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ginnsbaker · 8 months

Text

Maybe You Were The Ocean

Summary: Wanda was... an open-ended chapter in your life.

Word count: 6.3k+ | Tags: Heavy Angst, Character Death, Bittersweet ending

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Requested by @gingiesworld:

Y/N and Wanda have been together for a while and Pietro calls Y/N one night, needing a lift home from a friends party. On that night they get hit by another drunk driver and Pietro dies on impact. As time goes on and the other driver is arrested, y/n still blames themselves for Pietro's death. Even though Wanda continuously tries to tell them otherwise but they won't listen. They then yell at her "why don't you blame me? You should hate me for your brother dying." Before walking out. Can be either a happy or sad ending buddy. Whichever you decide

Author's note: I changed some minor details in the request, hope you don't mind Gingie. Thank you for this gut-wrenching monster, it allowed me to practice writing in past tense (so out of my comfort zone lol). Title is from "black flies" by ben howard, listen to that as well when you read ;)

Masterlist

Now

You haven't been to something like this in what seems like ages.

That something being a wedding.

And if you were to keep count, you'd realize you've been to more funerals than weddings in your lifetime so far.

Your best friend looks like a goddess in her white dress—and anyone with eyes can see that the groom is the luckiest man on earth.

You’re fixing your hair in front of the mirror when she approaches, wearing a smile that you’ve never seen on her, a smile you’d never be able to put on her lips yourself. It’s a smile reserved for him—that lucky bastard.

She gently taps on your shoulder. “You’re going to make me cry if you keep looking so stunning,” she teases, her voice light with laughter.

You chuckle, your eyes meeting hers in the mirror. “It's your day, and nothing can overshadow how beautiful you look.”

“Promise me something,” she says suddenly, her bright eyes locking onto yours.

“Anything,” you reply without hesitation.

“Promise me that you won’t stop looking for this kind of happiness. Promise me you'll find someone who puts that same smile on your face,” she whispers.

Your throat tightens, words caught somewhere between heartache and hope. “I promise.”

Then

You were eight years old when you moved to a new neighborhood.

At that age, it felt like the scariest thing that had ever happened to you. Your parents divorced, your mother got full custody, and once the judge made that call, she packed up everything familiar and moved you to a new state: New Jersey.

It was what she could manage back then. This place was nothing like the spacious suburbs you remembered, and your new apartment building seemed no bigger than your old living room back in California. The place had just one bedroom, and it was hard to tell where the dining area stopped and the kitchen started.

You resented her in the way a child might, not fully grasping responsibility or consequences. You were upset she took you away from your friends and the comfort of your old life. You didn’t see back then the bruises hidden beneath her shirt, the ones your father left. You only learned about them when you turned eighteen. By then, your resentment had faded long ago.

A week after moving into that aged building, you encountered the twins next door, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff. Initially, you met Pietro when his mother sent him over with some food to welcome you and your mom to the neighborhood. It wasn't until you and Pietro became inseparable friends, spending every possible moment together, that you met Wanda.

When you did meet her, you weren't fond of her. She seemed aloof and mostly kept to herself. Unlike her expressive brother, Wanda seldom voiced her thoughts, making conversations with her feel uninspiring.

You and Pietro often clashed with Wanda over the television. You both wanted to play video games while Wanda preferred her sitcoms. Pietro would let Wanda watch her shows briefly before forcefully switching channels just to annoy her. Eventually, Wanda would retreat to her room in tears, and Pietro would steel himself for a reprimand when their mother returned home.

You would give Wanda a piece of chocolate because you felt bad, but you never asked Pietro to stop, fearing he might stop being your best friend. In return, Wanda would lend you her pocketbooks you’d never quite finish.

You hadn't realized it back then, but that dynamic would continue well into your teen years. With Pietro stirring up trouble left and right, you being caught in the middle, and Wanda, from a distance, observing you with cautious interest—perhaps wishing it had been her who brought the welcoming food instead of her brother.

Now

The wedding isn’t going to start for another hour. There have been delays due to the weather.

With the archways and open corridors adorned with blooming flowers and drapes, the venue looks nothing short of magical, even with the looming clouds. From where you stand, you extend your arm, letting the light drizzle kiss your skin. Each droplet feels like nature's way of playing with the day's emotions—adding both melancholy and charm.

Someone nearby remarks, “You know it's considered good luck when it rains on one's wedding day.”

You merely smile politely in response.

“Are you a friend of the bride’s or the groom's?”

“The bride,” you reply.

“Oh, fantastic! Maybe you can convince her to finally see she’s way out of his league!”

You shake your head at the joke. It’s not even the first time you've heard it today.

Then

It wasn't until you were fifteen and Pietro, seventeen, that the troubles you found yourselves in became more serious.

It had also been a few months since Pietro introduced you to drugs other than weed. At first, it was just an occasional joint passed around at a party or behind the school building. But Pietro wanted to try riskier substances. You weren't as keen but didn't want to be left behind by your best friend.

One evening, after trying something a bit harder than usual, you and Pietro were wandering the streets, laughing way too loud. In his intoxicated state, Pietro suddenly swung at a parked car with his bat, smashing it. Almost immediately, patrol lights shone bright, and stern police voices could be heard from almost everywhere. Pietro got cornered, but sheer panic made you bolt. Ditching your best friend felt terrible, but the terrifying thought of jail—especially knowing the mess it'd be for your already stretched-thin mom—made you keep running.

Still shaken, you made your way to Pietro's apartment, knowing you had to be the one to tell his mother. Her reaction was a storm of emotions—anger, fear, desperation. She demanded you stay with Wanda while she went to confront the nightmare at the police station.

“I think I'll just head home,” you murmured to Wanda, not wanting to impose any further.

She glanced at you, her eyes searching. “Have you had dinner?”

You hesitated, then lied. “Yeah, I ate earlier.” The truth was your mom had been away for work for three days, and the fridge was almost bare.

The small home you came to know felt overwhelmingly spacious as you sat alone, burdened by the guilt of having left your best friend behind. But mere minutes after sinking into your worn-out couch, a knock came at your door. Opening it, you found Wanda, a bowl of steaming paprikash in her hands and a soft smile on her lips.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said.

Your face lit up in relief at the