU." She told him. "I am doing art and english, what about you?"

"I am going to UCLA." He told her. "A full ride for Track."

"That's awesome." Y/N beamed as she wiped her hands. "Turn her over." She told him as he leaned in the car, turning the key in the ignition.

"That sounds so much better." He beamed as she closed the hood.

"You need to lay off the acceleration." She told him. "It can wreak havoc on the pistons and the gasket."

"I'll keep that in mind." He told her. "What are you doing for prom?"

"I don't know." She told him. "I guess maybe give it a miss."

"Come on!!! You have to go." He told her. "I'm asking Monica and maybe you can ask Darcy? You guys are somewhat friends right?"

"I guess you're right." She told him with a small smile. "I'll ask her tomorrow at school."

"Then we can go suit shopping if you want after school?" He questioned as Y/N nodded. Wanda hated the idea of someone else going with Y/N, the idea that someone may be the one to take her away for good.

So when she accepted Jarvis's prom proposal, she had the perfect plan. As the hall filled with the graduating seniors, she watched for Y/N to enter the room. Her heart beat rapidly as she saw her walk in wearing a navy blue suit with Darcy in a light blue dress on her arm. Her twin and Monica was right behind them.

She hated the sight of Y/N being happy with others, a smile that only Wanda used to get from the girl. Wanda took her glass of the red punch and tripped near the four of them, only getting the punch on both Y/N and Darcy.

"What the hell Wanda!" Pietro yelled at his twin as Monica was fast enough to take Darcy to the ladies room to try and clean up.

"What? I tripped." She told him, feigning innocence as Y/N shook her head at the brunette before walking away. Soon groaning as she heard the sound of Wanda's heels on the ground behind her.

"Don't you have a boyfriend to get back to?" Y/N asked her as she turned around to face Wanda.

"I do." She told her with a smirk as she followed Y/N to the exit. "But I want to try something first." Y/N turned around as she approached her car, only to be pushed back by Wanda as she pressed her lips on Y/N's in a hungry kiss. It wasn't until Y/N pushed her away from her.

"What the hell Wanda!" Y/N yelled at her.

"I just wanted to see what Carol bragged about." She smirked. "You are indeed an amazing kisser." She leaned into whisper in Y/N's ear. "Definitely got me going and needing something more." With that, she removed her wet underwear and shoved them in Y/N's face before walking away teasingly. Y/N just stood there in shock with Wanda's underwear in her hands. Watching dumbly as Wanda disappeared back inside the school. She was just happy that she wouldn't have to see Wanda again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff

634 notes · View notes

totaly-obsessed · 5 months

Note

Could you write for leah but reader is her little sister and she's been like misbehaving at school so her mum asks her to talk to her as of she's being like bullied or something to get reader to admit it.

(Sorry I miss spelled something the first time and didn't realise I took the name out when I was fixing the mistakes)

Big Shoes to fill

Leah Willamson x reader fic

pt.2 here

-> Reader, Leah's younger sister is having trouble in school - mysteries get solved.

-> Talk of bullying, homophobia, (maybe child neglect?)

-> @ anon, I hope you like it - a little bit angstier than most of my stuff

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Amanda and David Williamson had had enough. Since school started again, they have received nothing but bad news from their youngest daughter’s school – your school. At first, it was just forgotten homework, until you missed attendance a couple of times – then they made sure, that you did in fact go to school and classes. But after getting better, it got worse again – you had started to misbehave more and more, talking back to your teachers and being constantly rude to everyone around you.

It was stressful. Of course, you didn’t change your behavior overnight, and you didn’t change because you were bored – but nobody seemed to care. Leah had moved to central London a couple of years ago and your older brother Jacob moved to Australia – leaving you all alone in your parent's home.

They weren’t bad people or bad parents, but they were busy. Work. All day, every day. Both of them had already been older when they had you – Leah already eleven, and Jacob seven when she was ‘blessed’ with a younger sister.

The footballer loved to tell you how your first meeting went, boasting to everybody that you wouldn’t stop crying until she held you for the first time, falling asleep in her skinny, little arms. It was her favorite picture of you as a baby, even to this day.

When your principal called Amanda at work for the third time that week, she was done trying. Instead of picking you up, she told the man on the other side of the phone to let you walk home – no matter how much you whined. To his surprise you did not even complain, taking your bag and walking out the door – dull, tired eyes and an empty smile on your face. You finally did it. Maybe you never had to go back. Maybe they finally gave up on you.

Once you had arrived home you were drenched by the London rain, shivering as you made your way through an empty house, taking a shower before you started cleaning up your muddy footsteps. Everything was normal until no one came home. Usually, your mom would get home at five and your day by eight – but now it was already nine and no one was answering your texts.

The lock of the front door ruckled, and after a few tries, it was finally flung open. Like in a bad horror movie a silhouette was shown by lighting in the background – but after a deafening silence aside from the falling rain, Leah stepped inside. Her hair kept back in a beanie and a bag of take-out food in her hand – “I’m homeee!”

You took the food into the kitchen before handing her towels and dry clothes, leaving her to get changed. “You, my love, are the best sister, ever!” By now you had plated the food and set up on the couch, two glasses, and a bottle of wine. “I’m your only sister, Lee.” Her blue eyes softened at your weak voice. “I knowww, but you’re always so good to me.” She pulled you into a tight hug, almost afraid to let you go.

You handed her one of the plates, two slices of Pizza on it – your joined favorite – as she eyes the glasses. “Aren’t you a little too young to drink, Missy?” A sheepish smile was the only response that she got, and it was enough. Leah could see that something was up.

Usually, you had time to prepare when she visited, knowing of it beforehand – but today was different, she just showed up. You didn’t have time to hide the bags beneath your eyes, or do your hair in a way that didn’t look completely life-less – and she noticed. Of course, Leah noticed. She would always notice.

You ate dinner in silence for a while, just happy to be in each other's presence, having missed that feeling once Leah had moved out and you had gotten older. But when both plates were clean, Leah literally licking the crumbs off them, you couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m guessing you’re the one I have to thank for Mum and Dad being somewhere else?”

Your older sister swallowed hard, knowing that you would ask, but she had still hoped that she could gently lead you into the conversation. “Yeah, they’re at my place.” Leah’s place was a stunning apartment closer to the Arsenal training facility. As gently as she could, she took your hands into hers, immediately noticing how cold they were.

“They told me that you’ve been havin’ trouble in school. What’s goin on Bug?” You hated that look. Leah’s eyes clouded with worry terrified you. She really did care, and while that was nice to know, it also meant, that you would hurt her, no matter what.

“Mom doesn’t know what to do anymore, and Dad- he, well he doesn’t either.” Of course, you knew that. Your mother's tired eyes nearly mirrored your own. But you couldn’t tell them. They wouldn’t understand.

The silence was deafening, and your older sister tried to be subtle with her concerned staring. Sadly for both of you, Leah’s subtle was like an elephant in a fine China store. She really did try not to coax anything out of you, wanting you to feel safe enough to open up.

“School’s just not my thing.”

Both of you knew that you were lying – you loved learning new things and while school might not have the right topics for you, it was better than dying dumb.

The Arsenal player’s eyebrow was intimidating enough for you to just give up. You were tired of fighting your feelings, hurting yourself and everybody else.

“Why are you so rude to the people in your class?” She really was serious, there was no backing out now. “They are not nice people.” Her gaze hardened, her suspicions forming even further. “Why don't you like them?”

But she was met with silence. While you wanted to let her know, that those kids were mean ones, you didn’t want to tell her why they were so mean to you. It would break your sister's heart.

“Okay, what about your football team? Do you have any friends there?” Every time your eyes wandered up from staring at your joined hands to meet Leah’s, they snapped back down. The look in her eyes was terrifying. She seemed scared.

And it was all your fault.

“Oh, I stopped playing football.” Your parents hadn’t even noticed. You washed your own laundry, so when at some point your sweaty training clothes stopped showing up, no one noticed. The only one who did was your trainer – she was now missing one of the most known last names in English women’s football in her team.

You didn’t need to look at your sister to know that she was shocked, her stunned silence doing all the talking. “W-What to do you mean – You quit? But you love football!” You did. You loved watching Leah and her teammates play football, there was so much passion on the field, silent understanding, and mastered routines when they played. “Just drop it, Leah.”

Realization set in for the England captain – you were growing up. Gone was her little sister, who would do anything to be like her. The little sister who worshipped the ground she walked on.

“Why did you quit then? Mom didn’t tell me about it. Why didn’t you call?” You had downed the contents of your wine glass, stealing Leah’s as well. It scared her, just how tired you looked. “Didn’t want to interrupt your day, you’re a busy woman now. Mom always says that.” You took a deep breath, before making air quotes “Leah has more important stuff to do now, honey. Don’t call her, what if she is in an interview?”

The silence was suffocating. It never used to be like this, at least not that Leah remembered. “You would have never interrupted. I will always make time for you, Bug.” As much as you wanted to believe that, you couldn’t. No one made time for you. Not even your mom and dad, who used to do so many exciting things with all their kids in the house. But it was different now. With Leah and Jacob gone.

“A phone works both ways, Leah.”

The footballer was stunned. You were right. She was complaining to your mum, on and on, about how she didn’t know what was happening in your life – but she herself made no effort to change that.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Her confession and apology meant everything to you – even if you feared, that they were empty.

The wine bottle was now empty, and Leah still sober – but that was her plan, and it was working a charm, as your slightly slurred words started to pour out.

“I am so proud of you. You know?” A deep sniffle filled the brief silence “Winning the home European Championship, leading the team to the win, playing every game.” Your eyes were staring into space, as your sisters’ hands tried to warm yours, scared of how hollow you looked and felt. “But it’s not easy living up to that, you know?”

You once again grabbed the glass, disappointed when it was empty. But you didn’t get up to get more. “All everyone said when we went back to school, was how I would never be as good as you.” Tears threatened to fall from Leah’s eyes as things started to make sense. “That’s not true, y-“ but you didn’t let her finish her desperate try to change your mind. “It is true, Leah. I will never be as good as you – because I don’t really like football that much. Your passion and love for it, made you work harder to get where you are right now. I just played so that Jacob and you had something to talk to me about.”

Your whole life you had been pretending to love the game just as much as your siblings did – and when Leah thought back on it, she started to see it. You never had a team you supported, but it was always the one she had played for, or preferred. Not a single well-known footballer came to your mind when you were asked. The only answer you would give? ‘My sister, Leah. She is my favorite footballer of all time.’

“People had never been the kindest to me. I mean I could handle it when they just made fun of me for defending you. But after the win, all of a sudden everyone loved you, and then I was the one they were hurling insults at.” Tears made their way down the blonde's face, leaving a salty taste on her lips. “What did you need to defend me from?”

She knew it was bad the moment that your hands let go of hers. Seeking space. “Well, people knew. They knew about you and Jordan.” Sobs started to wreck her body as you desperately tried to soothe her by rubbing her back.

People were insulting her for being gay, and you stood up for her, making yourself the target.

“Bug, I- I don’t know what to say…”

The tipsyness started to make way for your guilt. She wasn’t supposed to know. You knew that it would break her heart, knowing what was happening at school.

“I hoped, that if I acted cold enough, people would leave me alone. But they didn’t. I tried to tell Mum that I wanted to change schools, but she was busy.” Now she understood. You tried to get yourself kicked out of school so that your parents had no choice but to notice and send you to a new one, where you could start over.

“I am so sorry. You shouldn’t have to go through that.” Your gaze finally met hers, gone was her baby sister. The teen in front of her was much too mature for her age, needing to wise up after being left all alone in the world.

“I know Lee.”

My god. What had she done? Leah Williamson was sure if there was an award for being the worst sister – she would have surely won it.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #woso imagines #arsenal wfc x reader #engwnt x reader #lionesses x reader #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine

692 notes · View notes

decolonize-the-left · 1 year

Text

Also idk what parent needs to hear this but with the curriculum changing to reflect bigotry, you'll have to pickup the slack at home.

Not knowing your history and awful education leads to entire countries of people that dont know what communism actually is, never learned about organized workers movements (despite capitalism being the system), and can't recognize fascism when it's staring them in the face.

It's not a coincidence bigots are densely populated in areas with awful education systems. And it's not a coincidence they don't even see it as bigotry.

My kid is 9. She knows about police brutality, classism, and racism and why we fight it. She had to. She's brown kid, poor, and ADHD; naive by nature for the moment and I don't want her being taken advantage of or exploited. It's why she knows about boundaries, saying "no", and listening to herself.

This year during PRIDE she'll learn about stonewall and why we're still fighting for that too. She's old enough to tag along and participate with more understanding so she will. She's learned about bodily autonomy and women's rights as well. And she's learned about having a healthy relationship with nature; to respect the critters, plants, water, and climate.

Protest and fighting and standing up for yourself and your rights and being a good ally are all family values in my house. And if the school won't teach that to her then it's on me, just like it's on all of us.

And no, she doesn't know or understand enough to have a whole debate but she's 9. There's still so much time to teach her more. But she understands the basics and for kids, it really doesn't need to be more complicated than that because she's just interacting with other kids.

I taught her about police & homophobia in 2020 as soon as I got her back from her homophobic dad. She was 6.

It was as easy as "But I'm a gay people too & when you say theyre gross that hurts my feelings. Do you have to think what your dad thinks?"

Giving her the freedom to make that choice herself, to disagree, and grow out of it and end that association with "gross" was the best thing I could've done for her. Cuz guess who told me she might like boys and girls 3 years later?

Those many tiny talks over time could've saved her from decades of shame induced trauma.

Our kids deserve everything. And they deserve better. We must teach them that and we need to teach them to fight for it. Teach them what to fight against.

They aren't too young. Give them more credit. "Think of the children" by educating yours.

#im also not sitting there giving lectures #just every now and then we'll talk about it - bring it up while watching a show or talk about inflation at the store for example #i don't want to discuss it with her so much that she becomes stressed by it so its only maybe once a month or so #keeps her critical thinking skills enaged #parenting #parents #allies #gen alpha #millenials #gen z #solidarity #fascism

2K notes · View notes

upat4amwiththemoon · 7 months

Note

I'd like to leave a request for moms wandanat and reader (she'd be in high school) if that's okay

They get called during the day and learn that reader got into a pretty big physical fight with another girl from school

They aren't given context and they don't really think about it immediately because of how violent the fight was described to them

They get upset and get into an argument but later at home when wanda tries to talk to her daughter and finally want to understand what happened and what was the reason of this, knowing her daughter as a calm person she learns the reason she got into a fight is because of an homophobic girl in her school who keeps insulting reader and her moms

You can decide on the end, thank you so much for taking request you're saving LIIIVES

Love you!! 💞

Fight

Summary: Punch a homophobe.

Pairing: WandaNat x daughter!reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and homophobia

Word count: 1276

a/n: remember to vote which characters you want to the different tropes of the trope challenge!

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @emsmultiverse @natashamaximoff69

masterlists | guidelines

Wanda and Natasha have lived through their more than fair share of violence, so usually fights, blood, and bruises don’t faze them. Not even when their daughter’s principal called them in to the school because of a fight, those happen every once in a while, mean words get thrown around. However, bow that they’re sitting at the principal’s office with Y/N, a girl from her class and her parents, they’re speechless.

Both Y/N and the girl’s faces have bloody cuts, most likely from nails, and the latter also has a black eye and a busted lip. Y/N clearly got off with less physical pain, she has been trained on self defense by her mothers after all.

The girl is sobbing, yelling at her parents and the principal how she’s scared for her life, while Y/N sits quietly. She hasn’t said a word during the meeting, not like anyone has given her the chance to explain. She keeps her eyes locked on the wall, arms crossed over her chest, she doesn’t want to make any contact with anyone else in the room.

“We want repercussions!” The girl’s mother demands. She is holding a hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she tries to console her. “She almost killed my baby girl. She has to be expelled right this second, or I will be pressing charges against her.”

The principal and Y/N’s moms try to calm the woman down, promising there will be harsh consequences for her actions, but expelling her would be over the line. She has always been a calm girl, which is why Wanda and Natasha are absolutely appalled by her behavior.

After an hour, the adults reach an agreement without pressing charges. The girl will get three days detention for participating in the fight, and Y/N will be suspended for two weeks. They’ll also change her classes, so she won’t be sharing any with the girl. Everyone leaves as satisfied as they can when it comes to a situation like this.

The car ride back home is definitely more than awkward. Natasha is furious, her knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. Wanda is just disappointed, she never expected her daughter to be so violent, especially because they taught her to be kind and respectful. Y/N is annoyed. This whole situation wasn’t even her fault.

“What the hell were you thinking, hm?” Natasha finally talks to Y/N. She glances at her through the rear view mirror, but Y/N doesn’t meet her gaze. “You messed that girl up, Y/N.”

She scoffs, staring at the view passing by.

“This is serious!” Natasha slams her palm to the steering wheel, accidentally honking at the car in front of her. The driver flips their middle finger at her, so Natasha honks again, this time on purpose. “Fuck! You could have gotten a criminal record from that, do you understand?”

“Hey,” Wanda snaps her fingers, leaning her head towards the backseats, “answer to your mother when she’s talking to you.”

“Yes, I understand.” The words come out harsh and loud, which makes both of her moms even more agitated. “But if you’d lis-“

“No!” Natasha shouts. Her eyes are wide and brows raised as she thinks what happened for Y/N to go this way. “This isn’t a discussion where you get to dictate anything. You better not expect to leave the house for a year.”

“Jesus christ.” Mumbling, Wanda rubs her forehead.

Y/N slams the back of her head against the car’s seat. It doesn’t dull her anger, the headrest being soft. Tears of frustration are starting to gather in the corner of her eyes. She just wants to be heard. “There is a goo-“ Wanda’s shushing interrupts her. Her mouth is agape while her mind tries to register what just happened. “Mom!”

“Quiet!”

Her lower lip wobbles. She presses her forehead against the cool window, trying to stop herself from crying until she can lock herself into her room.

When the car stops at their driveway, Y/N is the first one to get out. She slams the car’s door shut and runs inside, straight to her room, ignoring her moms’ yells after her. Locking her bedroom door, Y/N throws her backpack to the ground and slumps down to her bed. The soft pillow dries her oncoming tears, and works as a silencer to her sobs at the same time.

It takes two hours for someone to come knock on her door. Y/N is lying on her bed half asleep, debating whether she should go unlock the door or not, but she doesn’t want to get in any more trouble. She stands up, unlocks the door, and goes back to lay down on her bed without opening it.

The door opens and closes. “Hi, baby.” Wanda’s voice is quiet, almost a whisper. Y/N doesn’t answer or look at her way, so Wanda sits down to the bed, setting her hand on Y/N’s leg. “Could you tell me what happened at school today?”

“I thought you wanted me to be quiet.”

Wanda sighs, rubbing Y/N’s leg in an attempt to comfort her. “We’re sorry for yelling, that’s not what we should’ve done. We were confused because you’re not one to get into fistfights.”

Y/N bites her teeth together. It makes her nauseous. She almost doesn’t want to tell her what happened, thinking it wouldn’t matter anyway. On the other hand, she also doesn’t want to disappoint her moms even more.

“She was saying stuff.” Her voice gets muffled by the pillow, but Wanda can still hear her.

“What kind of stuff?”

“Stuff about you two, and me.” She pauses. Her voice starts wavering as tears begin to pool in her eyes. “Homophobic things, she was saying slurs and stuff.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Wanda’s hand moves up to Y/N’s head, coaxing her to bring her face out of hiding. She rubs her thumbs over her wet cheeks, but she doesn’t wipe away her tears, she lets her cry in peace. “I’m so sorry. How long has she been saying stuff like that?”

Y/N shrugs, “always, but they started getting more frequent when she found out I have had girlfriends too.”

Wanda pulls Y/N into a sitting position so she can properly embrace her. She tubs her back and plays with her hair while she sobs, finally letting everything out. Y/N never wanted to bother her moms with the girl, having been taught it’s better to ignore bullies, but she finally got enough of the girl’s taunting words and had to fight back. She didn’t want to sit back anymore.

“I’m gonna go talk to Nat, and then we’ll go talk to the principal, okay? We won’t let her get away with this kind of behavior.”

Y/N nods, her face pressed against the crook of Wanda’s neck. She’s glad she doesn’t have to deal with it on her own.

“You’ll let us know if anything like this happens again?”

“I will.”

“Good,” Wanda pulls away from the embrace begrudgingly, “lets go to the living room and talk to your mom.” She holds on to Y/N’s hand tightly as they go into the room where, now more calm, Natasha sits.

Once the whole thing is clear to everyone, both Natasha and Wanda agree her actions aren’t punishable, considering the situation she was in. So, they decide to march into the principal’s office tomorrow, and demand for it to be righted. But, until then, they stay on the couch, all piled together, watching sitcoms and comforting Y/N.

627 notes · View notes

munivrse · 7 months

Text

masterlist

dude finally i'm getting to this. hopefully this helps you guys navigate a little bit better!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Headcannons

bada + reader at the club

✮⋆˙ bada and reader go to the club, bada almost gets into a fight over her girlfriend

bada as your tall sexy dancer gf

✮⋆˙ here are some hcs of bada as your tall sexy dancer gf

bada + corruption kink!

✮⋆˙ gf! bada lee got a corruption kink fr and let me let yall ponder on this with me

experienced!bada + innocent reader

✮⋆˙ experienced bada tests the waters with you

˙whipped bada + oblivious reader

✮⋆˙ bada is your gf and you dont even know it

bada + idol reader

✮⋆˙ bada and her golden retriever, high energy, secret idol gf

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Text Series

texts with gf!bada

✮⋆ cw: really suggestive. bada just wants you to be a stay at home gf so please just quit your job for her

texts with gf!bada 2

✮⋆cw: its always gonna be suggestive idk what to tell yall tbh

˙texts with gf!bada part 3

✮⋆cw: mentions of baby making. drunk y/n...

texts with gf!bada part 4

✮⋆cw: not suggestive... actually theres some angst ☹️ but very very fluffy at the end :D

texts with gf!bada part 5

✮⋆cw: ....suggestive u know the deal. just crack texts idk really no like theme here. enjoy!

text pranks with gf!bada

✮⋆cw: slightly (and very slightly) suggestive i cant help it i want her to **** ** ***** * *** me so bad. enjoy

jealous bada lee texts!

✮⋆cw: jealous, possessive bada lee. she is so fine. i won't her 😍

reader reacts to bada's wkorea photoshoot

✮⋆ i cannot believe our tall sexy gf showed that much of herself to the world. i'm with reader on this one

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Full fics

Too close

✮⋆˙ c/w: angst. angry howl, homophobia, minor and very, very minor physical harm done to bada. closeted bada, out and proud reader. its alooooot of angst. some comfort at the end though so don't worry!

Luxurious

✮⋆˙ c/w: spoiled ass reader. down bad bada. suggestive. a little more than suggestive? not full on smut though. what does bada like more than checks? money!

My love is mine, all mine

✮⋆˙ c/w: severe anxiety/panic attack. bada comforts reader through an anxiety attack. bada best girl.

Attention

✮⋆˙ cw: bada accompanies you to your high school reunion. nothing too bad. actually, not suggestive! bada lee being fine as hell... y/n acting up per usual. really fluffy at the end. enjoy!

tell your friends

✮⋆˙ cw: requested! smut. full on. cunnilingus. strap/harness. possessive bada hitting it from the back 🧎‍♀️

takeout (on me)

✮⋆˙cw: pussy whipped bada lee taking you in several different positions. cannot get enough of the noises you make and how good she makes you feel. good god.

kissin' and hope they caught us

✮⋆˙ c/w: reader gets into their head alot, but bada is always there to reassure you.

water

✮⋆˙c/w: bath time with bada. aftercare bur bada is still h word on main. fingering, praise, and soft!dom bada.

Garden Kisses

✮⋆˙ cw: friends to lovers. a bit of angst in the beginning. cunnilingus. jealous bada. bada is bad at communicating feelings. some texts thrown in there. possessive bada. pussy drunk bada.

who jerks off the most in zb1

Haobin x reader series

night routine with haobin waking up with haobin randon haobin + reader hc's zb1 being done with haobin + reader grossly domestic haobin + reader

Seok Matthew

matthew + doggy style soft dom matthew

Shen Ricky

eating you out after dinner what he's like during baby making

Zhang Hao

idol!reader accidentally turns him on riding hao's face

Sung Hanbin

angry hanbin

enha as employees at my old coffee shop

Yang Jungwon

brat tamer jungwon

Lee Heeseung

8:16am

Park Jongseong

empty

Sim Jaeyun

quickie with jake certified munch makeup sex with jake 11:32pm certified munch #2

Park Sunghoon

making brownies with sunghoon sunghoon thinks you're pretty

Kim Sunoo

empty

#kpop #kpop smut #zb1 #enhypen #zb1 smut #zerobaseone #smut #enhypen smut #bada lee smut #bada lee #bada lee x reader

442 notes · View notes

smusherina · 18 days

Text

yard work - chapter 5 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warnings(s): homophobia is still a theme. another dead relative mentioned. smoking cigarettes.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 6

You'd decided to do nothing about Cady's infiltration for now. Or, well, Regina had told you she'd figure it out and given firm instruction to not do anything.

You didn't exactly like that. Then again, you didn't have any better ideas. Obviously, you wanted her to not be around Regina. It was wrong that she was friends with her under the pretence that she was looking for reasons to stab her in the back. Then again, she didn't need reasons. Regina had provided plenty already.

As September dragged along and eventually turned to October, it felt as if day by day your mind split into an exponentially growing number of pieces. Your desire to protect Regina battled with the fact that she had been wrong so many times, had really hurt people. Didn't they deserve some reparation? Didn't Regina deserve forgiveness? Was any of that for you to decide?

You would have to pick a side and make your stance known, eventually. You'd have to plant your feet firmly on the territory you really believed in. Only, you dreaded that you didn't have as much agency as you'd have liked.

Were you weak or strong for always sticking by someone? What would become of you if you didn't stand up for what you thought was right and wrong? Where was the line?

You didn't want to side with Janis and her lackeys. The more you looked at it, the parallel between them—Janis and Regina—started to become obvious. Janis and Regina weren't that different at all.

What did you even want? What could you want? You didn't have answers to those questions.

The weather was getting colder, so you'd shuffled your wardrobe quite a bit. Short-sleeved flannels and tee shirts were replaced by cotton undershirts and grandpa sweaters. Literal grandpa sweaters. You'd gotten the majority of them from your grandfather's closet, which he had left for you in his will. It was a joke you two had shared, that you looked better in his clothes than he did.

Regina certainly didn't think so.

"Those sweaters are fucking ugly." She put it bluntly, chewing on some gum as she surfed channels on your TV. She'd taken to spending a lot of time at yours recently. You guessed it had to do with her dad being home and her friends no longer being trustworthy.

"They were my gramps'." You pouted and slumped onto the couch next to her. Since your first sleepover, the distance between your bodies had gotten smaller each time. Your knees almost touched.

"The emotional baggage makes them even frumpier." She glanced at you before looking back at the TV. "You'd be better off framing them."

"I like them, Reg." You settled back and turned your attention to the screen as well. "I don't tell you what to wear."

"If you did we wouldn't be friends." She quipped, finally settling on just shutting the thing off. "Now, what's up with you?"

"Nothing." You didn't want to talk about it. You doubted you could talk about something like that and both remain calm. You hated shouting. It always made you cry, no matter the situation. You could've been the angriest you'd ever been, not sad at all, and still cry.

"Fine. Be stubborn." She huffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I'm going to Aaron's Halloween Party."

"Are you?" You turned and blinked at her. "Cool, I guess."

"You know how everybody, like, dresses sexy? It's like the whole point of Halloween, yeah? Cady's from Kenya. She doesn't know that. She thinks Halloween's supposed to be scary."

"Isn't it, though?"

"Ugh, for kids it is. We're practically adults. Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it." Regina recited as if from a book. "Karen's words."

"She's very wise, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is." Regina mused.

"You ever told her that?"

"No, she'd get a big head."

"Karen Shetty would get a big head." You said, disbelieving.

"They want what I have so bad," Regina said. "I have to keep them on their toes."

"Are they even your friends? Or do you keep them close to control them?" You sat up straighter, some dots connecting. "Is that why you got Cady to join you? Because she was too pretty to go unchecked?"

"So you think she's pretty." Regina shifted closer, your knees really touching now. You tried to contain your excitement.

"I feel that's pretty obvious." You leaned in also, almost without noticing yourself. She was like a magnet.

"She had potential. If she were to realize it, who knows what she would've gotten up to."

"You made her realize that. That's a self-fulfilling prophecy if I've ever heard one."

"What do you know about prophecies?"

"I know that if I scoped a threat, I wouldn't make them stronger." You licked your lips nervously. "Keeping an eye on her is one thing, but you've made her an enemy."

"Fine, sure, whatever. Now, I'm gonna bring her down. She's gonna humiliate herself by showing up to the party all scary-looking, and then I'm gonna kiss Aaron Samuels." She grinned and blew a bubble. The thin pink of the bubblegum complimented her eyes.

"Why? To make her jealous? Because she wants something you had?"

"To establish dominance."

"I dunno, Reg." You sighed, rubbing a hand down your face. "You're making an enemy."

"It's what I do best, jorts. Just watch." She got up and headed for the kitchen. Hated to see her leave, loved to watch her go.

So, you watched. You watched her hatch her plans, how she deliberately kept Karen from talking to Cady about high school Halloween party etiquette, which seemed like a challenging task indeed, and how her leash on Gretchen tightened to an impossible degree.

You sat alone in the computer room the night of the party, trying to build a profitable amusement park and failing miserably. Your heart wasn't in it. Not even gaming could take your mind off of Regina.

She was probably kissing Aaron Samuels right now. Right now, their lips were sealed together in a nasty French kiss that surely repulsed anybody close enough to hear the slurping and suckling that came from the union. Aaron was probably on her, touching her everywhere he could get his grubby paws, shamelessly licking at the roof of her mouth like a dog.

While the thought of the jock being a bad kisser soothed you somewhat, it didn't cure the clenching in your chest. Fuck, it was stupid that this hurt you. It wasn't even real, she was using him to get to Cady, but the mere thought of them like that made you want to puke.

You watched the chaos unfold the next morning. At lunch, Janis herded you to their table near the back. You were barely listening, too busy glowering in the general direction of the jock table. Cady was officially on board now, you were told. Regina had officially gone too far for her and now their real plans could commence.

"Hey, dude, are you even listening?" Janis punched you on the shoulder. You glared and punched back.

"No. Yes, I- what did you say? Something about Homecoming."

"Yes!" Janis practically hissed, looking a little manic. You looked at Damien, who was eyeing you suspiciously. "We're spraying water on her when she's inevitably crowned Homecoming queen. Cady's also replacing her moisturizer with lard. Can you think of anything?"

What, you were supposed to contribute to bringing Regina down? She was kidding, right? She continued to stare holes in you.

"Uh..." You swallowed. "I'm not really an ideas guy. I can help in other ways?" You squeaked, desperately wanting out of this whole thing.

"Ugh, you're boring." Janis groaned, slumping against Damien.

"Good talk." You said hastily as you got up. "I'm going to smoke a cigarette now." So acutely uncomfortable, you talked like a robot.

"Can you gimme one?" Janis perked up.

"No, she can't." Damien cast a look at Janis. "We agreed, remember? Smoking only at the garage."

You took that opportunity to skedaddle. They bickered like an old married couple. Though there was no romantic chemistry between them, they were obviously a solid duo.

Janis didn't seem so bitter when she was with Damien. Sure, now that they were planning revenge their focus was on Regina, but they often strayed off track. Why couldn't she just let go? She was clearly doing better now.

As you rounded the building and made it across the lawn towards the bleachers, you spotted a couple making out. The boy had the girl pinned to the wall. You were quite far away and you could hear their lips smacking.

You didn't want to look too close, because gross, but the varsity jacket and pink ensemble were hard to ignore.

You gritted your teeth and pulled out the pack of Marlboros you had on hand. Regina and Aaron fucking Samuels. You lit up and inhaled before you were even properly concealed under the bleachers.

God, you were such a hypocrite. If you weren't over what Regina did to you in middle school, then why should she be? She'd had it worse, too. You couldn't even imagine the consequences of something like that.

If people knew you liked girls, it'd be over. Even if it was sort of like an open secret, because nobody ever asked you about boys or stuff like that, to have it confirmed would ruin you beyond repair.

If people knew you liked Regina, it'd be even worse.

"Hey, why're you sulking under there?"

"Regina, I'm not in the mood to talk."

"Uh, grumpy much?"

"Leave me alone."

You leaned your head back against the steel, looking up at Regina as she stood over you. She was in all pink. A pink, fuzzy sweater, white skinnies, and Uggs. You had a blue, old Carhartt jacket, denim jeans and scuffed Converse.

You matched with her way better than Aaron. You could probably kiss better too. Not that you'd had any practice. But you'd at least have the sense to not slobber all over the one you were kissing.

Unless Regina liked sloppy kisses. As if you'd get to find out.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong."

I like you. I like you too much and it's hard to think. I can't tell wrong from right.

"It's nothing." You took another drag. "Janis and Damien are plotting. It just makes me mad." Not entirely untrue. You were lying by omission, though.

"What kinda plots?"

You hesitated. How could you? "Nothing concrete yet." Now you were really lying. It sunk like a stone down your gullet, hitting your heart on the way down, and dropped heavily into your stomach. It nearly punched a hole clean through.

"Keep me updated." She lingered and you kept looking at her. What would she look like as Homecoming queen, soaked down to her bones up on a stage? What would she look like after smearing lard on her face?

Not ethereal in the sunlight like this, probably. Though you reckoned ruined mascara and pimples wouldn't do anything to shake off this stupid crush.

"For sure." You just nodded and looked down. You couldn't keep your eyes on her when guilt gnawed at your insides.

"Can I have one?" She hopped over your legs and sat down on the grass next to you.

"A cigarette?" You baulked. "A cigarette for Regina George?"

"Yes, you doof." She laughed and reached for your pockets. "Where's the pack?" She kept patting down your body. Your heart sped up, your palms sweated, and a stupid grin split your face.

"Only one." You turned your face as stern as you could make it. "I'm not ruining your beautiful singing voice."

"You think my voice is beautiful?" When she asked questions like that and looked so small waiting for your answer, you didn't quite know what to do with yourself.

"Yeah," You breathed, sounding a little too sincere, too reverent. "You sang at the talent show in middle school that one year. I think it was a Celine Dion song? Captivating."

"That was so embarrassing. I had such shit breath control." She rested her hand on your thigh, casually, and the other behind your back. Your faces were so close. "C'mon, jorts. Now."

"Nobody complained. Everybody loved it." You reached into your pocket and handed her a cig. She put it between her lips and looked at you expectantly.

If you'd been feeling bold, you would've touched the tip of your lit one to hers. Yours was more than halfway done, so you'd have gotten real close. Maybe in your dreams.

You flicked the lighter to life and held the fire for her. "Suck. Yup, you got it."

She inhaled and let the smoke out of her mouth. You took a drag to keep from laughing. "When you've got the smoke in your mouth, inhale it."

She did as you told and started coughing violently. This time, you couldn't keep the laughter in. She shoved you and you laughed harder.

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism, @9unknown0, @sage-rose2000, @massive-honkas, @nattys-swiftie, @likefirenrain, @luz-enjoyer, @dandelions4us, @natashamaximoff-69

(if you want to be added to the taglist, reply to this post :))

#mean girls #mean girls 2024 #mean girls 2004 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #lesbian regina george #mean girls x reader #wlw #wlw yearning #no use of y/n #fic: yard work

293 notes · View notes

sylvies-chen · 9 months

Text

my favourite thing about season 2 hands down was watching them bring darcy’s storyline to life and it really highlights what heartstopper as a comic-book-turned-television-show does so so well, which is encompass different forms of queer trauma/struggle

this season focused a lot on nick’s journey with coming out, the steps forwards and backwards he takes. it also shows him dealing with actual homophobic sentiments directed at him in his own home for the first time (can I get a good ol’ FUCK david nelson up in here? thank you!) which he has to learn to handle if he wants to come out sadly. and gaining that strength to step forward into the public eye and even just the point of having to actively own and protect your identity is definitely a valid struggle and anxiety-inducing thing, as we all see.

charlie’s trauma is also explored, though it takes to the end of season/vol 2 to get us there, in that spot where he opens up about it. the eating problems is definitely the red flag that consistently and subtly pops up throughout the season, but we don’t get that full unravelling of the impact it’s had on him until the last episode. he got outed and bullied at school at an age where social acceptance and community is so integral to your self-esteem. and he hasn’t developed healthy coping mechanisms to deal with the lasting impacts of it.

but darcy’s trauma and struggle weighed on my heart so much this season too, because not only is kizzy just a phenomenal actor but also because it provided a whole other angle of trauma that charlie and nick haven’t quite been through: the trauma of homophobia from a parent. like, it is so crushing to learn that the one person who is supposed to love you unconditionally just… doesn’t. nick has his mum, and charlie has tori as a protector and supporter, and his parents too in their very misguided way. they both have at least one family figure in the household that embraces them and, at the very least, will defend them. but darcy doesn’t, and her friends are her only support system. which doesn’t make her struggles any worse or better than nick’s or charlie’s, but it just brings a different angle into how she interacts with the group and I loved getting to watch her finally be able to open up.

I could also go into ben, how he represents a fourth sort of struggle which is when queer repression and internalized homophobia take a toll on your moral character, but instead I just want to wrap up by saying that as much as heartstopper represents the varying ways in which queer struggles impact your life, it does so thricefold in representing the different ways in which queerness and queer community heal you, making life more vibrant and fun and peaceful.

so… yeah. I’m not emotional you are.

#heartstopper #nick nelson #charlie spring #darcy olsson #tara and darcy #nick and charlie

486 notes · View notes

abbyromanoff · 1 year

Note

I had a bit of a cnc stoner Wanda thought where she coaxes you into trying her special treat & holds a blunt to your lips, all before proceeding to get high as well & lazily play with your clit <3

Try It

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 4314

Warnings: smut, jealously, possessiveness, edging, kinda public sex, college AU, strap on use, edging, crying, weed usage, small cnc, mommy kink, multiple orgasms, thigh riding, begging, sub!r, Dom!wanda, emo Wanda, mentions of pervert Wanda, mentions of porn, small angst, homophobia, praise kink

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

Wanda walked into her class, luckily she only had two today. She took the seat next to you, making you turn to look at her. Her hand made its way to your thigh, she admired the way you worriedly looked to see if anyone would notice. You were always like that. It’s not like you were ashamed of her, no, you loved to be seen around with your girlfriend. But sometimes, the bold moves she’d make were too much for the public eye. The occasional grab of the ass, her hand placing itself on your thigh like she was doing now, you didn’t want people seeing. Especially not your parents.

You two met when you were children. Seeming as your parents were best friends, it was hard not to be around each other at all times. You and her brother always were closer, your parents always said you two would get married one day. He was also the first person you came out to, and the first you informed of your crush on his sister. He wasn’t the happiest, but he got over it. You can still hear all the ‘Wanda and Y/N sitting in a tree’ jokes, or how he’d wrap his arms around him and pretend he was making out with himself to mock you two.

Your mother and father never knew of your sexuality, especially not since your dad was the priest. He was loved by everyone, except you. Wanda would always be the one to comfort you when you were confused, she knew what it was like to deal with unsupporting parents. Unlike you, she found a way to get away from it all, weed.

While you did student councils and spelling bees, she’d escape the world by smoking. Her grades would slip as yours exceeded, you needed the academic validation. Wanda didn’t care anymore, she just wanted to live her teenage years by having fun.

Whenever you had study dates, she’d end up convincing you to stop and watch a movie with her. She’d usually offer you a joint, only for you to quickly dismiss it. You would never be allowed back into your home if they ever found out you smoked, they’d quite literally kill you.

You and Wanda first started dating back in your senior year of high school. After years of pining over one another, she nervously asked you to prom where you both shared your first kiss in the girls' bathroom. Your parents obviously would never let you go to the dance with a woman, so Pietro offered to pretend as though he’d take you if you got him a date with a girl in your honors society club.

And ever since then, you and Wanda have been inseparable. You both got accepted into the same college luckily, the one you’ve been dreaming of going to since you were a little kid. Wanda always was one to go out to parties and skip class, but you were the same as your high school years, getting all A’s on every assignment you did. Your professors all loved you, not so much your girlfriend though. But you didn’t care. If Wanda were to ask you to skip class with her, more often than not you’d say yes. If she dragged you to a party, you’d end up making out in her truck by the end of it. One time, she took you to a frat house and had you wasted by the end. You woke up with a tattoo of the letter W in between your middle finger. She already had your name tattooed on her wrist, you scolded her the day you first saw it.

Everyone started rolling into class, some late, some just barely making it. Wanda never moved her hand, and the small smirk covering her face never left. Your best friend and head of the debate team sat on the other side of you, Kate Bishop. Wanda never seemed to like her, she always said she was too much of a priss or that she wanted to get in your pants. She said that about everyone, actually. Kate gave you a look with a small smile, Wanda flipped her off behind your back. She rolled her eyes, pulling out her notebook before starting small talk between you too. Your girlfriend rested her head on your shoulder, trying to distract you from your conversation with small pecks to your neck.

“Wanda! We’re in the middle of a lecture!” You scolded in a small whisper, turning back to your friend and giving an apologetic smile. Wanda sighed, frustrated by your actions. You were such a goodie two shoes. Sometimes your friends wondered how you two ended up together, and if you were being honest, you didn’t know either. I guess two opposites attract.

“But I don’t care about this dumbass class. C’mon, what do you say me and you head out of here? Come back to my place?” You threw your head back slightly, annoyed by the same words she said every day. “Oh c’mon, please? We can have some fun?” You chose to ignore her instead, trying your best to listen in on the professor’s words. She didn’t stop though, if anything, she teased you more. Her hand had traveled further up your leg, playing with the hem of your panties under your skirt. You tried to discreetly push her off, struggling to write your notes down. Your face was cherry red, and Wanda was grinning.

“Now do you want to leave?” She asked hopefully, just wanting to get out of this boring class already.

“Nope.” Your thigh jumped up and down as you picked at your lips, looking around nervously to see if anyone could see her fingers moving your panties to the side. You closed your legs to the best of your ability, only to no avail. She pushed them back open, giving a harsh grab as a warning.

“At least let me have some fun, baby.” You looked at her like was crazy. You let out a small moan under your breath as the pads of her fingers rubbed your clit ever so gently. You hid any noise with a small cough or fake sneeze, Wanda would always say bless you as if she didn’t know what was going on. She acted innocent. And you hated it.

“Wanda, we can’t do this here.” She leaned into your ear, making sure the professor was facing the board so he couldn’t see you two.

“Then let's leave, princess. We can head back to my place where I’ll properly fuck you.” She grabbed your hand, placing it on her crotch as you felt a small bulge. She was packing. You retreaded your hand quickly, your cheeks a cherry red. She chuckled dryly, you hoped she would remove her digits but she didn’t, she just left them there. She didn’t move them, they just sat there as if wanting you to do the work instead. You couldn’t stop the small buck of your hips, chasing after her like she was holding your favorite candy. You wished you could wipe that smug look off her face.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, meet me in a few minutes.” And you did. The professor looked at you puzzled when you both left, Wanda covering by saying you had ‘girl problems’ making both you and the man blush. She dragged you into the nearest stall, pushing you against the door and kissing you fiercely, she wished that Kate could walk in and see how wet you were for her. Her fingers trailed beneath your skirt, the way she did just moments ago. Her fingertips grazed your clit through your panties, barely touching you just to see how you react.

“Mommy, please.” You whined and begged, hoping she’d have some sort of mercy on you. She didn’t. She wanted to make you as desperate as she was, she wanted to watch you wither.

“You’re fucking soaked, baby. Is this all for mommy? Has she gotten you all worked up?” You nodded and looked down shamefully, the embarrassment overtaking you. She gripped your chin, making you look at her with pleading eyes.

“Y-yes, it’s all for you, mommy.” She hummed and dropped to her knees, you gave her a look of shock before she gave a small lick to your center.

“Did mommy get you all horny and desperate?” When not receiving a response, she looked back up at you. Your hands folded behind your back and your legs parted just enough for her to get between them, you were such a shy girl. She suddenly stood up, making you look at her with confusion before she walked past you and to the door of the bathroom. She looked back at your shaken-up state,

“You coming?” Yeah, you would be. You both walked back into class, Wanda following shortly behind you. Some gave you disapproving glances, others trying not to look at you and have to deal with Wanda’s wrath.

When the painfully slow class finally ended, Wanda threw her bag onto the floor of her and Pietro’s apartment. She didn’t exactly want to live with her brother during college, the two of them would often bring girls back home making it awkward. But she couldn’t do much about it, she could barely even afford to live here.

She was having a stressful day, And all she wanted to do at that moment was call you up or get high, her two favorite things. She knew you’d probably be studying or doing homework, but she also knew you were thinking about her. About the wetness coating your inner thighs. She could see it right now, you rubbing your thighs together, finding any way to get yourself off. Shyly playing with your clit, teasing your hole with a finger. You probably wouldn’t even be able to fit a digit inside of your tight hole, she can barely even fit her strap inside of you.

Luckily, Pietro wasn’t going to be home for the next week as he was visiting their mom and dad. So, she grabbed the small jar of weed in her nightstand drawer, taking the paper and rolling up the small joint. Her favorite thing to do was have you roll it, watching the way you tried your best only for it to be close to falling apart. She’d chuckle, and you’d pout back at her. But you never smoked with her, you refused.

She lit the joint and took a long drag, puffing out smoke into the humid living room. The couch wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was better than nothing. The playboys that were left out a few days ago plagued her mind. She stood up, balancing herself before grabbing one and going back to the living room. She undressed her bottom half, too lazy to take off her shirt as she got right into it. Her fingers teased her clit as she flipped through the pages, the naked woman only making her think about you more.

“Mm, fuck Y/N. Such a good little girl for me.” She moaned out into the empty room, not caring if she was just talking to herself. The weed was getting to her, goosebumps spreading across her body.

Before she could go any further, her phone rang, the bright light illuminating the dark room. She sighed and looked at the contact, her mood immediately lifting when seeing the caller. She answered on the fourth ring, her raspy voice making you shiver.

“Yes, baby?” She could hear your moan from the other side of the call, smirking to herself when realizing what you were doing.

“Baby, are you touching yourself?” You only nodded before remembering she couldn’t see you. Your clit throbbed as you rode the small teddy bear she got you for your anniversary, picturing it was her strap you were riding instead. Your hips only gained speed hearing her on the other end, the fear she wouldn’t like this going away when you heard her groaning. She hit the facetime button, wanting to see your weeping cunt on the fluffy fur of the stuffed animal.

“C’mon princess, let mommy see you.” Your camera was placed at the end of your bed, giving a full view of your bottom. She could see your head looking back at one place continuously, probably making sure your dorm mate wouldn’t walk in anytime soon.

“Oh sweetheart, are you scared someone will see you? What do you think would happen if they walked in right now? You think they’d stay and watch you whoring yourself out on the phone?”

“Mommy, need you.” She ticked, taking another puff of her joint before speaking up once more.

“You never answered my question, sweetheart. Tell me, what would you do if someone walked in right now to see you like this, so sweet and innocent riding the teddy bear I got you? Would you stop? Or would you keep going for me, for mommy?” You wished you could say no, that you’d never let anyone see you all needy and vulnerable. But that would be a lie. The thought alone brought more discomfort to your body, the good kind of discomfort.

“Mommy, I-I think I need to cum.” You whined out, chasing the high you prayed she would finally give you.

“Oh, honey, you wanna cum?” You nodded fastly, the stuffed animal being coated with your slick. She hummed, acting as if she was deciding.

“Hmm, no.” She hung up before you could complain, knowing you wouldn’t bring yourself to finish if she denied you. Her whole plan was just to get you to come over, then she could see you once more. She’d be the one to make you cum, not your teddy bear.

Ten minutes later, she heard a small but rushed knock at her flat. She smirked, knowing who it was, and stood up, opening the almost completely broken door. There you stood, clutching close to your skirt as you tried getting past her and going inside.

“You missed me that much.” You tackled her with a kiss, desperate to have her on you somehow.

“Please, mommy, I’m so wet and sticky down there.” She smiled sweetly at you before walking you backwards, sitting you down on the couch, and towering over you.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve taken care of you.” Tears flooded your eyes as she gave you a seemingly innocent pout.

“Y-you hung up on me! I was so close and you just hung up!” She sat down, grasping your hips and tossing one of your legs over her own. Her fingers trailed under your skirt, her other hand forcing you to stay open for her. She felt a damp wet spot marking your panties, gasping as she realized you weren’t lying, you were actually that horny.

“Oh my, you’re dripping all over me! You’re gonna ruin my couch, baby.” She saw the way you eyed her small jar of weed, looking back at her with pleading eyes.

“You want to try some?” She was beyond excited when you gave a shy nod, making you your own to try.

“Alright, just take it between your lips and- yeah, that’s it. Just breathe in, and blow it out.” You coughed harshly, feeling embarrassed when hearing Wanda laughing at you. Her hands wandered around your body, grabbing your ass hidden beneath your schoolgirl skirt in her hands. She moaned under her breath and stuck her head in your neck, smelling the cologne of hers that you took.

“This precious little ass, so perfect.” She groped you without any shame, not caring for the whimpers that would leave your mouth.

“Mommy, tastes funny.” She nodded, patting your back to help you get it all out. She bounced you up and down like she was burping a baby, you were her baby. Her innocent little doll. And she fucking loved it.

No matter how hard she tried to resist it, she needed to fuck your sweet cunt. She needed to mark it as hers, have you know that you belong to her and only her.

“Doll?” She whispered, receiving a small hum in return, “Mommy really needs you right now, can you be good and let mommy play?” You felt so used, like she had ruined you for anyone else. You could see the imprint in her pants, the same one from earlier. Her bottoms were already unbuttoned, her boxers being the only thing left to stop you from riding her strap. You could tell what she wanted, she wanted to hear you beg. Plead her for her cock. And you wanted to give in, but you so badly wanted to show her that you didn’t need her. To make her realize that you didn’t survive off of her fucking you, and that it was just a pleasure.

So, you shook your head, seeing the small smirk on her face falter in the slightest. “What do you mean no? I thought you were just begging to be fucked by me.” She knew how to get under your skin, and you hated it.

“I mean, no. I don’t need you touching me every second, you don’t always have to be so goddamn horny, Wanda.” You faked a huff and crossed your arms over your chest. The woman held back her laugh, finding your clear lie funnier than she should.

“Oh, sweetheart, you know that’s not my name. I thought you were smart enough to know this by now, because you need me. You need me to fuck this pussy every second. You need to be dripping with my cum every second. And you need mommy to touch you every fucking second.” Her lip went between her teeth, the muscles in her face clenching as you stared into her reddened and droopy eyes. She was high out of her mind, and you hated to say you loved it.

“Tell me the truth. You want mommy to fuck you, we both know you do.” You tried getting off her lap to no avail. She had a strong hold over you, and not just physically. When you didn’t answer, she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and leaned back into your neck. She grazed her tongue against the skin, watching as goosebumps erupted over your entire body. Her arms stroked your inner thighs reaching close to your covered cunt.

“Tell me, my love. Tell mommy how much you need me.” You couldn’t care to deny it anymore. As much as you wanted to put up a fight, you knew you needed her on you, inside of you.

“I want it so bad, mommy, I really do!” She hummed into you, her teeth biting the shell of your ear.

“Yeah? But I thought you were just telling me you don’t?”

“I’m sorry, mommy, I really am! I-I need it, I do!” Her thigh was covered in your slick as you slid back and forth, the soft skin beneath you quickly becoming an addiction. Your hand placed itself on her bulge, feeling the toy straining and begging to be inside of you. The blunt returned to its spot between her fingertips, taking a long drag before puffing it out in your face. It smelt horrible yet amazing at the same time. Knowing that the smoke came from her made it all the more attractive.

“You want mommy’s dick? You want to be stretched out, baby?” Your nod wasn’t good enough for her, she wanted you to beg. She wanted you to beg her just to even touch you.

“Words, my love, words.” You had trouble forming a sentence. The overwhelming feeling of her soft and plushy thigh beneath you was too much. Your orgasm hit like waves. It was strong, powerful even. You were shocked she didn’t ruin it, she just watched with heavy and hungry eyes.

“Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me. You get me so hard.” She let out a loud moan once she finished speaking. You both knew she couldn’t actually get hard, but she loved pretending she had a real dick. She loved acting as though she could feel you clenching around her because fuck, she wishes she could. She wanted to feel you as you came around her cock.

“My god, you’re so fucking hot, my love.”

“Thank you, mommy.” She laughed in your face, something you didn’t expect. You thought you were done, that she’d let you calm down and sleep. But she couldn’t get enough of you, she needed you so badly.

“You’re welcome, princess, But, I think you owe me another one, don’t you?” You only nodded along, losing grip on reality as you plummeted to the pleasure. You moved your hips upwards and rested yourself above the tip of her length. If you had to guess it was probably close to seven inches, it had to be the largest piece you’ve taken so far. The second the head of her cock entered you, you already felt full.

“Mommy, too big!” Your whines amused the woman who did not care to remove her hands from your hips. She was guiding you to go lower, to be filled to the brim just how she liked.

“Oh, darling, you can take it. You’re my big girl! You take whatever mommy gives you, right?” She was manipulating you, and you thrived off of it. You loved the satisfaction of her forcing you to do what she wanted.

“Yes! Yes, I take what mommy gives me!” She hummed in response, eyes focused on your weeping cunt. You were dripping and she just wanted a taste. As much as she loved weed, you’d always be her favorite taste. You were her favorite little girl.

“Oh, baby! You take my dick so well! And I’m not even helping, such a smart girl you are.” You soaked in her praises, eyes closed and mind fuzzy. You couldn’t think, she was the only thing clouding your mind.

“Thank you, mommy. Thank you for fucking me.” She kissed the side of your face before leaning down and capturing your hard nipples in her mouth. Her tongue played with the bud, a small trail of saliva being left behind as she moved on to the other.

Your hips started grinding desperately, already nearing the edge once more. You knew she’d make you hold it, not letting you cum till you begged her helplessly.

“Princess, does mommy’s little girl need to cum? Are they that dumb and fuzzy and need their mommy?” She didn’t let your small nod be your only answer. She wanted to hear just how much you needed her, how wet you were for her and only her.

“Doll, you know mommy doesn’t like when her girl is ignoring her. Tell me, do you need to cum?” The tone of her voice would never match the cold expressions she’d have painted on her face. The black makeup she wore and leather jackets she’d drape over her shirt. Most of the time, you ended up being the one to wear her coat, she loved seeing you wear it more than anything. But, seeing you wear nothing but her jacket? God, it fucked her in the head. Her mind would short-circuit seeing your tits bouncing under her clothes.

“I-I need to cum, mommy. Please let me cum for you?” The coil in your stomach was closer to snapping than ever before. Feeling her strap deep in your walls had you clenching hard.

“That was weak, darling. C’mon, beg mommy.” No words could explain how embarrassed you were. You knew she loved it, but fuck was it difficult. You could barely even muster out words let alone plead her. But you knew you had to if you wanted the release you were chasing.

“Please, mommy! Please fuck me! I want to cum so bad, want you to breed me. Want you to fuck a baby in me, mommy, please!” She pondered for a moment. As much as she wanted to edge you all night till you were crying and shaking, she wouldn’t be that cruel to her angel. Her sweet thing needed to finish, and she’d let them.

“Do it for me. Fucking cum for your mommy.” She growled out next to your ear, feeling your legs shaking on top of her own. She leaned back to watch as she took another hit of her blunt. She wishes she’d taken a photo along with all of the Polaroids of your nude body she has. It was kept in a shoe box under her bed next to the playboys she’d forgotten about. Every night she missed your precious body and you were asleep on the phone, she’d masturbate to your photos. The ones with cum dripping down your legs. The ones with markings of ‘mommy’s slut’ on your stomach. The ones with hickeys coating your neck and tits. And especially the ones she had taken of your blissed-out face. How she could stare at those all day and still miss you.

“That’s a good girl, so good for me. You did so well, took all of them so damn well.” You mumbled out your appreciation before taking the small blunt out of her hands. You took a small swig to impress her, only receiving a small lip bite in return. She didn’t know how she ended up with the hottest little slut, but she did. And you were all hers. No matter how much the others talked about you, you both knew at the end of the day, she was the one making you cum. She was the one pounding you with her fingers or her strap. You were all hers, and that’s how it would always be. You were her sweet little dove.

811 notes · View notes

loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 5 months

Text

The Babysitter (36)

Surprise Trip

MILF Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 36- W/c 5.4k

Tag list- @natsluttt @cerberus-spectre @dorabledewdroop @bibliophilicbi @hopelesslyfallenninlove @simpform1lfs @get-the-fuck-outta-here @natashaswife4125 @marvelwomen-simp @supercorpstan97 @aliherreraaa @aru-son @the-ox-fan20

Surprise Trip

Closing the door and locking it quietly, a sigh of relief left you as you rested your head against the front door, overjoyed at being back home. To say work dragged would have been an understatement, the eight hour shift felt like a lifetime and you were so glad you were finished for the weekend, eager to spend as much time as possible wrapped up in either a duvet or Wanda's arms.

At the thought of the older woman, a smile crept onto your lips, your body finding enough energy to push yourself off the door and make a beeline for the living room in search of her and the mini Maximoffs. Your feet took you to the intended room, your body pausing at the door as you admired the scene in front of you, the smile on your lips widening at the domestic scene.

Tommy and Billy were wrapped up in the world of video games, elated after having finished school for summer, and now suddenly interested in Minecraft as you had mentioned it a while ago, the two of them playfully bickering on how they should build their house, ultimately disagreeing. You chuckled quietly under your breath as they quickly decided that they would just build two separate houses, a look of fear taking over Billy's face as it started to switch to night time, the sound of a zombie emitting from the Tv. Tommy's face soon switched to a similar look of terror as he saw a creeper following him, ready to explode, causing him to run away as fast as possible, Billy laughing at his brother's reaction.

Your attention was then drawn away from the two boys to Wanda, warmth bubbling in your chest at the mere sight of her. Her feet were tucked underneath her as one of her arms rested on the arm of the chair, her hand supporting her head as the other held a book, her eyes trained on the words as she absentmindedly played with a strand of her hair. Her auburn hair was tied in that messy bun that you loved so much, two strands falling to perfectly frame her face, the green of her eyes containing curiosity as she flipped over the page, gaze briefly switching from the book to check on the boys when she noticed your tired figure hovering by the door frame.

Her face softened at the sight of you, the various shades of green filling with love and tenderness as she effortlessly slipped the bookmark against the page, swiftly closing the book and placing it down on the coffee table as you slowly made your way over to her, the twins still too immersed in their game to notice you.

"Hey Detka," she whispered ever so softly, her arms wrapping around your body as she adjusted her position to let you lean against her, her touch comforting as you melted against her.

"Hey love," you mumble back, the sound muffled as your head rests against the crook of her neck, the warm skin lulling you into a relaxed state as you move your hand to find hers, fingers naturally interlocking with one another.

"How was work?" she softly asks, having a vague idea of what the answer would be. A muffled sigh of annoyance was all she got back to start with, her other hand moving to soothingly scratch at your scalp as she could tell you craved her touch at the moment, the older woman always able to read you so well.

"I hate old people," is all you mutter after a moment of silence making Wanda laugh angelically, her teeth biting down on her lip to stop herself from laughing anymore at your adorably annoyed state.

"I take it that work wasn't good then?" she teases gently, her fingers guiding you away from the safety of her neck, her index finger resting under your chin and tilting your head up to gaze into her enamoured eyes. The look was enough to have your small pout vanish, an inevitable smile appearing on your lips at her amused expression as she waits for you to elaborate.

"No," you mutter, further entertaining her with your displeased tone. You loved working at the Guardian's café as you loved your co-workers, the whole team just so easy to get along with, the only issue with the job was the customers. People were so rude. "This woman wanted to argue with me because apparently the milk in her coffee was too cold," you grumble, Wanda's hand cupping your jaw as you lean against her palm, eyes fluttering close as you remember the annoying woman's face.

"Oh Detka," Wanda coos, attempting to be comforting but she's too busy trying to not laugh at how stupid the scenario sounds.

"It's a hot drink, how could you tell if the milk was cold?" your voice a displeased groan as Wanda's lips meet your forehead, her lips tugging up into a smile as you continue to grumble about the customer, the threat of throwing hands with her cracking Wanda's composure.

Another string of angelic laughter spills from her lips, her head tilting at you in an endearing manner as you offer her an attempted pointed stare, the expression quickly fading into a smile at her loving look. Her fingers delicately brush a few strands of your hair back before returning to resting against your cheeks, thumbs gently brushing against your skin as she feels you slowly relax even more in her hands.

"If you want me to beat someone up for you Detka, just ask," she teases in a whisper before claiming your lips, unable to stop the small laugh that leaves you as you smile into the kiss, amazed at how someone could so easily fix your mood like she did.

Your eyes slowly flutter open after the kiss, meeting her softened green and losing yourself in them as you always did. It was impossible not to, the tender glint in them mesmerised you, the shades of enamoured green enchanted you, and the look of pure love had various emotions bubbling in your chest as if you were falling in love with her all over again.

"Y/n's back!" Tommy says, interrupting the moment you were having with Wanda, the boys having finally noticed you, causing your head to turn to look at them, Wanda's gaze still firmly locked on you.

"Do you want to see our houses?" Billy excitedly asks, looking between you and the screen as he moves his character to find the wooden structure, your smile widening at their enthusiasm as Tommy makes space on his beanbag for you to join him.

"Of course I do," your tone matching their exhilarated ones, your eyes meeting Wanda's once more with an apologetic look before moving to entertain her boys, her eyes unable to be torn away from you as she admired the sight of you with her children.

Wanda didn't know how to describe the emotions she felt whenever she saw you play with her boys in such a caring and genuine manner, her heart melting at every amazed look the twins would offer you, every smile that practically stretched from ear to ear on their faces. It was indescribable the love she felt for you in those moments as she simply sat back against the sofa and watched the three of you chat amongst yourselves, laughter spilling from all of your lips.

After a while, Wanda had to interrupt your playing as it was time for the boys to start getting ready for bed, needing to have a shower each and brush their teeth before being tucked in shortly after. The twins were reluctant to leave their game but as soon as Wanda's signature head tilt and raised brows were seen, they immediately saved the game and started to turn it off, a chuckle leaving you at how effective her motherly stare was. You followed the three of them upstairs as Wanda made sure at least one of them was going into their shared bathroom first, you deciding to have a shower of your own after your long, tiresome day, Wanda encouraging you to spend as long as you wanted in hers as she knew you loved the pressure and temperature of it.

Listening to her, you allowed yourself to relax in the shower as you felt the warm, soothing water hit your skin, trickling down your body and helping you relieve the tension in your muscles from the stress as you lost yourself to random thoughts. Your fingers grazed over one of the new soaps Wanda had gotten, your eyes scanning over the description of it and orange colouring, sparking a random tangent of thoughts about what came first, the colour orange or the fruit before you decided to stick to the vanilla one that was almost finished, loving the smell of it as it just reminded you of Wanda.

Eventually, you turned off the water and swiftly dried yourself off before wrapping a towel around your body, leaving the bathroom in search of some clothes to sleep in. You saw one of Wanda's old t-shirts hidden under a pile of clothes on the dresser after sliding on some underwear and sleep shorts, your fingers deftly slipping it from out of the pile and smiling fondly at the shirt. As you were putting it on, you remembered where you had seen it from, in one of the photos of Wanda during her 'emo' phase when Natalya showed you all the old photo albums, much to Wanda's disapproval.

"Are you stealing another one of my shirts?" Wanda asks as she walks into the room to see you sat on the edge of the bed, your hands holding a towel as you dry your hair.

"No..." you say with a cheeky tone, looking over your shoulder at the older woman who simply playfully shakes her head at you, climbing onto the bed behind you. She slips the towel out of your grasp and motions for you to face forwards, drying your hair for you as you feel her move your hair to the side, allowing her to place a kiss to your neck.

"Yes you are," she mumbles, smiling against your skin as she continues to dry your hair in the tranquil moment, the two of you just savouring the moment together. Your eyes gradually close at the soothing feeling of her hands working wonders against your head, body melting against hers that was pressed up behind you, the towel soon being discarded and quickly replaced with a brush until your hair was free of any knots. The feeling of her lips on your shoulder causes you to open your eyes again, her words gaining your attention. "I have a surprise for you," she whispers vaguely, your head tilting to look at her.

"Oh?" you say suggestively, eyes flickering down to her lips to which causes Wanda to momentarily forget what she was saying, a new idea entering her mind.

"Not that kind of surprise," she murmurs, kissing your forehead delicately in apology as she goes on to explain, "I'm taking you and the boys on a surprise trip tomorrow."

"Where are we going?" you immediately say, excitement evident in your tone as you move positions on the bed, moving to straddle her waist, arms wrapped around her neck loosely, fingers playing with the baby hairs at the back of her neck.

Your eagerness to know makes her chuckle, Wanda pressing another kiss to your lips as she just couldn't resist, her hands settling on your hips, fingers sliding under her shirt that you were wearing to trace random patterns against your skin.

"Did you not hear me just say surprise trip?" she asked humorously, smiling at your toothy grin that was engraved on your face.

"I'll act surprised," you whisper, leaning in for another kiss, ghosting her lips, "Please tell me."

"If I tell you, I wont get to see the look of shock on your face," she teases, making your brows furrow, pulling back from her face to search her eyes for any hints of mischief. When you can see a little, you squint your eyes at her, wanting her to crack but she keeps her calm expression.

"Am I going to like this surprise?" you ask cautiously, watching as she smirks a little before flipping the two of you over, her face hovering over yours as your body remains trapped under hers.

"Potentially," she whispers in response, nose brushing yours softly before she kisses you softly, your brows furrowing even more. "Now come on, it's time for bed as we can't lie in as long," she murmurs as she rolls to lay next to you, her arms pulling your body closer to hers as your face rests on the pillow mere inches from hers, your mind racing with thoughts as you gaze into her eyes, one thought leaving your lips without thinking.

"Wait, we have to get up earlier?" you say, fearful of losing precious time asleep.

"Only a little," she says, fingers still tracing random patterns against your skin, her leg sliding between yours as your limbs tangle together.

"I feel like our definition of 'a little' differs," you mutter, knowing that the older woman loved to wake up earlier than you, her lips pressing against yours to silence you and make you smile.

"Goodnight Detka," she whispers with a smile, your mind still cautious of the surprise as you murmur goodnight as well, nuzzling your face against her chest to help you try and drift off to sleep, eager to know what the surprise entailed.

***

When Wanda had told you she had a surprise trip planned for all of you, you expected a visit to a theme park, water park, a zoo, somewhere... fun. Not here. Never here.

"Wanda," you say, dragging out her name as you curiously look at the place in front of you, a hint of apprehension glimmering in your eyes as you meet the softening green at your expression. "Why are we at a farm?"

A soft chuckle leaves her at your tone, her eyes flickering over to the boys who are already speeding off, knowing where they are.

"We are here because it's a tradition," she says with an amused tone, her arm wrapping around yours as she leads you towards the entrance, Billy and Tommy impatiently waiting for the both of you. "Every summer I bring the boys here to see the animals and play with them, it's just a small family thing we've always done," she explains and you can see the tender look in her eye, a nostalgic look in them as she remembers her parents taking her and Pietro to their local farm in Sokovia when they were younger, the way they'd bond with the animals something Wanda loved.

You couldn't help but smile a bit at her words, feeling slightly honoured that Wanda would bring you along to a family tradition, your eyes wandering around the small but welcoming area as you shut the fence behind you.

"I also remember the three of you talking about horse riding a few weeks ago and thought you could try it today," her tone soft but cautious as she reads your expression, hoping you would be up for it. Your smile immediately widens at how thoughtful she was, your elated expression calming her nerves as you pull her body closer to you, continuing to follow the twins sprint from area to area to look at the various animals littered within the place.

You chuckle at the sight of the twins laughing at the pigs in the mud, one of them rolling around sporadically on its back, eliciting a long string of laughter from Tommy as it snorts at the same time. Billy can't help but pull a face at the smell of them, a smile soon creeping onto his face as another pig joins the other on its back, seemingly playing together by rolling on the ground, coating themselves in a substantial amount of mud.

After having enough of the constant smell and oinking, you all move over to where an array of goats were, one of them making a loud bleating noise as you arrive. The noise seems to stun both of the twins as the white goat with a scraggly beard saunters up to the fence, inspecting you all curiously. Tommy attempts to move closer to the fence to get a better look when suddenly the goat screams, an uncontrollable laugh escaping you at his reaction.

Hiding your face at Wanda's shoulder, you try your best to laugh quietly but you can't seem to stop yourself as Tommy's facial expression and high pitch scream is engraved in your mind, the mix of horror, shock and fear merging on his face into one... unique look and sound. You can feel Wanda slapping you playfully to stop as Tommy grumbles in embarrassment, kicking some of the sticks on the floor as he moves to another animal enclosure, Billy doing a much better job at hiding his amusement than you.

"Behave," Wanda murmurs into your ear as you chuckle once more, brushing the tears of laughter out of your eyes as you follow the ashamed boy, Wanda's eyes softening as she wipes another tear off your cheek, her expression also containing that motherly glint as she was about to comfort Tommy. You press a quick kiss to her palm before she leaves, her smile widening that little bit more at the action before she catches up to the brown haired boy, her hands resting on his back as she crouches next to his annoyed face. You stay behind with Billy who's still admiring the goats from afar, his gaze turning softer at the sight of a young goat hiding with its mother.

You observe his reaction to the baby animal, his smile growing at the cute, little noise it makes, your body standing next to him and admiring the scene with him.

"Did you know that baby goats are called kids?" you say with a humorous tone as you remember all the times your father would correct you after saying 'kids' in reference to children, his usual teasing tone always replying with 'I didn't know we were with baby goats right now' to make you roll your eyes and chuckle.

"Kids?" he says in confusion, processing your words as he stares at the baby goat in thought. When you nod your head, you didn't expect the next question, "You have called me a kid before, were you calling me a goat?" You let out a small chuckle at his innocent and curious tone, your hands going to his shoulders, a mischievous smile on your face.

"No Billy, I've been calling you a baby goat, there's a difference," you tease sarcastically, "You need to have a scraggly beard before I can call you a proper goat," your fingers playfully pinch his chin and tickle him, pretending that there was a beard there to make him laugh. At the sound of his infectious laughter, you can't help but smile with him, pulling his body closer to yours and tickling him even more, the volume of his laughter increasing as you 'torture' the poor boy as he put it.

When you can see his face turning a little red at the action, his body squirming in your grip incessantly, you release him, watching as he runs off to his mother, trying to catch his breath with a large toothy grin on his face. He hides behind her body, leaning his head on her back as he looks over at you with joy swirling in his eyes, still trying to catch his breath as he still quietly laughs, unable to stop. Wanda simply raises her brow at you, Tommy mirroring his mothers action at the strange scene that had unfolded, warmth bubbling in your chest at the sight of them. You noticed in that moment how both of the boys looked so similar to Wanda, Tommy's matching expression and confused stare perfectly resembling his mothers while Billy's playful and shy smile reminded you of the small smirk Wanda would occasionally try to hide when you make a comment she would pretend to ignore.

When you walk back over to them, Wanda's head tilts slightly in a sceptical manner at your smile, your hands sliding around her waist as Billy moves, him and Tommy both grinning at the playful wink you send their way as you prepare to torment Wanda. Your fingers unexpectedly try to tickle her, a surprised yelp leaving her at the sudden strange sensation at her sides, her immediately slipping out of your arms as you can't stay composed and laugh with the twins at the noise that escaped her.

She glares at you momentarily as she watches both boys high five you, her expression fading as she knows exactly how to get revenge on you, eyes also softening at the smiles on both of her children's faces before they run off to look at the cows that have decided to 'moo' extremely loud.

"Oh Detka," she chuckles out lowly as her arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in closer, your eyes widening at the pure mischief in her eyes. "You're going to regret that," she whispers, her mouth moving to your ear, "Paybacks a bitch." Her tone is teasing and low, her lips pressing an innocent kiss to your cheek before she pulls back, turning to walk over to where the twins were, leaving you to swallow nervously, scared of what she had planned for you.

***

After a nervy hour of trying to not fall off a horse, you were finally back on the ground, Wanda watching with an amused smile as you and Billy looked terrified the entire time, Tommy having the time of his life as he pretended to be a cowboy, putting on a southern accent which amused the supervisor who cared for the horses, the man entertaining him by playing along.

Tommy was reluctant to leave the horse when his time was up, a pout on his face as he tried to convince the worker to let him stay on for a couple more minutes, Wanda chuckling at her son's actions as she had to help get him off, the worker offering her an appreciative smile as you and Billy flopped on a bench, thankful to feel something solid and still under you compared to the horse and pony you were on. The two of you watch as Wanda has to practically lift Tommy off the horse with the workers help, the boy high fiving the man who can't help but chuckle at the boy's antics, his small little feet eventually reaching the ground, a slightly annoyed look on his face but his smile still reaching his ears though.

"That was so fun," he exclaims as Wanda directs the three of you to the picnic bench you were going to have lunch on, Wanda having brought lunch with you as there was nowhere close to eat and she knew that the boys, and you, would get hangry soon. Wanda smiles at her son's enthusiasm as you and Billy look at him in disbelief, her hands passing you her phone to show the boys the photos as she quickly retreats to the car to grab the food.

Tommy can't help but laugh wholeheartedly at the photo of both you and Billy looking terrified, his face just about visible in the background, his teeth on show as he smiled constantly, a clear comparison between your reactions. The three of you watch a video of Tommy playing with the worker, both of them pointing finger guns at each other as he gets the horse to stroll around the area, his fake accent audible on the recording. Your smile widens as Billy teases his brother, your attention soon switching to Wanda though who returns with the picnic bag.

You can't help but let your eyes drift across her body, her jeans hugging her hips perfectly as her simple black shirt looks stunning on her, the addition of the sunglasses adding to her look as she brushes her auburn hair back out of her face, her smile radiant. She soon slides onto the bench next to you, swiftly offering the boys their lunch before getting hers out, you taking your own out to let her start with her own food, her lips briefly pressing against your temple making you smile shyly, a blush tainting your cheeks at the love you felt.

Just as you were about to take a bite out of your sandwich, your body freezes at the noise you can hear, your eyes snapping over to Wanda who hides her smile behind her hand, pretending to chew as to not give away her mischievous smirk.

"Wanda," your tone cautious as you turn your head to look at your girlfriend, a soft hum coming from her in response. "Was there an ulterior motive for bringing me to a farm?" you ask sceptically, thinking back to your first date with her when you told her the infamous chicken story, the connections only just clicking in your mind. When you can hear another chorus of clucking, Wanda wraps her arms around you, noticing how you tense up.

"Maybe..." she says, a hint of an apologetic tone hidden somewhere in her voice, her smile and gentle features calming you a little. "I wanted to try and get you over your phobia of chickens," she explains, her fingers interlocking with yours as you cautiously look back at the creatures slowly creeping closer towards the four of you.

"I don't have a phobia of chickens," you grumble, "I just try to avoid them." Wanda softly laughs at your explanation, shaking her head gently before pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, unable to stop the smile present on her lips as you shuffle closer to her.

"Come on Detka, you're meant to be the psychology student here," she teases, acting as a place of safety as you lean against her body for comfort. "That sounds like negative reinforcement to me," she says and you don't know whether you should be impressed at her knowledge or annoyed as she get revenge for earlier.

"You do know that the 'flooding' method of removing phobias is highly unethical without informed consent," you mutter, turning your head to look at her with an annoyed look, the action of her lips instantly pressing to your forehead removing the expression.

"I'll make it up to you," is all she says, knowing you understand what she means as she flickers her gaze to your lips, the thoughts of all the chickens swiftly leaving your mind.

"All night long," you add, her brows rising at your demand, her head nodding subtly as you seem to calm down, the boys who were in their own world and not hearing most of the conversation suddenly turning to you and their mother with an array of questions to distract you both.

Eventually, you have all finished your lunches and ready to start heading home, a sigh of relief leaving you as no chickens have chased you yet, your eyes on the boys who decided to go closer to the, in your eyes, devil like creatures. Wanda and yourself but can't help but watch the boys gently and carefully try to interact with the animals, a smile on both of your faces as the older woman turns her head to look at you, eyes widening at what was behind you.

"You little mother fu-" you yell at the chicken that pecked your ankle, Wanda unable to warn you in time as you jog away from the 'bloodthirsty' animal to her, her arms enveloping you in a hug as the chicken attempts to chase you, Wanda moving her body in the way to frighten it off. "See, this is why I hate them," you grumble, Wanda unable to stop the soft laughter that escapes her at your state, her hands snaking around your waist and pulling you closer, showing a silent form of comfort as the whole situation to her was rather humorous.

"Oh Detka," she coos when she pulls herself together, the boys chuckling to themselves until they see Wanda's face, signalling for them to quieten down. "I'm sorry," she apologies sincerely, her fingers moving to cup your cheeks as your face signals your annoyance. You simply move your face to hide at the crook of her neck, not wanting to be mad at Wanda as it wasn't her fault. Yes, arguably you could be annoyed with her for bringing you to a farm, knowing you were scared of chickens, but the rest of the day had been perfect so you couldn't stay mad at her, no matter how annoyed you were right now. Plus, she technically wasn't the one to peck you.

"It's ok," you murmur after a moment, eventually pulling away from the safety of her warm skin, your eyes meeting her mesmerising green as she moved her sunglasses to rest on the top of her head, the various shades of green soothing your nerves. "I'm going to eat so much chicken for dinner in revenge," you mutter, making the older woman angelically laugh, her smile growing as your usual, amusing self returned. "In fact, I think we should have a McDonalds for dinner," your tone is frivolous, curious to see how the older woman would react.

"We have food at home Detka," she says and you can't help but laugh at her typical motherly response, the twins on your side and offering her their best 'puppy eyes' they could muster to help persuade their mother into agreeing with you. Upon seeing all of your pleading faces, she sighs and gives in, "Fine." Shaking her head at all of your antics, the three of you cheer before starting to move towards the car, Wanda's arm interlocked with yours as you pass the last of the chickens, your eyes glaring daggers at them.

"You're such a bad influence," she mutters while you climb into her red vehicle, a smile on your face at her tone, the annoyance of the stupid chicken haven faded completely.

"Maybe I am," you tease, buckling your seatbelt as the twins in the back do the same, "But you still love me." Wanda rolls her eyes at your playful tone, her fingers guiding your face closer to hers, her hand reaching back to cover the boys view, knowing they would groan at the sight of affection. Her lips meet yours softly, the two of them still groaning jokingly despite not being able to see, making the two of you smile into the kiss even more.

"I'll always love you," she whispers before pulling back properly, turning around to look at Tommy who was dramatically covering his eyes, Billy sheepishly looking out of the window at the motherly stare aimed towards them.

"Ewww," Tommy says once more, unaware that you had stopped kissing, a soft chuckle leaving you at his reaction, Billy lightly hitting his brother to shut him up.

"I guess Tommy doesn't want anything from McDonalds then," Wanda teases, the boy's eyes shooting wide open, shock and disbelief on his face.

"Wait, no, I do," he rushes out, making the rest of you laugh, Wanda turning back around to get the car ready to drive, a smile plastered on her face, merely humming in response to her son.

"To McDonalds we go," you say to cheer the boy up, his smile instantly returning at your mood and energetic tone, Wanda's eyes flickering over to you, nothing but love in them as she gets ready for the eventful evening with you all, knowing there was nowhere else she'd rather be than with you.

185 notes · View notes

novacorpsrecruit · 3 months

Text

I’m With You

@steddielovemonth prompt: love is protection

wc: 1,061 | Rating T | cw: brief homophobia, fighting, wild Tommy Hagan appearance

Steve didn’t know he was in love until it happened.

After the events of Vecna, Eddie’s near death experience and Steve’s matching infected bat bites, the two grew closer. They shared a hospital room, pumped full of morphine and antibiotics as they healed.

Eddie’s name was cleared, thanks to the shady government, but Eddie wasn’t sure if that was enough. Most of Hawkins had already looked at him funny. He wasn’t sure if the cover story of almost dying by the hands of Victor Creel like Chrissy, Freddie, Patrick and Jason would be enough to save his name. Steve’s told him plenty of times to not to worry about other people. If anyone bothers Eddie, Steve will protect him.

They made plans, lying in the hospital beds covered in bandages to move out of Hawkins before the end of the year.

And maybe morphine promises are all what they’re worth.

Two months have gone by, summer coming in full force. The two were near inseparable. Spending late nights in Eddie’s new trailer or in the Harrington home. Sharing a bed, maybe a little too close for just friends. Waking up to share breakfast or maybe lunch. Dinners with Wayne. Nights at the drive in. Steve wouldn’t trade this friendship for the world.

Steve was back working at Family Video, picking up extra shifts to get a little extra money stuffed away for their escape. They talked about moving out of Hawkins sooner. Eddie’s had a hard time finding work after graduating. Not many people wanted to be associated with him. He was lucky that he didn’t cause Wayne to be fired.

So often, he spends his time with Steve at work. Steve didn’t mind at all. It made the day go faster. He brightened up every time Eddie walks in, ready to bug Steve and Robin. Plus, if anyone gave Eddie any shit, Steve would be right there to help him.

Robin told him he’s hopeless. Steve didn’t quite understand that.

Not until now.

They were around the corner, taking their smoke break. They passed a single cigarette, something they do now, while they shoot the shit. Talking about nothing felt like talking about everything. Sometimes about the latest campaign Eddie’s planned. Or if they should look into a place at Indy or a place in Chicago. Or what they were going to do when Steve closed up for the night.”

“Gareth’s brother’s got a place in Chicago,” Eddie said, exhaling smoke. “He said we could stay with him for a few weeks while we look for a place.

“We could get jobs there,” Steve offered. “Earn a little more to get a place.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “You want to do it?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, taking the cigarette from Eddie’s hands and putting it to his lips. “Let’s do it.”

Eddie’s smile, big and wide with excitement, faded quickly as his eyes darted to the side. They weren’t alone.

“Harrington,” a familiar voice sneered. Steve turned to glare at Tommy, back from college. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“At my place of employment?” Steve deadpanned.

“With him,” Tommy corrected. “I figured you’d still be chasing after Wheeler.”

Something in Tommy’s tone boiled Steve’s blood. “I’m on break, Tommy,” Steve said, inhaling on the cigarette, letting the smoke fall from his lips. “Go inside if you want something.”

“I want to know why you’re with him,” Tommy said, venom on his tongue. He took a step forward, into Steve’s space. “You’ve heard the rumors.”

“Steve,” Eddie said. “Let’s go inside.”

“Eddie was a victim of Creel,” Steve said, not stepping down from Tommy. “He didn’t do shit.”

“Not those rumors,” Tommy said. “The ones from school. Five dollar handy, ten for a blowjob, twenty for a — you get the picture.”

“Shut the hell up, Hagan,” Steve warned.

“How much you paying him?” Tommy asked, gesturing to Eddie. Then, something clicked in Tommy’s head as a smirk grew across his face. “I heard your dad cut you off. You making money from him?” Tommy shoved Steve’s shoulders, pushing him back against the wall. Hard. Steve felt his head hit the back of the brick building. Steve let out a gasp in pain. “You sucking his —“

Eddie had lunged forward, swinging his fist across Tommy’s face. His rings dug into his cheek, breaking skin. Tommy stumbled back. Eddie swung again. Tommy fell to the ground.

“Touch him again, Hagan,” Eddie spat. “I dare you.”

Tommy tried to stand up, Eddie shoved him back down. He wasn’t done.

“You lost him, Hagan,” Eddie snapped. “He’s never gonna like you like that. Go fuck yourself.”

Then, there were gentle hands on Steve.

“C’mon,” Eddie said softly, picking Steve up off the ground … When did he fall? The world felt like it was spinning and his only grounding touch was Eddie’s hand on his arm, guiding him in through the back door. A gentle hand came to the back of his head, with a slight hiss. “Shit.”

Steve was sat down at the breakroom, while Eddie grabbed paper towels from the bathroom. He pressed it against the back of Steve’s head, a slight sting was all Steve needed to know that Tommy broke skin.

“You with me, Stevie?” Eddie asked gently, kneeling down next to Eddie. His big brown eyes looking up at him with a look that made Steve feel whole.

“I’m with you,” Steve nodded, feeling Eddie keep pressure on the back of his head. “You’re with me.”

“I’m with you,” Eddie repeated gently. He brought his free hand to gently squeeze Steve’s thigh. “I’m with you for as long as you’ll let me.”

Then it hit him.

Steve loved Eddie.

He wanted to do everything he could do to protect Eddie. Fight off those who still believed in the rumors surrounding spring break, those who bullied him for being different, for being himself. Hell, Steve would fight a demogorgon for Eddie. He carried him through hell and back.

Eddie stood up for him. Eddie protected him from Tommy. Eddie fought back and won.

Maybe Eddie loved him, too.

Steve let himself fall into a carefree smile. He leaned his head, ever so gently until his and Eddie’s foreheads met. “For the record,” Steve said softly. “I’m never letting go.”

Eddie broke out into a grin. “That’s what I hoped for.”

#steddie #steddie ficlet #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #//myfics #steddielovemonth #I love the idea of Steve fighting for Eddie but I feel like Eddie should be allowed to throw a punch or two

112 notes · View notes

skepsiss · 7 months

Text

Tooth and Nail -pt1- Steddie

You asked for it @strangersteddierthings it uhh...... hurts a lot at the end. Probably have to do a part 2... or more.

Uuhh, it's kinda sad guys. Prompt was to write something where Eddie is the one that is in denial about his queer-ness and Steve is the one who makes him question his sexual identity. Full request here.

14A ish rating. TW: Miscommunication, denial, mild homophobia, suggestion of past trauma (child abuse), use of drugs (weed), mild physical aggression, the f-slur (not spoken to anyone), self-hatred.

PT1 PT2 PT3

---

Eddie Munson was a freak. He’d been labeled as such since he was a little boy with a teen mom who ended up marrying the asshole who got her pregnant. He was a freak when his mother left and a freak when his father went to jail; how no boy who lived that kind of life was normal by any stretch of the word.

It only got worse from there as he got older. A freak for being poor, a freak for having long hair, being a nerd, a metalhead, trailer-trash, drop out–the list went on and on. Eddie had also gotten good at being a freak. He got good at wearing it like armor so people were scared of him instead of just judgemental. He wanted those insults said to his face, not whispered behind his back and no way in hell was he going to take it lying down. It didn’t make things easy, but it was how you coped.

So, why? Why would he give himself another reason to be labeled a freak?

Eddie would fight tooth and nail for any freak or weirdo he managed to befriend. It didn’t matter if you were fat, ugly, smart, dorky, a boy or a girl. It didn’t matter what blend or flavour you happened to be–even if Eddie was partial to the nerds and musicians–you were family as soon as you walked into Hawkins High. Once you were a freak you stayed a freak and it came with Eddie Munson as a perk.

As long as he lived. As long as he was in Hawkins.

It wasn’t surprising to Eddie when he found out Will Byers was gay. He had seen it on him as soon as the boy’s missing poster went up and the subsequent reunion happened. He had never really gotten to know Jonathan–he was a weirdo, but not one that apparently liked Eddie’s flavour–but he, much like the rest of Hawkins, had breathed a sigh of relief was Will was delivered home. It was under weird circumstances and Eddie didn’t know much about middle schoolers, but he knew a freak when he saw one. Will was a nerd and he was gay which meant he was premo-meat to be fried by the masses.

If they were in school, if Will came back to Hawkins and Eddie was there he would have fought for him. It didn’t matter if he was gay because freaks and weirdos stuck together no matter the flavour. So when he found out Robin was gay he felt much the same. He didn’t have anything against queer folk and honestly, he saw them as being in a similar boat as him. He’d embrace someone who was gay way before he’d embrace someone who was Christian–even though he was neither of those things.

Eddie had no love for the church and apparently, all the ‘f-words’ were all damned to hell so they might as well make it a party. Seemed like all the interesting people were hell-bound.

Their little collective. Family. A regular bunch of Addams.

So, why would he give himself another reason to be labeled a freak?

Eddie had been called everything under the sun as far as insults went. He was no stranger to ’bigot’ or ’devil’, ’sinner’ or ’faggot’. You learned not to react or give them a reason to keep poking. You learned not to take it seriously or let it chink your armor. None of it had to be true and denying it wouldn’t help, you just learned to _ignore_ it and tell yourself that they didn’t know you and their insults didn’t mean anything. Surround yourself with people that either love you or respect you and you’re golden. Listen to them, take their opinions, be yourself, and embrace your flavour.

When Steve came out as queer though, Eddie had no clue what to do. The idea that he would claim that label was beyond Eddie’s understanding especially since he hadn’t seen that confession coming from Steve of all people. He was a weirdo by proxy but… No, the thing that really bothered Eddie about that was his reaction. When he found out Robin and Will were as gay as they came he had gone out of his way to make sure they knew he didn’t have a problem with it. He made sure they felt like they were family and if everyone else ditched Eddie wouldn’t.

Tooth and nail. Tooth and nail.

But when Steve came out? Eddie had been shocked, for one thing, and secondly, he had felt his stomach drop out. Panic had flooded him and he was thankful that he wasn’t the only one in the room when it was said.

He had put an arm around Will and jostled him affectionately. He had cracked a joke and smiled at Robin before privately telling her that if she needed anything he was there. He had felt those reactions so naturally almost as if Will and Robin were just telling them all what college they’d be going to. Cool, doesn’t change a thing. Let me know if you need any help with stuff. Easy. Steve though? Steve…

While everyone else in their casual setting seemed to be nodding or not making a fuss–most of them used to this kind of thing by now–Eddie sat there petrified. What did he say? What did he do? Steve wasn’t some kid Eddie could rib and force into an affectionate headlock. He wasn’t a chick he could pretend to posture for so she felt like he had her back. He was… Steve.

Eddie had left that night feeling out of sorts. He hadn’t spoken to Steve and his subdued interaction was pointed out by anyone, but Eddie hadn’t left their little gathering feeling subdued at all. Outwardly maybe, but internally his mind had been locked in place over Steve saying I think I’m bisexual.

Okay… so what? Same as anyone else, right? Queer, whatever–certified freak, cool–so why was he twisted up about it?

Eddie had been spending a lot of time with Steve over the last few months and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he actually liked his company. Steve was sarcastic and charming and a little bit of a bitch but it just made joking around with him easier. Once they had bridged the gap between ‘nerd shit’ and ‘jock shit’ it became easy to spend time with Steve. Eddie had watched Steve relax around him which literally looked like his body relaxing. You wouldn’t know it right away, but Steve was tense when he wasn’t comfortable around you: arms crossed, brows pinched, shoulders tight, jaw locked, and stance controlled. All of that fell away once he settled down and it was easy to be around him then. Eddie had actually enjoyed seeing the process of Steve relaxing around him as they played the NES with Dustin or sat outside and shared a joint without the rest of the goodies-goodies knowing.

He enjoyed Steve’s company, so what was he worried about? Was he scared Steve would come onto him? That was presumptuous of him and probably rude. He wasn’t scared of Will getting a crush on him or any other obviously gay guy he had seen at shows and bars. He’d even turned guys down which always seemed to embarrass them a bit and Eddie hated that he saw a flash of fear in their eyes when he told them he was straight. He always made sure to end the conversation with It’s cool, man. Don’t worry about it and then smile to show he meant no harm.

He liked queer folk. They were family. Why was Steve different?

Eddie’s brain was stuck in fast-forward all night once he got home. He hated it when his brain did that to him. Every image flashed through his brain at supersonic speed and he couldn’t focus on anything. It was exhausting and frustrating and it literally felt like his mind was racing. The only thing that helped was imagining the sprawling darkness of space and slowly… very slowly… adding little pinpricks of light to the image. He had to force himself to slow down and from the outside, he knew it looked like he wasn’t doing anything. It looked like he was being lazy, but in reality, all the energy he usually exuded had just become internalized.

He’d tell Steve it was fine. He’d made sure Steve knew he always had his support. That was what he was supposed to do. That was what he did for everyone else.

But when it happened–when he got his chance to have an aside with Steve–his gut had pulled and his tongue had gotten caught between his teeth. It happened the second time he tried too, and the third, and the fourth–each time he tried to talk to Steve one-on-one he clammed up. It was maddening really and Eddie had started to notice that Steve was suspicious of him–and not in a good way.

The fifth time was different. The fifth time was worse.

They had all been celebrating Max’s return home and as the kids got loud and the sun set it felt like one of those nights where Eddie just didn’t have the energy to be around this many people. He loved socializing–he loved the party–but sometimes it just became too much he could feel his mind drifting away from the scene.

Eddie had started his drift before looking up and catching Steve’s eye across the room. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and as he flicked his gaze up he slowly raised his hand to his mouth and mimed smoking. It didn’t take a genius to know what that meant and Eddie raised his brow in agreement before slinking away.

“I don’t have any on me,” Eddie explained as they stepped out into the dark, “but I’ve got some at home.”

His trailer was only a stone’s throw away from Max’s place so it wasn’t really a big deal. Weed sounded like a good idea too; he could smoke and bring him back to earth and maybe it would settle his nerves enough to properly talk to Steve. He _wanted_ to talk to Steve.

“We going to smoke here?” Steve asked as he followed Eddie inside the trailer. Wayne was out and Eddie didn’t have any qualms about Steve coming over to his place.

“Sure, might as well so the impressionable young children,” Eddie mocked, using a stuffy, posh voice, “don’t get tempted by our bad influence.”

He snickered as he touched his own chest, extending his hand skyward and acting as if he were delivering a Shakespearean speech.

“Ms. Languard, is that you?” Steve mocked back, shoving Eddie’s shoulder so he’d continue his walk towards his bedroom.

Eddie laughed again and stumbled down the hall, glad that they could at least joke around with each other still. Yeah, he’d smoke and then he’d properly let Steve know that being queer was cool with him and that they were blood-bonded for life already having survived a demonic war together. Steve would call him dramatic and they’d laugh over it and then things could go back to normal.

Eddie had found one of his baggies of weed after tossing the laundry on his floor about the room for a few minutes before finally getting his stuff together so he could roll them a joint. The buds had been bitter and Eddie had jokingly apologized before hanging the blunt over to Steve to smoke. He had coughed and gagged at the flavour and Eddie had called him a pussy in good humour. Normal. They were acting normal.

As the weed seeped in they got quieter though and Eddie felt himself drifting again as he sat on the foot of his bed. Steve was standing by the window so he could blow the smoke outside even though Eddie didn’t care about the smell. It was polite and Eddie could appreciate that at least.

“You okay?” Steve asked as Eddie caught himself staring blankly at the ground, knees tucked up to his chest.

“Oh–yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just thinking,” he admitted, blinking hard and then smiling at Steve. They shared a chuckle and Steve took a step forward to hand the joint over.

“Thinking about anything interesting?” He asked, carefully turning the blunt in his fingers so Eddie could grab it.

“Yeah, I guess so…” Eddie mumbled, taking a moment before finally putting his feet back on the floor and taking the smoke from Steve.

“You gunna share with the class?” Steve asked and Eddie giggled again at that, the joke was not that funny but the weed was getting to him.

It took another moment as Eddie smoked, his attention drifting a bit before he finally answered.

“I was thinking about what you said the other week,” Eddie admitted, trying to let the hold his anxieties had on him fade away. He could just let those fears slip through his fingers and he’d finally be able to say what he had been meaning to say for weeks now. Weed was good for that.

“The other week…” Eddie continued, and he stood slowly to pass the joint. Steve was staring at him with bemusement and confusion, obviously trying to follow along with what Eddie was saying. Eddie could feel that blanket of anxiety that had been wrapped around him slowly lifting. He didn’t have to think about anything, just say what he meant to say and then they’d be back to normal.

“The other week when you uh, when you told everyone you were gay,” Eddie explained, nodding which got a pinched expression from Steve.

“Bisexual–bi,” he corrected, taking the blunt from Eddie and smoking it.

“Yeah, that,” Eddie answered, “it got me thinking about stuff…”

Eddie could feel himself getting distracted as his mind lost its grasp on the words he had been trying to deliver. He understood what he wanted to say–in sentiment–but he was having a hard time forming the words to go along with it. His attention kept on bending and then refocusing on other things that weren’t important. How his hair was tickling his ears a bit, and how bitter the weed tasted on the back of his tongue, and then to his room and how it was probably embarrassing to have Steve here when it was such a mess–he had to refocus on Steve.

“Uh, you, Steve,” Eddie tried, lifting his hand and poking Steve hard in the chest. He just had to drift his brain over to thinking about Steve.

“Yeah… me?” Steve replied, breathing a small laugh.

Eddie smiled, wondering for a moment if he was acting silly and if he was amusing Steve. He liked it when they joked and he had been missing that the last few days. He missed spending time with Steve. He wanted to tell him he accepted him. He wanted to tell Steve he’d always be there. He wanted to put him in a headlock, rib him, posture a little… see him relax… He wanted to see Steve’s posture change, his brows soften, and his mouth unpinch. And then everything would be normal. How they’d just go back to being freaks together.

Yeah, no more anxieties about all this, it was just Steve. It was just Steve.

“Eddie?” Steve asked and Eddie only vaguely registered that he was touching Steve’s face. He looked confused, but he was smiling, and all Eddie could think about was how beautiful his smile was.

The next thing Eddie knew he was stepping forward as if in a slow dance and pushing Steve back towards the wall he had been leaning on. Steve didn’t fight him, but Eddie didn’t have the presence of mind to question what that meant. He was just moving them across the room so he could press flush against Steve and kiss him. The action had been so gentle Eddie had felt like he was dreaming through the whole thing like it wasn’t really him doing it. Steve shuttered under him and Eddie pulled back just far enough so he could see Steve’s expression. His eyes were closed and his brows were pinched together as if something painful had just happened.

They had kissed and Steve was in pain? They had kissed, why would Steve be in pain? They had kissed.

Eddie let go abruptly and stumbled backward as his anxieties plowed back into him.

“Sorry!” He said quickly, sticking his hands up in front of himself.

Steve didn’t move from the wall and as he opened his eyes slowly and a pang of guilt shot through Eddie. He stumbled back again as his knees hit the edge of the bed forcing him to sit down.

“Sorry, sorry–” Eddie offered, laughing now as his fear bubbled up. Why the hell had he done that? What the fuck was he doing?

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean anything by it, I uh, was just curious.”

That was the reason, right? There probably wasn’t another reason that made sense. He had been high and his brain had just filtered through the possibilities and for some reason, it had settled on a kiss. Fucking weird, but he had never claimed to be normal.

“Curious?” Steve said back slowly as he came out of what seemed like a daze, “you were… curious?”

Eddie felt his throat getting tight and he was desperately trying to swallow the lump that was forming there.

“I was just joking around,” he offered a weak smile and Steve just stared at him. Eddie watched as his expression changed from dazzled confusion to anger.

“What the fuck, man?” Steve bit out sounding insulted. He didn’t sound as angry as Eddie thought, but he did sound upset.

“Sorry, I dunno man, I’m high,” Eddie blurted, speaking to the first excuse that came to mind.

Steve just stared at him before shaking his head in disbelief. His frustration looked like it was building and that in turn was making Eddie shrink back.

“You’re unbelievable…” Steve muttered to himself, as he slowly turned to face his back to Eddie, his hands going to his hip, “unbelievable… what the fuck?”

“Sorry–” Eddie tried once more getting cut off this time as Steve snapped at him.

“Stop apologizing, okay?” He said slicing the air with his hand before settling back down and putting his hand back on his waist.

Eddie shut up and stared as he watched Steve’s shoulder bunch and his posture shift from relaxed to tense.

“Joking around… joking around?” Steve asked, his tone accusatory even though it was level. Eddie just gaped at him, not sure what to say if he wasn’t supposed to apologize anymore. The question seemed like it had been rhetorical anyway.

Eddie watched as Steve touched his own lips, squeezing them sharply as if he were thinking and trying to pull the sensation away from his mouth at the same time.

“So, you were just curious to know–what? What it’s like to kiss a guy? To know if you like guys?” He asked, turning to look at Eddie again but not changing his posture at all.

“I don’t like guys, I’m straight,” Eddie said sharply, his stomach tightening, “I was just…”

Steve’s lip started to curl and Eddie shrunk back further, feeling guilty and embarrassed and ashamed in a way he didn’t know how to communicate. In a way he didn’t want to communicate.

“Just… joking around?” Steve repeated back, his dipping so his delivery lacked emotion. That had stung. That hurt more than Eddie thought it would.

Steve shook his head and raised the joint back to his lips to take a hit.

“Yeah, real funny,” he started to say as he tossed the blunt at Eddie, “a regular riot. Just kiss your buddy Steve. It’s soooo fucking funny that he likes guys.”

Eddie could see that Steve’s cheeks were flushing as his voice hitched slightly. He was keeping it together but his expression was that of a man who had just been betrayed. He looked hurt. It looked like he had just bore his soul and Eddie had laughed in his face. Like he had been cruel for no other reason than to hurt him.

“Steve–” Eddie started, standing up, not sure what to do.

“You’re sorry, I get it,” Steve replied, stepping towards the door and starting to walk away.

“I didn’t mean it like that–” Eddie tried, hurrying after him and grabbing Steve’s shoulder to stop him from leaving. Steve tried to brush him off, but Eddie was determined to hold on.

Steve moved quickly then and it caught Eddie off guard as he grabbed his wrist and whipped around. Steve shoved hard and Eddie stumbled backward until he hit the wall, Steve’s forearm across his chest.

“Don’t–” Steve bit out, sticking his finger aggressively in Eddie’s face, “--fucking touch me.”

His tone was incredibly level but it was obvious that he was holding back real anger. It was easy to forget sometimes that Steve was an athlete. That he could run circles around everyone in the crew and was easily the strongest amongst them under the age of twenty-five. He had survived Russian torture and Eddie had witnessed him using that strength to help the party. Steve was resilient and he was strong… even if he rarely threw a punch.

Eddie was too shocked to react properly and before he knew it Steve had let go of him and stormed out of the trailer. Fear rang Eddie like a bell as he stood there and listened as a car engine turned on and the sound of tires of gravel filtered through the open screendoor. He was shaking, he was sure, his body reacting to old memories and mortified by what had just transpired.

“Fuck…” Eddie mumbled, his throat tight and his lips feeling as if they were glued together.

“Fuck–” he repeated, heaving as he raised his hands to his face and pressed his wrists into his eyes.

“Fuck!” Eddie shouted feeling the tears build as he let his knees buckle under him. He slid down the wall and crumpled, hands still pressed into his eyes as he started to sob openly. He was soothing the memories of that scared child but he was also mourning Steve. It felt bad. Everything felt bad.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eddie muttered to himself through his tears, his voice thick with phlegm, “what the fuck was that? Why did you do that? You fucking… asshole!”

He was bullying himself, he knew it, but he couldn’t help how upset he was. He was mad at himself for doing something unbelievably stupid and he was frustrated that he was reacting this way to it. But he couldn’t help that it felt like his heart was about to give out as he gasped in breath and his stomach filled with air. He was practically gulping as he forced himself to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom. It was like he was a little kid again. But that wasn’t fair–he didn’t get to act this way. He had been the one that had hurt Steve.

“Fuck,” he gagged, leaning over the sink and turning the tap on. A morbid part of him needed to look and see the fear and sorrow on his face so he looked up at the mirror and cringed at his own appearance. His face was red and tears wouldn’t stop flowing from his eyes. His upper lip had gathered snot and his mouth was turned grotesquely into an open frown.

“Stop it,” he swallowed, gritting his teeth as he stared at himself, “you don’t get to do that.”

Eddie gulped in another breath and stood up straight. He closed his eyes and forced his frustration inwards, forcing himself to just get over it.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” he mumbled, breathing out slowly as he tried to calm down, “stop it!” He flipped the switch from upset into anger, tears still running down his face but no longer hyperventilating.

“What the fuck was that?” he repeated, dropping his gaze to look at himself in the mirror again, “you–you… you fucking creep. Asshole. What the hell? You’re fucking straight. How the hell are you going to fix this, asshole? Why would you give yourself another reason to be labeled a freak?”

The words stung and Eddie swallowed hard, looking away from the mirror finally. He was calming down even if he didn’t feel better, pushing those emotions inside to deal with later. It was too raw right now, it was too much, he couldn’t do this right now.

Eddie let out a breath through gritted teeth and then moved back to the sink. He turned the water on full blast and then started yanking his rings off. He didn’t care where they fell, but once his hands were bare he cupped them under the water and splashed the cold liquid into his face. He gasped at the sensation and did it again, did it until he had washed all the snot and tears from his face, and then turned the faucet off.

Eddie hung his head over the sink for a long moment, breathing through his mouth as the water streamed off his face. He settled slowly and sucked in one last hard breath and then dried his face off.

“Fucking hell man…” Eddie said quietly, sounding more exasperated than anything now.

He frowned deeply as he walked back into his bedroom. The joint they had been smoking was on the floor at the foot of his bed and it had started to singe a hole into the carpet. Eddie tisked and picked it up before stamping on the burn mark a few times to make sure it didn’t spread.

How the hell was he going to fix this?

Pt2

#my_writing #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #BIG SAD VIBES #I do not endorse the way Eddie deals with his emotions at all #I do not endorse Steve getting kind of physical with Eddie #I get it and I know why both of them do that but it's still bad #understandable but bad #ANYWAAAYYYYSSSSSS ask me to write things

237 notes · View notes

wmarximoff · 2 years

Text

(she will always be) a broken girl | w. maximoff

summary: life away from home is good, and you're studying at the college of your dreams; however, your new neighbor is loud, irritating and a person who doesn't respect boundaries. and, also, is your ex-girlfriend from high school, Wanda Maximoff.

warnings: lots of cursing, smoking, drinking, very brief mentions of smut, mentions of physical parental abuse, mentions of homophobia, angst, fluff.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 14k

A/N: and I'm back guys! I hope you guys like this, because I certainly enjoyed writing it!

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

There's a thump on the wall behind your head, followed closely by a strident, full-bodied laugh and yet another dry bump, like a deferred hammer blow to a wet rag.

And then an eager conversation that goes back and forth around your head, which turns into lively, intelligible buzzes when muffled by a thin wall, which gives way to another round of drunken giggling like two intoxicated hyenas, as if the competition on the other side of the plaster, pipes and bricks were who could laugh the most without losing their breath first.

You open your eyes, but maybe you just haven't closed them quite yet. Your eyeballs sting as if carpeted by a thin dusty layer of sand that crinkles behind your eyelids, crying out for the sleep that never came, staring up at the white ceiling lit by the bluish luminosity coming from a streetlight outside.

Rolling lethargically to one side in your sheets, half grunting as you do so, your actions are shrouded in a thick veil of torpor; your tired left fingers grope vaguely on the pale wood dresser set beside your bed, and it is after considerable effort all blindly made in the helplessness of your dark room that you finally find the frozen plastic of your phone, that is plugged into the charger socket.

The white glow burns your retinas for half a second when you press the side button with the cheek of your thumb and unlock the screen half a foot away from the tip of your nose. Large digitized thin numbers show the time of 01:19 am. And you wonder who’s the goddamn bastard who would be making so much noise at 1:19 am on a full Monday, as if they were going to demolish the damn wall above your head.

Or a late Tuesday morning, in fact, your drunken brain kind of thinks so. But whatever, nobody cares.

You just know that you need a good night's sleep, and that your muscles are crying out for the much-needed relaxation found in the soft sheets of your bed, something that in the last week has seemed so difficult to achieve even while still inside your own home, your own apartment.

Life was placid, peaceful even, calm in the most acute sense of the word until it found its so fateful epilogue at the beginning of the last week. With the beginning of the college semester came the moving of your new next door neighbor (on the left), from who you don't even know what their face looks like, but who you sure know likes to enjoy life as if every day is the last one. Your healthy sleep has sickened and died on this neighbor's doorstep, so it's likely that each day will indeed be your last as long as your door is next to them.

And it's even odd for you, because your routine has been pretty much the same since you left the bliss of the small Westview, New Jersey (population 6,685), your birthplace and home, to go to college in the big city as soon as you got your high school diploma by shaking the headmistress' hand, three years ago or so.

Your day consists of working in the morning at a coffeeshop that has accepted your meager résumé as a recent high-school graduate and pays just enough to keep you from freezing or starving to death, a handful of classes to pay attention to in the afternoon, and overnight, after a few more hours of work, feed Loki, your grumpy black cat, and study for some upcoming test after having dinner on cereal with milk or instant noodles and drinking a bottle of cheap beer just because you can.

Sleep and repeat, one day after another.

But then it came, as the prelude to the descents of your peacetime; the thunderous beats and the guttural laughs, the intoxicating reek of smoked cigarettes one after the other, and the loud tunes of some distorted heavy guitar in an alternative rock song, engaged in a melodic voice that moans pro-sex and anti-system obscenities (and that actually, you kind of agree with that part).

But that mysterious person behind the wall is like a specter, a ethereal ghost, a foreboding sign that comes to haunt only at night, to torment and keep you from laying your head to rest against your pillow. And you know things aren't quite right with you because yesterday you burned the skin of your own hand by falling asleep propped up on the machine in the process of brewing a big, double espresso for a mean-looking man in a suit.

It's when the sound starts (and gets louder, and gets even louder after that, almost in the form of a rant) that you decide it's enough – the wall swelling with the sounds coming from behind it. Something in you comes undone in a bust, like a pulled thread that snaps in half from the tension at both ends, and the sleepless nights of the last week simply become too much to bear.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me..."

With your right hand you pull your covers to the side, and your bare feet nearly trample a sleeping Loki who's lying beside your bed like a pillow you accidentally dropped, and then you stand up, stretching your legs.

The cat meows in obvious displeasure when being woken up, straining with his front paws, but you just poke him in the side with the tip of your big toe.

“Sorry buddy, but I really need some sleep and this asshole next door isn't helping much.”

Your knees are bare, and your shoulders are tense as you step out of your tiny room into the single hallway, even scrawnier than your own room, and you go to your door, jerk it open, and then, marching like a general, you take about six or seven steps to the left to the side door, where the alternate metal song leaks through its cracks.

You knock once with your bent right fist, moving your wrist joint back and forth, but there is no immediate response and you just want to break down that door like your neighbor wants to break down your wall. Nor is there an eventual answer, when your good manners compel you to expect non-existent cooperation from this noisy stranger.

And you let out a cavernous grunt, plotting a lapse of hot rage inside you, feeling the tips of your ears and the skin of your shoulders smolder like embers.

“C’mon, open the damn door! I know you’re there! You can literally hear the music all the way down the hall, what the hell!”

And annoyance starts bubbling up inside you like magma inside a volcano about to erupt, growing and expanding in size, and then you hit it a second time, and then a third time, and you're barely counting how many times you knock on that damn door until you threaten to knock again (the side of your hand hurts), but then the door opens and your hand hangs in midair, like you're holding the handle of an invisible lantern.

You don't even hesitate to regurgitate, still half asleep and definitely very pissed off, the stress evaporating from inside you.

“Look here,” you begin to wiggle with your chest full of air and your cheeks burning, reciting the speech that has been stuck in your throat for about five or six days, “I know you probably have no idea or don’t care, I don't know which of the two options and honestly I don't give a damn about what you think, but some people around here tend to wake up early–”

And you blink at the figure in the doorway, a young girl with long dark hair who looks to be around your age. And she blinks back at you. And whatever you were going to say next, but the words die and wither behind your tongue, drying up in your throat. And you crease with the flash of skin between your eyebrows, as if you were facing some macabre apparition like in a horror movie.

“Wanda…?” a thoughtless whisper comes out of you that, without an effort, you would never have found actually slipped out of your lips, and not from some other person standing in the hallway that you just didn't see was there.

And it's like an atomic bomb being dropped from the skies on top of a city, because you see her (really see her), gorgeous and tangible, standing in front of you like a memory of your past, and your sleeping, irritated brain beeps and stops when your stomach drops, because your skin tingles as awareness leans over you and you realize that your incognito neighbor is, actually, an old acquaintance from a time you'd rather forget.

A time that you left behind, that you buried six feet from the ground and veiled and moved on after the due period of mourning paid in honor of your adolescence.

And the infectious smile she carries around the contour of her peach lips, with an air of excited laughter referring to a funny story still fresh on her features, fades, withers, and sets to dust when a glint of identification as helpless as yours breaks amidst her emerald irises, adorned by a smoky black eyeliner – the heavy makeup that looks like it was applied a long time ago, hours and hours behind the clock.

The atomic bomb dropped on the city exploded.

“Y/N...” she whispers your name, trying to understand, scrunching up her dark brows, and something in you breaks, “What are you... what are you...?”

“Wanda?” a male voice calls from behind her shoulder, intertwined with the sound of loud rock and the sour scent of cigarette ash, “Who is it? It’s late.”

And such a voice, to your deepest misery, is recognizable to your ears as if it were part of a second nature cloistered within you, of course – you would never forget the light chest, the quiet contentment that carried you during your days of youth, when you were part of the school's literature reading group and the debate club. Her shy smile and his voice carried by his native Eastern European accent.

Your onetime girlfriend, and your former best friend, the immigrant neighbors who moved in next door to you during your freshman year of high school. And you remember kissing her open-mouthed in the backseat of their father's car (by that time she already tasted like cigarettes and tears) and drinking hot beer with him behind the local gas station.

“No fucking way, Y/N!”

Pietro Maximoff is the one who calls out your name, passing his twin sister and almost bumping into Wanda Maximoff's left shoulder, who is motionless like a marble statue, as if her soul has left the shell that is her beautiful, (but) empty body.

And wearing nothing but a plain skinny blouse and sporty shorts that do nothing to cover your bare thighs, you feel suddenly exposed in front of the pair of siblings who should have stayed far away, buried in your past along with all of Westview. You don't want them to see you.

You don't want her to see you.

“Dude, what are the chances of us finding you around here, huh? It's been a long time, what the hell! And we are neighbors again, just like before!” he kind of chuckles to himself at his own line, his accent already faded, “I mean, Wanda is your neighbor again. But hey, are you here for college? I remember you got that approval letter! NYU, right?”

“Yes, I...” you whisper, half babbling, blinking sleep and shock out of your lingering brain, “I... yeah...”

You look at him, who has now grown a beard around his chin and bleached his short hair to a platinum silver tone, once the owner of streaks in a profuse coffee-brown color like the pretty hue that adorns the long beams on her head (he seems to be more of a man's bearing than a boy's per se), and your troubled gaze migrates towards Wanda, who is the only one of the two Maximoff twins who truly comprehends the core of your dazed silence, matched by a remorseful look that she hides behind her hair as she turns her chin appallingly to the side – because she knows, you know, and he doesn't.

He never knew. Nobody ever knew. She made sure no one ever knew.

Just as no one ever knew you ran off with Pietro in the middle of the night to drink cheap beer and eat cheeseburgers behind the gas station, no one ever knew you kissed the taste of red-filtered cigarettes on Wanda's tongue in the back of their father's car.

ᗢ

“And why did she break up with you?”

It's Yelena Belova who asks you the very next morning, your coworker and classmate alike, a friend for life, as her elbows work back and forth with the wooden handle of the wet mop that slides across the linoleum flooring in one fluid, continuous action, because today is her day to mop the floor and only tomorrow is yours, according to the appointment on the calendar adjacent to the staff room wall at the back of the store.

The two of you wear polo shirts on your torsos and similar aprons tied around your waists, the pieces arranged in the same shades of black and green and, behind the glass counter, which in turn has an array of sweet and savory to go with a cup of coffee, you growl lamely, like a grizzly mad dog that doesn't want to let go of the tennis ball in its mouth.

It's still fifteen minutes (and counting) before the store opens to a new wave of morning clients, and you just don't want to talk about your ex-high school sweetheart so early in the morning, even after a long sip of fresh coffee. Not after seeing her before you, (still as stunning, as enchanting, still as detestable as she was almost three years ago), in a dreadful revelation that the noisy, irritating, maddening neighbor, all this time, was just Wanda; an ex-girlfriend behind the door who distanced you from her.

But Yelena looks at you with keen amber eyes that gleam with insistent curiosity, pushing you over the edge, and your cup of coffee with shots of warm milk suddenly looks more interesting than your blonde friend who mops the floor under her feet.

“Homophobic rich dad, 'it's not you, it's me', stuff like that,” you mutter grudgingly from behind your drink, before shrugging your shoulders as if in a bogus performance of indifference.

“I mean, at least that's what she told me. You know, by text message. Three damn days before our senior prom, when everything was ready for us to go together. Just a single text message of four, five lines, whatever.”

And you take another sip of coffee, which even though it's soft against the milk, now feels as bitter as a crumbling lump of earth against the face of your tongue.

“Ouch,” Yelena exclaims in a falsely offended tone that smacks of laughter, “What a bitch.”

“Don't even tell me,” you muss, not being able to mask the wrath still pulsing in your tone, staring at the dark plastic lid that covers your paper coffee cup, “Just one hell of a bitch.”

“But hey, strict rich dad and mean teenage daughter, huh? Such a cliché.” She still mops the floor as she talks.

“Yeah, I guess,” you take a sip of coffee, “Erik Lester, Lehnsherr, any shit like that, whatever. He's a businessman, does something involving magnets, I don't know. All I know is that he has, like, a lot of money.”

Yelena mutters in agreement even though she has no idea who this much-hated father figure is, silently indicating that she is setting the stage for the continuation of your speech.

“She only met him after her mother died when she and Pietro were about ten years old, when they had to leave Sokovia. And like, the guy is a real asshole, I won't deny it, and he and Wanda never had a good relationship from what she told me and from what I've seen and heard, either. Sometimes I could hear his screams through my bedroom window.”

And you remember her crying, so beautiful and so broken at such a young age, the makeup smeared around her eyeballs that glistened in stinging tears, a black thread of eyeliner trail running down her ever so sharp cheekbones her as she crept out in your bedroom window, into the comfort of your arms or into your fogged-up car, searching for cigarette smoke through the desert streets of the small town, during the nights lit by the neon of streetlights and headlights.

And then, in a rather bittersweet mental parallel, you realize that you could never sleep properly while in the presence of Wanda, who is a nocturnal animal, a source of red energy – like a dream that came to torment you, disappearing along with the first cracks of sun to rise in the morning.

“I always thought she did those things – the clothes, the music, the cigarettes – to piss him off. And she did, yeah. He was very pissed off about all these things. The two were always up in arms in that house. But if there was one thing she was afraid of, it was that he would find out she liked girls. She was terrified of coming out to him. So she didn't come out to anyone. She didn't… she never assumed me to anyone.”

You gird your lips in a straight line, ending the sentence in a den of resentment that weighs heavily on the tip of your tongue; both your forearms braced on the clear face of the counter's reinforced glass, the half-full coffee cup placed in the space between your wrists.

“I thought that because we were together for the entire senior year it was going to work out, you know, me and her.”

Yelena looks at you from behind the counter, and there's an air of pity that envelops her facial expression, but that you prefer to just ignore as you focus your gaze on the rings that line the length of your fingers. Wanda wears these too.

“That thing we had, even if it was just between the two of us, it all felt so… right. So natural. Like, we were going to graduate and leave, weren't we? There was no reason to give up like that. It was me and her. Just the two of us. But then... then came the time for the prom.”

You sigh, as in a vicious memory. For a minute your vision threatens to cloud with smothered tears, but you blink them back from your eyelashes.

“And she freaked out and ditched me. Went with that stupid Jarvis Stark guy, an English idiot, son of Erik's business partner or some shit like that. And, well, I left town after that. Moved on. And now here I am, making coffee for rude people who barely look me in the face and having to deal with you bothering me all morning.”

Your voice is teasing, wrapped in a mockery that befits the goofy grin that breaks at the corner of your lips, and the young blonde girl half-laughs at you, swinging her high ponytail to back of her head.

“And now she's your noisy neighbor. Call it romantic.” Yelena reminds you in a voice full of petulant innuendo in an irritating retort, raising her thick, dark brows to the middle of her forehead.

You grunt against the plastic lid of your coffee cup.

“Ugh, please don't remind me of that right now, I don't want to think about it anymore.”

You can almost feel the heavy, dark bags under your droopy eyes, the sleepless nights weighty on the bones of your spine – but the young blonde woman smirks, having stopped mopping the floor for a good few minutes now.

“I'm pretty sure that would make a great plot for a low-budget romcom, if you ask me. One of those twin actresses could play her in the movie. She kinda looks like them, doesn’t she?”

“Yelena!”

“But it's true!” your friend laughs at your earnest displeasure, “But hey, maybe you can sneak into her apartment for the night and make her make it up to you for the prom. Or those sleepless nights, if you know what I mean.”

You blink in lethargic action, looking towards her.

“I swear I'm going to spill coffee on the floor you just cleaned if you don't stop pissing me off, Belova.”

ᗢ

The empty, hard blue plastic laundry basket rests against the right side of your hip bone, slithering against the waistband of your baggy, light jeans as you descend step by step on the concrete stairs that lead toward the laundry room in the building, located on the underground floor of the condominium residence.

The weight of the tiring day of flawed sleep still weighs on the muscles of your back, but you know the neighbors will nag like macaws if your laundry spends another day that takes possession of the washing machine again.

But it's late at night, past ten o'clock, so there's no one to be found in front of the sextet of washing machines that are still side by side against a white wall, like cars parked in a large parking lot. Your sneakers bounce against the black-and-white checkered linoleum floor as your left index finger presses the face of the switch, turning on a half-eerie, icy white light that flashes once and then stops right above your head.

You move without circumlocution, nonchalantly, walking toward the middle machine, and open the circular hatch to take out your now-clean, though damp, clothes.

But along with your clothes, you notice, with a curious and uncertain look, that there seem to be other pants and shirts that don't actually make up your wardrobe – in a way, such pieces don't even match your personal style, and you certainly don't remember putting them there in the first place.

Just take a single pair of tall black cotton socks between your fingers and something catches your eye, like a candle burning in the dark. Your eyebrows crease in the middle of your forehead, like a big question mark.

And, with the tips of your curious left fingers, you make your way to the hollow interior of the large domestic appliance to pull out, from inside, a thin red lace panties like the petals of a rose that is certainly not yours, hovering with the tiny piece in front of your eyes in midair – but you soon know whose it is when you realize that you already know that lingerie, the identification hovers like a crimson fog in front of your brain.

“For fuck’s sake...”

It's a beautiful piece that you bring close to your face to check, a cotton adorned with well-crafted details in the fabric and that, in the past, would be nothing more than purely sexy, which would incite libidinous feelings that would spark into the your chest and between your legs; but something in you inflates, bursts and goes flying, because you know whose alabaster thighs are from which you yourself have already taken those same panties, only to head towards the center wet with liquids of pleasure.

And you squeeze the damn red lace between your fingers, in a fist shape, like you're choking a chicken's skinny neck. A gust of hot air is expelled between your nostrils like steam coming out of a factory chimney.

So you turn on your heels and march toward the stairs, your cheeks burning in a snarling amalgamation of smoldering shame and volcanic rage, and six flights are a blur that burns your calf muscle as you walk hard to the second floor of the building, crossing the empty hallway in evenly spaced footsteps, like a guided missile aimed at the door next to yours on the left.

The shiny metal of the numerals “1” and “9” attached to the center of the oak wooden door is what most attracts your solicitous attention when your closed fist knocks just above the handle; the round piece, large and gold, like a Christmas ornament the size of an apple or a clenched fist, you still holding the red garment in the palm of your hand placed to the side of your hip encased in the waistband of your jeans.

When footsteps are heard inside and Wanda comes to open the door, this time with her pretty face cleansed back to its natural state, devoid of the characteristic heavy makeup she usually puts on, it doesn't surprise you at all that she has a lit cigarette tucked between the fingers of her right hand, which has fingernails lacquered with a sober black polish that has peeled off the neatly cut and sanded ends.

“Y/N, what do you– do you have any idea what time it is, damn it?! It’s almost midnight!”

“What time is it? What time is it?! Look who's talking, for God's sake!”

When you brandish it with your hand, the underwear wobbles and it's only then that you remember that you still have it in your possession, and that seems to be able to irritate you even more.

“And is this yours by any chance?!” Holding the thin red strap just pressed between the tips of your forefinger and thumb, you lift the panties up to her face.

There's a curiously surprised frown in a flash of white skin between her dark brows, a light of disagreement circling the jade green of Wanda's eyes as they gaze at the underwear presented to her by you.

“What– what do you think you're doing with my panties, you creep?!” The accusatory tone in her voice, curled in thick cigarette smoke, is enough to pop a nerve in your neck.

“Creep?!” you whimper in thunderous rage, “I’m the goddamn creep?! You’re the one who put your underwear to wash with my clothes, you’re the creep in this whole situation! You creep!”

“What–?” Wanda looks at you like you're just insane, going into a snarky defensive pose, “I–I didn't do that!”

“Oh, of course,” your voice drips with angry sarcasm, “Your lingerie just decided to come out of the other washing machine and into the one I'm using. Seriously, Wanda, you've been better at lying before, I swear–”

“Look Y/N, I may have been confused, but I just moved here–”

“I don't,” your voice rises to match hers, ending whatever now-finished excuse that would come out of Wanda's mouth, “I don't wanna fucking know. I don’t care! Just– just take this and please don't bother me anymore!”

And there's barely a window that takes in the time it takes for the young woman with the jade eyes to plan with her brain an answer so her mouth can modulate it to you, because you crumple the red garment against her chest hidden inward the worn material of a loose-fitting band shirt that had faded to a tawny gray (that she had once sworn it was black), before turning around and, without giving her undue satisfaction, you head back toward the stairs that lead to the lower floor.

But you're barely ten or fifteen paces away from her door before Wanda's voice echoes across the hall, reverberating through the walls into your eardrums, through your muscles and your bones.

“Very mature, you asshole! How fucking old are you, five?!”

And you're just done dealing with her shit.

“Fuck you!” you bark like a shot in a game of table tennis and, without looking back, lift your elbow to your ribs, holding up the middle finger of your right hand for Wanda to see and take offense.

A shocked gasp comes from afar, but before she can even respond to you in a burst of rather naughty insults, there's the click of another door that opens at the end of the hall, and a third surly neighbor appears in a guttural rage as he engages in an unseemly bickering with Wanda ("It's late, shut the fuck up!" and "Go mind your own fucking business!" is the least that reaches your ears) while you, in full of silence and without giving much thought to the exchange of sharp curses between the young girl and an old gray-haired man from apartment sixteen, just turns the corner and walks down the stairs, trotting back to the laundry room.

Your right foot in your white sneaker taps arrhythmic to a distressed beat on the checkered linoleum floor, as you wait for the dryer to drying your clothes, your unflinching gaze staring at the silver device as it emits a round hum, your forearms interlaced down your chest, pressed against your rib cage, your shoulders stiffening in a recurring muscular tension from the episode of anger still fresh in your body.

When carefree footsteps echoes down the stairs, you don't stare toward the door of the laundry room because you only know who's approaching when the uncompromising scent of tobacco, smoke and strawberry moisturizer catches your nostrils, prompting a fearless grunt and an avid eye roll on your part.

Wanda carries a red plastic laundry basket with her, and doesn't exchange a word with you as she takes her clean clothes from the washing machine you've just used.

“It was a mistake, you know.”

For a moment, you think she's talking about your relationship. After all, it makes sense to imagine that this assumption is correct; your relationship with her was indeed a mistake, you know and imagine that she thinks so too. But her voice comes in a few seconds within the silence interspersed between the groans of the dryer machine, and she seems even half embarrassed as she doesn’t look directly at you, prickled into an almost intelligible thread.

You remain in terse silence as she gives it another try.

“It was an accident Y/N, that's all.”

But there's not a single answer that comes from you, and you don't even fix your proud gaze on Wanda, even though, with your nerves already chilled and your head clear away from the drowning fog of anger that seemed to have caught you in blind rage, you have realized that you have been quite unnecessarily rude to your new neighbor, your old lover.

“What do you want me to say, huh?” she claims your gaze, staring sideways at your profile, “That I'm sorry? Even by a stupid accident? All right, look, I apologize. I’m sorry. Now can you at least look at me, Y/N?”

But no, you don't look at her. And her shoulders sag in a sure sign of defeat.

When the machine finally dries your clean garments that smell sweetly of a softener pleasing to the senses, you pick them up, fold them, and place them in your blue hamper without uttering a word to make your actions light. And, walking behind Wanda carrying the basket on your hip, nonchalantly as if the girl in the cherry-red denim shorts were just an intangible ghost, you leave the laundry room—her gaze burns into the sore muscles of your back as you do.

ᗢ

Your nights are spent listening to loud music and smelling of toasted tobacco, and it's been a while since you've been able to watch TV anymore because of the loud noise from the neighbor next door. Maybe she's playing a tantrum, maybe she has no idea how life works in an apartment complex. But even Loki is more skittish by the lack of sleep that prompts his already grumpy nature.

The long scratch mark that grows angry red on your right forearm, towards the inside of your elbow, says a lot about how you and your cat have been having a rather toxic relationship on the feline’s part.

The early afternoon is engulfed by a partially warm climate, with a mild temperature, but even so, you chose to grab a sweater from your hanger, just before leaving the house early enough not to run into Wanda in the hallway, as had happened on a few unfortunate occasions since then – once when you went to meet a Thai food delivery boy and she was taking out the trash, and another time when you were leaving for work and she was arriving from whatever she'd spent the night before, looking a little woozy as she tried (and failed) to unlock her apartment door.

Carrying your backpack on your shoulders, your elbows tucked into your ribs and both your hands raised, squeezing the outline of your fingers adorned by a handful of silver rings through the dark straps. You walk in measure with Yelena's footsteps, who treads to your right, dressed in a stylish yellow flannel coat crisscrossed with gray and white stripes, and Kate Bishop, the tall girl with dark hair tied back from the of her head, who comes close to your left shoulder – the three of you heading towards the classroom befitting your third period Wednesday schedule.

“Man, I can't believe Nat actually became a cop,” is what Kate says in an indignant tone, addressed to Yelena.

“I mean, like, she's your sister, you know? And you’re so– so, so politically engaged! Besides, you are Russians, you should know about these things! Isn't your dad like, an anti-cops die-hard communist or something?”

“That literally says absolutely nothing,” Yelena answers her crookedly, wrinkling the skin on her nose, “Your mom is a goddamn CEO and yet you don't see me charging you about all the capitalist shit she does in her office.”

“But is different!” Kate exclaims back, almost offended, “My mom isn't like, that Howard Stark guy or something. She's just—”

“Rich,” spits the blonde girl, “She’s rich. She’s filthy rich. So yeah, she's kinda like him.”

“It’s different!”

“It's no different, Kate, I'm sorry,” you finally say to the girl in the purple blouse and ripped gray jeans, who just grunts in a pained, giving up response.

But it's when you turn the corner of a hallway that Kate turns to you with a certain air of curiosity that hovers over her actions.

“But hey Y/N,” she calls your name, and you turn your head towards her deep-brown eyes, “Is it true?”

“What exactly is true, Kate?” you blink in confusion towards her.

“That a crazy ex of yours moved in next door to you.”

One of your eyebrows rises in dubious ambiguity. You don't remember saying anything to Kate concerning Wanda, nor your disastrous relationship with the said Sokovian girl.

“How...?” but your train of thought soon traces towards Yelena, your confidant who lately is so close to Kate, who is also unnaturally quiet beside you, “Wait, did you tell her, Yelena?!”

“W-what? Sooner or later she would find out about it!” as the blonde girl shrugs her shoulders into the fabric of her yellow coat, you let a disgruntled grunt escape your lips.

Great, you allow yourself to think in an exhausted mindset, that's just great. What you most needed now is for people to know about your intimate life.

Not that the young Bishop heiress isn't a dear friend of yours, but it just so happens that you've only met her a few months ago, and it's not customary for you to open your heart to someone you're not so close to – for example, Yelena herself, who you've known for almost two years only became a close figure of your in the last eight months or so spent in each other’s company.

“I mean, everybody kinda knows that now...”

Kate says in a tiny voice, but it's not low enough to go unnoticed by your hearing or, for that matter, even by Yelena's ears, who scolds the other girl, exasperating a loud “Dude!” that echoes through the entire hall.

Your hands certainly yearn to strangle your friend in the coat who walks close to your right shoulder, to squeeze her neck which is adorned by thin and stylish chains in a good taste for fashion, but your fingers are content to just hold on enfolding the backpack straps that circle your shoulders, as your chin turns toward Yelena.

“Who else did you tell it to, huh?” but when the silence is lasting, your patience that is already running short insists on pressing the girl with the white backpack, “Who else knows about it, Yelena?”

“Well,” she starts, a little embarrassed, a little hesitant.

“Like, first of all, in my defense, it's not my fault you're an antisocial weirdo who doesn't go out to drink with us! But you know how it is, we went out with Natasha and Peter and Kamala this weekend and we went to this Irish pub that I keep saying you'll like, and I may or may not have had a shot or two more than the usual and, well... they started asking about you, well... and shit happens.”

“Shit happens,” you repeat in a half-tired, half-incredulous tone of voice, “Shit happens, sure.”

“Sure,” she repeats, before quickly adding a few more names to the list, “I mean, that Quill guy from the football team showed up with his girlfriend too, and Carol arrived later with Maria and Darcy, and then one of them called Jane and Brunnhilde, and then—”

“Ugh, okay, I get it, please don't continue,” you grunt, squeezing your eyelids together in pain, suddenly feeling several eyes turning to you as you cross the hall on a walk of shame, “Everyone knows.”

“Yeah, kinda everyone knows, yeah,” Yelena's tone is soaked in contrite agreement, and she shrugs her shoulders that carry the straps of her white backpack, “Sorry, dude.”

“No, it's okay,” you force plastic optimism out of your mouth, imagining that if you say it out loud the words will come true, “Everything's perfectly fine.”

Over their shoulders, Kate and Yelena exchange a worried glance.

But a few minutes pass after such a conversation had passed through the halls of the university with the other two girls dressed in the yellow coat and the purple jacket, and you can barely get your brain to focus on the mental activity of understanding the words uttered by Ms. Harkness's mouth, who dramatically cries out to the entire class of thirty or forty students as she gestures in a Shakespearean manner with her hands, waving her thick, long brown hair back and forth as she does – she was always a dramatic type, despite her genuine sympathy for students of her liking.

And even later that day is when you find yourself in the cafeteria's bathroom, rinsing the soap foam that lathers your palms under running tap water, when the door of a booth on your right opens, and you hadn't even realized there was anyone else there but yourself.

And your rib bones feel like they want to rip through the tissue in your lungs as you look up from the sink, only to realize that the figure in the open red sweatshirt and black miniskirt is Wanda, heading for a sink next to the left to the one you use to then squeak the record between her fingers and start the action of washing her own hands of matte black enamel nails.

You just want to blink and realize that it's an illusion, a mirage, a product of your twisted mind that hasn't been sleeping well and that you're certainly thinking too much about her, who is now your neighbor.

But she doesn't go away even as your eyelids open and close, once, twice, three times, and a hot, tangled thread rises from the muscle of your shoulders to the outline of your neck, crisscrossing your cheekbones and the tips of your ears.

The prickly anger that bristles your skin is like a hard, prickly grip around your throat, and a lump of flesh and gall weaves inside your larynx. The tips of your clipped nails scratch the palm of your left hand a little harder than necessary; the girl standing next to you is like a spark, and you are like a haystack.

And the ember burns loudly, almost even emanating smoke from the top of your head, as the melodiously unassuming voice in her usual low pitch echoes through the floor and the tiled walls.

“There's been word out there that your crazy ex moved in next door to you, did you know?” says Wanda, still looking at her wet, soapy hands.

You try to bite the words before they come out, but it's inevitable that you'll respond in the same tone.

“And what are you even doing here to begin with, huh? Have you become a stalker or something? That's kinda sad, even for you.”

And she half-laughs, which causes the blood in your body to leak to your head, but also to other rather unwanted locations in your lower organs.

“People have the right to study at this university. It's not all about you, Y/N,” you rub your hands together harder, “I mean, unless it's about your crazy ex. Then I think it's about you like, for real.”

And your tongue is quicker to rise to the roof of your mouth than your brain is to censor whatever it is you're about to regurgitate in the form of an insult, when the quick response comes in a reactionary backhand to the girl with the jacket of a deep shade of red like wine.

“Well, those rumors aren't even true. Because, you know, to have a crazy ex-girlfriend I would need to have had an official, public relationship, and as far as I can remember, I've never had that with anyone,” your saliva is bitter between your teeth, “So I don't think I need to worry about these rumors. It’s just gossip that everyone will eventually forget, anyways.”

You turn off the faucet on your use and Wanda does the same to hers, but neither of you moves to dry your hands or even head out of the bathroom. She looks at you instead, but you only find your own exhausted eyes in your reflection in front of the mirror placed on the wall in front of you.

“So you didn't have anyone,” Wanda says, her emerald irises fixedly contouring your jawbone, “After me.”

The thread of anger stretches from your stomach to your heart, and you still don't look at her as your curled fingers grip the oval edges of the white porcelain sink. She doesn't deserve satisfaction from you; after all, if you were never officially a couple, if there was never a title before the promise, it's all her fault, it fell on her, it starts and ends with her.

“That's literally none of your business,” you mutter under your breath, but you kind of hesitate a bit as she takes a step toward you in her biker boots that wrap around her ankles clad in a pair of black high tights.

“You didn't have anyone after me. Besides me. Did you, Y/N?”

And you turn your nose towards her, only to find a pair of verdant irises that lie dark as moss, a kind of possession that weaves through the abyssal dark puddles that are her dilated pupils, and the black smoky eyeshadow makes her retinas glow like two gemstones reflected by a beam of light in a darkened room.

Wanda is like a black hole that draws you into a dangerous magnetism, engulfing you like a supernova explosion.

And something primal inside of you kind of likes that, kind of craves for it, for her monopoly over you, for the exclusivity that's been maintained since the last time you two saw each other, three years ago, back in your hometown. Secretly you wonder if she hasn't had anyone else after you either, and you kind of hope the answer is a big fat no.

After all, if you're still hers, she's still yours too.

“Has anyone else ever touched you like I did?”

You swallow hard, the inside of your throat hardening when as close to her as you are, your shoulders deflating a little into your dark sweatshirt as the scent of strawberry moisturizer and toasted tobacco clogs up your nostrils, spilling Wanda's red into your bloodstream. She looks like an animal ready to devour you and you're not sure if you're going to let her do it or not, but you tend to think that yes, you will.

“Has anyone else licked you on the corner of your mouth before actually kissing you, because they know it turns you on?”

You swallow the still air in your throat.

“Did anyone else run their hands down the sides of your neck before holding your hair?”

She takes a step toward you, and you take another step back.

“Has anyone else,” her voice is a low, dangerous whisper, “Bitten the side of your rib before they went down on you? With their tongue slow and soft at first and accelerating as your moans get more desperate when you ask for more?”

You want to kiss her. Your hands tingle to cup the sides of her jaw and pull her face down so your lips meet in midair, and she kisses you the way she knows you like. As you've done before, as she once wanted. But then you remember why you hate her as much as you want to kiss her, and it's like a reality check. And a new gust of angry air ignites inside your chest.

“It's none of your business, Wanda,” you finally say through gritted teeth, steadying the bridge that connects your intense gazes. You are annoyed and turned on, and you just know that she will always be your undoing.

“And I don't owe you any fucking satisfaction. I don't need to remind you that it was you who broke up with me via texts, do I? You're the one who dumped me, not the other way around. I don't owe you shit.”

A guilty hesitation crosses her gaze, which taking slashes of blame, quickly turns away from you to stare at the sink pipe on the right side of your hip; Wanda seems to shrink a little, wilting, squeezing the folds of her ringed fingers through the single strap of the crossbody bag that spills down her torso.

“That’s not true, Y/N, I… I– I didn’t…” she muss, in a low voice soaked in massive regret, stepping back a step, “It’s not like that, you just… you don't… you don’t understand–”

“I don't understand what, huh, Wanda? I don’t understand what?!"

Your voice rises an octave, and something stuck inside you for the past two years, like a bottle of champagne that pops a cork, just starts to flow, pouring out of your chest in a loud, painful confession and just so, so purely angry.

“That you got tired of playing with my feelings and decided to finally be the perfect little girl your father wanted you to be? That you decided to pose as a straight girl for one night, hanging on that jerk Jarvis' arm to be the perfect couple with a bright future after graduation? That all our plans, our confessions, our dreams were nothing but a hobby for you, a toy to play until you got sick of me and threw me away when you just felt like it?”

She looks on the verge of tears, her waterline glistening in crystalline pools of liquid embarrassment and her bottom lip threatening to quiver, and you barely notice when hot strands of bottled up feelings begin to leak down your cheeks, dripping towards the contour of your chin.

“Because if that's what I don't understand, then yeah, I really don't. I don't understand how you had the courage to be so coward to hurt me and break my heart in that mean way, when the only thing I ever did for you was take you in, Wanda! I took care of you! I listened to you, I dedicated myself to you, I gave you my heart, I fucking loved you! And that's how you repaid me, because you're a walking fucking problem and nothing will ever, ever satisfy you!"

And there's a sharp, deafening silence that follows after that, rumbling in your eardrums. And a veil of reality falls both over you and her; after all, whether indirectly or not, at no time had you confessed to Wanda that in a way, even with the immaturity worthy of late adolescence, you loved her as much as was possible at that time.

She looks hurt by your words, her eyes a gloomy, sad green, her hands tightening on the strap of her bag. And even if you've spent three long years believing that you really wanted to harm her, once you've done it, you don't feel the way you should. It's not satisfactory at all, because it hurts you too. It hurts so, so much.

“Y/N...” she whispers, but there's nothing more to say after that, so your name just hangs and dies in the air around her.

You pant, inflating and deflating heavily with your chest as if you've just run the course of a long marathon. And she looks at you like a shy child who's done something stupid, and it only takes one blink for a drop of black makeup to run down her pale, sharp cheekbones, the green of the irises now as bright as the grass in the spring pastures or in Botticellian paintings.

Her tearful face should feel like your masterpiece, not your leading lament.

“Wanda, I…” you whisper, wanting to say something you don't know, wanting to undo what you've already done, “I... I didn't mean..."

She seems to take a gulp of air to part her peachy lips and start a whole new sentence when the bathroom entrance door opens and an agitated group of chatty girls enters, oblivious to the heavy atmosphere established between you and Wanda. You look at her who doesn't look at you.

With the back of your hand, you quickly sweep the tears away from your own cheeks. And, picking up your backpack that is on the floor, placed next to the sink, you brush past Wanda and head towards the door without saying another word to the young lady in the red sweatshirt, who looks just as broken as you do.

All you have to do is turn one corner to the thick tears begin to pour down the warm skin of your face.

ᗢ

The movement of warm-weather morning firstfruits is a little slow, even still, with the occasional businessperson in a suit or tired student stopping by to enter the store before the clock strikes nine in the morning, to resort to the necessary high doses of caffeine and only then can start their day with a temporary and bogus simulation of a burst of energy.

And it's when Yelena says something about needing to use the restroom, when there's no customer to attend to or even a soul sitting at the tables just to use the free WiFi, that you decide that checking a few emails in your phone's inbox will do no harm to your start of the day.

After all, you've already scrubbed the damn mop on the floor so much that the linoleum now looks like a mirror under your feet, and you've changed three times the napkins that didn't really need to be discarded and changed.

And you know well that you did, though, to take your mind away from the memory of the night before; of the loud, heavy music blasting through the dividing wall of your room with Wanda's, in a failed attempt to stifle the sobbing cry of the neighbor apartment, who kept your brain alert throughout the night, until tiredness won over by the fatigue of your muscles (or maybe her muscles first), allowing the both of you, so close and yet so far away, to fall asleep together, at the same time, each thinking of the other as you lost consciousness.

A few minutes pass, however, before the distinctive tinkling of the small bell above the front door engulfs your attention away from your cellphone screen, and your rehearsed speech of welcome comes almost as an involuntary response that fills your mouth, before the most genuine of smiles slip through the pulp of your lips as braided ginger hair comes into your field of view, clasped in a heavy, handsome leather jacket.

“Nat, hi!” you greet her, Yelena's older sister, and she smirks as she walks toward you from across the counter.

You always liked her and she always liked you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Natasha looks around as if scanning the area, before turning her piercing green gaze back to your face, never missing the tiny smile on her full lips, hands shoved in the back pockets of the dark jeans that she wears around her toned legs.

“Yelena left you here to deal with those grumpy people all alone, huh? That suck. Guess I'm gonna have to rap her knuckles for a change.”

“Nah, it’s okay. She went to the restroom,” you smile, “I guess.”

“You guess, huh?” Natasha raises an orange brow, “Well, it must have been. She was never good at holding her bladder, you know? I mean, seriously, there was this time when we were kids back in Ohio where she was playing on the slide and then my mom—”

“Hey, don't you even dare to start it!” Yelena's voice comes from the back in a protesting exclamation, before the young blonde girl appears, tying her leaf-green apron around her waist.

“And may I know what you're doing here, huh? Don't you have, like, cop stuff to do around, officer? There must be some kitten stuck in a tree in Central Park or some sucker in a manhole in need of help.”

“I think this is a fire department thing,” you comment, and in return Yelena blinks in disbelief in your direction.

And the older sister lets out a lame giggle through her nose, expelling a gust of warm air through her nostrils.

“I was passing by and I decided to come around just to annoy you, 'Lena” says Natasha, half-laughing, prompting a roll of the eyes on the part of the youngest sister, “But I'll take the opportunity to ask Y/N to make me an espresso. You know, her coffee is really good.”

And when Natasha's voluptuous gaze falls on you, the corner of her lips twitching a little, there's a pang that nudges your stomach and makes your lungs inflate and deflate with warm air evaporating off your skin.

Natasha is a few years older than you (and therefore also more experienced), and you are well aware that she is a very stunning woman, who is constantly enveloped in a simple aura of sensuality, which spontaneous flirtation seems to be like a second nature to her. And it feels good, it's really warming to know that someone like her looks at someone like you in such a way. Even if, deep down, your brain is aware that your heart doesn't beat for her, and never will.

“For God's sake Natasha, the coffee is made by a damn machine, literally every time it's the same thing,” Yelena mutters crookedly under her grumpy breath, “Just get a room, damn it, this is a public place.”

“Come on, 'Lena, you don't need to be jealous,” and you know it's now nothing more than a sibling bickering, a healthy petulance that ends up trapping you in the middle of the situation that leans towards comic, “You're the lucky one who has to see Y/N every day, not me.”

And you take it easy, barely able to suppress a round of giggles when Yelena looks like she wants to jump over the counter and kick her sister in the face.

“Listen, get the hell out of here, go away! Go! Go! Go! You're not getting no fucking coffee anymore—!”

But the entrance bell jingles a second time as the glass door opens and someone enters the establishment.

And the second time is worse than the first, because all you need to do is glance over Natasha's left shoulder and a pair of emerald eyes other than the rookie cop's eyes connect with yours, like a knot tied in mid-air, two magnets that attract and repel each other. The soft smile plastered on your lips begins to fade and then disappears into a dry line and a wisp of skin between your brows.

And you just can't believe it's Wanda who's there, like an obsessive spirit or even an obsessed stalker, even though your apartment is just a block away from the coffeeshop, even though there's a cozy bookstore across the street and, if you hadn't paid so much attention to Natasha, you would have noticed the blood-red dress, so delicate against the imposing black jacket; the clothes dressed in the familiar silhouette that had entered the store on the sidewalk opposite your work environment.

“Such a psycho…” Yelena muss for only Natasha to hear, but you do the same and believe Wanda does too, because she looks hesitant as she gazes at your uniformed friend, standing beside you behind the counter.

You blink, and so does Wanda, still standing in the doorway.

The atmosphere that sets in is palpable, and the two sisters, then aware of your unfortunate situation with your neighbor-ex-girlfriend-not-really-a-girlfriend, exchange looks that only two people with a connection like theirs can exchange.

And then, you turn your stiff shoulders toward the coffee machine, stepping away from the compact glass counter, “I–I'll make your espresso, Nat.”

The clatter of the machine seems to be deafening when the silence is thick and even the sound of a penny falling to the floor would echo through the entire store, and the sudden sour smell of coffee sends your stomach into a wave of nausea you don't quite know where it's coming from, but it's here to stay and, in such a way, you feel like you want to cry.

The acerbic regret of harming her still eats you into your muscles and your bones.

Fitting the lid on the tall clear plastic glass, you place the drink across the face of the counter, in front of Natasha, who gives you a complacent look, in a green so different from the green that stares at you from behind her.

“Here it is,” you say in a rather mechanical voice.

Natasha takes her wallet from the back pocket of her tight dark jeans and places a bill that exceeds the stipulated amount next to the glass, holding you back with her hand when you get her the change. Everything is very vague, and the cozy, playful aura that once enveloped the three of you left the store as soon as Wanda opened that door.

“See you later, sis,” Natasha says to Yelena, who stares at Wanda like an angry guard dog, before turning back to you, “And you… take care, honey.”

There's a deliberately deferred squeeze of the red-haired woman's hand by the delineation of your own fingers caged in rings, and even as Natasha turns onto her back, her single long red braid slipping between her shoulder blades hidden inside her leather jacket, pouring along her spine, you know she shoots a hard look at Wanda, who flinches as she passes close to her shoulder – even though the two of them have never touched, it’s as if Natasha has bumped her shoulder against Wanda’s.

The temperature seems to drop, and the Sokovian girl takes a step forward, toward the counter – her dark hair looks beautiful even in a messy bun on top of her head, and you really have to hold back before uttering that compliment out loud. She doesn't seem to be sleeping well, and even layers of dark makeup can't hide the bags under her tired eyes. You thought it would bring you some kind of comfort, but really you just want to hug her.

"Can I help you?" Yelena is the one who takes the initiative, even if her hard tone doesn't at all befit the implications of her rehearsed store clerk phrase.

"I..." Wanda starts, opens her mouth, closes it for a second and then opens it again, "I was going to order an iced tea, but now I... I... Y/N," she then looks at you, “Can I talk to you? Please."

No, you want to say, not at all. I'm ashamed that I said those things to you. But Wanda's gaze is as intense as Yelena's. And you let out a lame sigh, squinting in disbelief towards your own thoughtless actions, before turning to your coworker who is next to your left shoulder.

Fuck it.

“I'm gonna… I'm gonna take a break,” you announce, before returning your gaze to Wanda, who seems to hide gratification beneath the hesitation in her eyes.

Yelena, on the other hand, seems pretty discredited with your words.

“Dude, it's like eight-thirty in the morning,” she reminds you, “And you're going to spend your break time with… this?”

The tone is displeased as she looks at your ex high school sweetheart, who then just looks away. You just shake your head in embarrassment.

“Yelena, please, just… please,” you look nonsensically tired at the young blonde in uniform, “Not now.”

And Yelena looks like she wants to say something, but she stops before she does, because looking from you to Wanda, two restless spirits, two broken bodies, she understands. Something about her understands, even if she doesn't like what she understands. And she shakes her head, following your figure that goes around the counter after untying your apron and, shadowing Wanda closely, just leaves the store behind you.

The bell jingles up from the door.

ᗢ

Leaning against the brick wall of the alley beside the cafeteria, a cigarette smoldering in its blazing tip, breathing in puffs of smoke, Wanda stares silently at her own feet—her faux-leather boots dark, tall, and worn. You, leaning against the damp wall opposite the one she leans in, watch her and look away every time she tries to engage her eyes with yours. It's like a game where whoever speaks first loses, and you and Wanda are just too competitive to let go.

You know there's no need to wonder why Wanda's sudden arrival has upset you so much, still a little remorseful for your explosive outburst in the university restroom as you are; but even as displeased as you claim to be to yourself, you also feel, in a way, happy and exultant, a comfortable lull warming the inside of your chest that you kind of really try to fight against, but it's a losing battle and you know it.

And, as engrossed in your own head as you are, you don't even notice the red specter that, like the devil himself, looks your way as if she might rip your soul out of your chest, the strawberry scent wafting through the alley with cigarettes that only Wanda Maximoff can squander.

With your hands tucked into the back pockets of your dark jeans, you just say nothing towards her.

“Do you... want a cigarette?”

Her voice catches your attention, but for a few seconds, you find yourself bereft of words that are capable of responding to it. When you lift your chin to look at her, though, both of your dark gazes are linked together in a single train of thought, Wanda too hesitant, you too uncertain.

She, with dark makeup, has the nicotine stick between the pulps of her profuse lips, and you watch her through the whole process that unfolds through her smoking the cigarette; you notice when her mouth is parted to receive the smoke, revealing flashes of white, opalescent teeth, and you also notice how a thin bed of glossy gloss ends up smearing the yellow filter, like a midnight kiss exchanged before imminent death.

Wanda blinks playfully at you, still waiting for an answer, her lepidopteran eyelashes fluttering in mascara, before leaning her head toward your gaze. Her sudden proximity shooting lightning bolts to your stomach, because now the alley seems so tight and her soft skin feels so touchable.

You stare at her for a few seconds, pupils dilated in a vortex of darkness, before shaking your head as you move your neck from side to side.

The thick smoke leaves Wanda's peach lips not long after you do. And then you remember doing it with her, cigarette after cigarette, between kisses and touches, the moans engulfed by dawn in the dark corners of Westview, where no prying eye could have realized that you loved Wanda Maximoff.

“No, thanks,” you raise your right hand hesitantly, “I stopped a while ago. I was starting to run out of breath to just walk up the stairs.”

You think she knows that you only started, years ago, because of her, in order to impress her, to be able to approach her the night you visited her house because of Pietro and, not knowing how to properly initiate a conversation with a pretty girl, you asked for a cigarette because you once saw her smoking behind the bleachers; she knows you never liked the taste and that you coughed more than you held the noxious smoke into your lungs and lied that you liked it, prompting an avid wave of laughter from her.

Then she shrugs, resolving to herself that she won't press the point. For a few minutes, present is the silence erected between you like a massive wall. Wanda puff on her cigarette, and after that, you sigh.

“You wouldn't order iced tea,” you say in a neutralized voice, “You've seen me in uniform before, in the hallway. You know I work there.”

And she kind of laughs, unsurprised, through thick cigarette smoke.

"Well, I do. But I really want an iced tea, just so you know,” there's an air of good humor in her speech, even as her icy eyes gaze at the floor between her boots.

The silence descends again for half a second, until it's pierced once more by you.

“I'm sorry, by the way,” is a semi-whisper that crosses the alley, “For the things I said to you in the bathroom that day. Or the things people are saying around about you. It's been a while since all that shit happened and it's not… it's not fair that you're being held accountable for this teenage bullshit. Breakups... breakups happen, I guess. You weren't obligated to stay with me.”

She looks at you, her eyes glowing the color of guilt-ridden jade.

“But I didn't have to break up with you in such a shitty way, also,” and then, a sigh comes in a cage of smoke, “I… I think I deserve some of your treatment. I'm the one who should apologize. It was stupid of me, it wasn’t… it wasn't right what I did to you, Y/N.”

You compress your lips into a line because you know it's true, but you don't want to start a new intrigue right after finishing another one.

“Well, you could have done it any number of ways that would have been better, in fact,” you shrug, “But we were seventeen, Wanda. I was an idiot, you were an idiot. And I understand it was hard for you, you know… with Erik, and stuff.”

The mention of her father's name seems to make her shift uncomfortably in her clothes, the dark jacket that covers the short dress of reddish fabric seeming abruptly cramped and exposed as she seems to shrink in on herself, lifting the walls that have kept you away. And then she smokes, closing her eyes, like she used to when he made her cry.

You see the smoke coming in and out of her pearly mouth, and you feel kind of nostalgic to see her like this, so vulnerable and transparent, feeling everything but saying nothing.

“Yeah, it was really hard,” there's an eerie tone that creeps into her voice, the moss green of her gaze seeming to carry a baleful hue, “But it wasn't fair that I just threw all that shit at your back every time that I was sad. But… that's in the past, right? It's no longer a problem I have to deal with, let alone you."

And she doesn't seem to want to talk about it anymore, so you don't bring it up again. A car passes on the street and a dog barks at a bicycle rider. When the cigarette she smokes finally runs out, she stubs out the butt against the brick wall and lets a limp sigh escape her nose.

“I think I'll go home now… I don't want to take your break time anymore,” and she smiles, albeit minimally, “Your tired face on me is starting to make me feel guilty.”

“Does that mean you're going to stop listening to Deftones all night long? Because that’s kinda depressing,” the air of laughter doesn't escape you, and she shyly lets the smile grow on the contour of her lips.

“Well… at first it wasn't on purpose, but then I just kind of kept doing it to get your attention,” she scrunches with the skin of her nose, “On second thought, it wasn't my best idea. Sorry about that. It was a stupid thing to do.”

“Fine,” you smile small, even if that still won't make your morning tiredness go away entirely, “I'll charge you more for your iced tea and then we'll call it even, Maximoff.”

“Are you still going to get me an iced tea?” Wanda looks in your direction and, a little awkwardly, you nod.

“You want one, don't you?” you look at her, “Still like black tea with lemonade?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, “Yeah, I do.”

ᗢ

The taut muscular tension radiating from the top of your spine fades along with the heavy bags of skin under your eyes, and the days gone by become bearable, even pleasant, as the weeks that follow as a result of the conversation and the apologies exchanged between you and Wanda.

In part, of course, you suppose your light mood is related to the fact that there is no longer a sound of drums and guitars that seems to want to breach your bedroom wall, once sleep is invited back to inhabit your bedding, cradling you in a necessary embrace that is only undone again when Loki bites your foot because he's hungry in the middle of the night. As if the recurring spark igniting within your filled chest could even be overlooked, anyway.

You then have the luxury of unconcernedly greeting Wanda with an exchange of affable smiles for the expected times you bump into each other in the hallway of the apartment complex you live in or the campus of the university where you both study, and now and then she goes to the coffeeshop where you work during her free time in the afternoons, carrying with her some excuse to buy an iced black tea with lemonade to sip along a classic book you know she likes to read.

“Hey sucker, you're drooling. Stop looking before I report you for public nuisance.”

Yelena mutters beside you as you find yourself staring at the girl in the black miniskirt sitting so charmingly at the table in front of the cashier, who then looks at you in a splash of emerald-green irises over the top of the hardcover book, allowing herself to hide a slight smile behind the full pages.

The skin on your cheeks and the tips of your ears glows in deep pinks when you tell your co-worker to “shut the fuck up”, because you just know there's no way to look away from Wanda's pale, exposed thighs that are draped over each other down the table – her kneecaps slightly turned toward you, almost as if purposefully put in that position just for you to look at.

One night when you came in from yet another extra shift at work, Wanda was having a hard time getting the key in her door while she had bags slung all over her forearm extensions, and you immediately helped her carry the groceries into her house, being then rewarded with a can of cherry Coke (her preferred drink), and a small peck ghosted on your left cheek that felt like an electrical charge against your epidermis, stirring something up inside you.

You exchanged your phone numbers later when you asked her to feed Loki for another extra shift and gave her your spare apartment key to do so.

Yelena, of course, made fun of you for grinning so kindheartedly when the notification came in for a photo of Wanda holding Loki against her lap like a grumpy little baby, but you just didn't bother to care about your best friend's continuous teasing that went on until late of the night. The following afternoon, Wanda sat with her tray on the table with you, the Belova girl and Kate during your lunch period at the cafeteria.

“Oh yeah, Y/N was part of the debate club when we were in high school,” she says with her cheek resting on her open right palm, prompting a good-natured eye roll on your part, “It was cute.”

“I bet it was, indeed,” Yelena replies, in a voice filled with hints of mockery, her mouth full of chewed apple, “So cute, little Y/N!”

“Dude, just shut up,” you grumble awkwardly from behind your glass of orange juice.

“I bet you guys were a really cute couple though,” but when Kate says that, drinking from the straw of her grape juice box, the atmosphere around the table is a little weird.

You and Wanda look at each other, and it even amazes you when you see that she can't help but express a reserved smile that goes far back, back to her adolescence.

The succeeding weekend, when Pietro came to the big city to visit his sister, he didn't accept less than a drunken company in your presence, which, according to him, would bring back the flame of the good old days; and it was late into the night, when the young boy in the bluish blouse (the brown roots of his hair sampled in the strain of dyed gray locks, cut short) pointed an accusing drunken left finger that trekked from you to Wanda and from Wanda to you.

“You know, it's a shame you two never dated back in high school,” he grumbles, before tucking the neck of his beer bottle between his parched lips, “I always thought you guys were, like, super alike. And Wanda kept saying she thought you were super hot, Y/N, seriously, it was super annoying!”

There's an incredulous grunt on the part of the twin girl with the creased brow and gauchely twisted mouth, who's sitting opposite her brother's, as she spits the cigarette smoke out of her nostrils instead of down to her lungs, tapping the ashes into a hard ruby-color metal ashtray placed in the center of the coffee table in front of you, amidst a heap of several empty beer bottles and leftover bread, hamburger and fries, the junk food now all cold and withered.

“Shut up, Pietro!”

Her voice is loud as the shyness that rises red across her pale cheeks, making her look younger and more innocent behind the dark makeup and lank hair. And you, sitting like a physical barrier founded between the pair of siblings, just take a sip of your own cold beer, sinking your body a little deeper into the dark linen sofa that smells like Wanda.

“Come on, Wanda, you’re always nagging that you're gonna die alone or whatever that emo shit you keep saying, so date Y/N instead! She's a great catch!”

“Pietro, I swear to God that I actually will fucking murder you.”

She looks like she's going to explode. It's almost funny in a certain way, but you don't allow yourself to laugh, so you just drink more and more of your beer.

“Y/N,” he moves to you in a drawl and, in a silence that connects your mouth to the mouth of the bottle, your hooded gaze turns to the boy’s piercing blue eyes, “Date Wanda. C’mon, date her! I know your type, I know you have a taste for edgy girls–”

“Seriously, just shut the fuck up!” thunders the younger sister, who is promptly snubbed by the older brother.

“Don't act like it's not true, Wanda! Back home it was always “oh, but Y/N is so pretty”, “Y/N is so cool”, “Y/N's sneakers are stylish”, “Y/N eyes are so–”

But before Pietro can continue in a monologue about his sister and how much she always noticed you, his speech is interrupted by a pillow of reddish fabric that flies close to the tip of your nose only to then crash into his forehead, causing him to spill beer all over his shorts.

But it's a few days later, maybe another weekend or the start of another Monday, that Wanda's wide television, which flashed on her screen an old black-and-white American sitcom that you know is to her taste (who appreciates classic literature and old series, nostalgic for a time when she never lived, something she says came from her mother) is the only thing that clutters the apartment like some source of light or sound, which meet the two of you, both of you snuggled up on her dark beer-stained couch.

You don't have anything to say to each other, but even so, the atmosphere is comfortable and domestic because Wanda, with a sudden abundance of coziness surging into her bubbling core, has her head exhaling the scents of freshly washed hair reclining on your shoulder, your arm in outline of her body pulling her close to your right side, chuckling along with her in innocent humor when some goofy character trips over a piece of furniture or a banana peel.

On the coffee table are a couple of cans of Cherry Coke and an empty red ashtray. You don't know when you two ended up like this, but there's no complaint on your part, and certainly not hers either.

When an alacrity chuckle escapes through the parted crack of her lips, her scalp approaches the underside of your nose and you feel the sweet aroma of strawberry shampoo, which is enveloped in a full-bodied cigarette smell that causes a wave of nostalgic clamor disperses through your bloodstream.

And she knows you like it, because her fingers curl against the hem of the blouse you're wearing on your hunched body on the couch, nails tinted in a sober black nail polish deferring a continuous, circular caress against your lower belly, close to your belly button, dangerously close to the zip of your pants.

“Y/N,” she calls out to you, in a low voice that comes with a background of laughter from an old-time television audience, “Did you really love me back then?”

You look at Wanda, whose head has slipped to fall to your chest, in the warm embrace in which you have captured her. She looks up, now bare of her makeup, in a modest shade of green that shines in the black-and-white lighting that radiates from the television. And in that bonded midair, with the sting of her gaze burning into your irises, you move your chin up and down, never dissolving the bond that you've built.

“Yes,” is a sigh, “Yes, there was a time when… when I loved you. When I really loved you.”

You say, as if you still don't love her. As if you wouldn't be able to break your own bones only to have her there again, lying in the comfort of your arms that salute so much for the outline of the warmth of her body glistening the red color against your bristling chest.

Wanda, for her part, stops with the deferred caress against your lower stomach, shifting her watchful gaze toward the glowing television screen.

“I loved you too, you know,” her body moves closer to yours, “I really loved you back then.”

"Then… why?" your speech can't help but emulate the reactionary question, which comes like thunder, hitting the back of your throat, "If you loved me, then why...?"

Her muscles, even beneath the rock band shirt she wears and the black miniskirt that adorns her hips, strain against you. She knows it's about the prom night, about the abandonment. Your tone isn't furious, but rather, just infested with a genuine curiosity that turns out to have a background in faded hurt.

“Those people,” she mutters between ragged breaths, “The rumors… he would have known. Erik, he… he would have known.”

“We were going to get out of that town, Wanda,” your voice is low against the top of her ear, “I had nothing else to worry about. I didn't care if any of those bastards were going to judge us—”

“It's not about the judgment, Y/N,” she interrupts you, her voice a whisper, after an empty, unfunny chuckle, “Fuck, I couldn't care less if someone was going to judge us. It's not like no one ever judged me for the trouble I got myself into or the shit I did back then, anyways."

And yes, she has a point. If there was anyone at Westview High who would be regarded as the black sheep, a hopeless cause, it would indeed be a young Wanda Maximoff. And then, your frown creases across your forehead. You don't know where she's going with this information that is nothing short of new to you, but you are willing to listen.

“It's just… I told Erik about you. Well, about you and me. On prom day,” your stomach drops as your grip increases the deferred pressure on her left bicep, through the cotton of her shirt, “And then that idiot hit me.”

Her laughter is not matched by yours. A sudden fury that takes over your bones makes you want to punch Erike Lehnsherr in his damn jaw. Wanda has always been the keeper of a sour humor, drinking from sources of cynicism, but this time you weren't able to escort her into a bittersweet joke.

“And I found out that stupid Pietro opened his big mouth and talked about your acceptance letter from NYU,” your gaze falls to the top of her dark-haired head, “And it turns out he had an influential acquaintance inside there. Do you know Professor Charles Xavier?”

“The bald guy who’s always wearing that ugly suit?” you ask, and Wanda nods, between another chuckle. The barely perceptible flicker falling over it indicates an onset of suppressed crying you've seen before.

“Erik, he,” she sniffles, “He said he was going to end your life. And I always knew, I– you wanted so badly to get out of that town, Y/N. You spent that last year studying so hard, you worked so hard for that damn letter… I couldn't let him get away with it, with everything you've worked so hard to achieve. It was your dream, I couldn't, I—”

She gasps against your shirt, in a greedy wave of painful sobs that feel like they want to shatter the bones in her shoulders. And you hold her when she cries, when she breaks down into tears that seem incessant, just like you did before, in your bed at night or in the cold of dawn inside your archaic old car given to you by your father. Even if you also wanted to burst into a painful cry. Even if you want to apologize for all the harm you've caused her in retaliation produced by the bastard who fathered her.

And you see her as you saw her before; just a broken girl in the world, the daughter of someone who didn't deserve to have her in his life.

“I–I just miss my mom so much,” she cries against your chest, sounding so young, so innocent, and so shattered.

You hold her until she sheds all her tears, when the crying subsides, and she begins to wheeze loudly in weary sleep against your chest. It's only then that you allow yourself to cry silently against her hair which, even after so many cigarettes smoked, still manages to smell so good. And you cry for what you did and what you didn't do either.

The bright sun of the pale of the next dawn comes to shine in the middle of the celestial field, somewhat immodic during that particular warm day, in the middle of a sultry and sunny climate.

The wide-open window causes golden slivers of sunlight to warm the top of your cheek, and when your brain finally wakes up, blinking the sleep out of your eyelashes, you feel along with the morning a look burning on your face. And when your eyelids open, it's to reveal Wanda's slightly puffy face in front of you; her eyes half red and puffy from the crying that had put her to sleep, her chin balanced on your chest.

She's lying on top of you, her legs tucked between yours.

“You woke up,” she whispers, like a little child. You smile, still lethargic from the recent sleep in your system.

“I woke up, indeed.”

“Are you okay?” Her tone is curious, full of meaning. A gust of warm air blows between your nostrils, close to her nose that almost touches yours.

"I am. Yes, I am. Are you? What time is it?”

“Early. And yes, I am,” and then, her gaze drops to the line of your lips, “I'm sorry, but I really want to kiss you right now.”

Something burns inside you.

“I really want to kiss you now too, Wanda.”

And then Wanda dives toward you, grabbing the sides of your face between her warm hands. And you then reach forward and take her, pressing the commission of your lips against the contoured sleepy-cherry-flavored mouth that could belong to none other than the girl who always had your heart, who moved her body hers against yours. You just wanted to feel her close, all to yourself, comfortable in your grip.

A slow kiss, half snooty and sloppy, dissolves, but you hold the air inside your lungs and search for more of her, the red inside her mouth, armed with a soft red nostalgic familiarity contouring your bodies through your lips, being eagerly reciprocated by an affectionate Wanda. Your lips were moved carefully, following an invisible line that dictated you not so reckless actions like a rehearsed act.

The fervent kiss becomes a pacified kiss, and the pacified kiss becomes little kisses that soon fade into serene peace. You feel a forehead press against yours.

Soon, a sly pink tongue slips back into your mouth in search of what is hers, expert and needy. And then, a robust and powerful touch, palms wide open and pressed to the curve of your jaw, asks you to open your eyes – and Wanda stands before you like a creature out of a dream, Wanda usurps your senses, Wanda pulses inside your veins and on your tongue.

“You're perfect, Wanda,” you whisper hot against the pulp of her swollen lips, “You're just perfect.”

“I love you,” she says in return, and hot tears again adorn her eyeballs, “I fucking love you, Y/N.”

You want to explode, explode in love. Your forehead presses against hers, and she caresses the cheek of her thumb against the top of her cheekbone.

“I love you too Wanda,” you smile, “I love you too.”

She is no longer your noisy neighbor after this.

2K notes · View notes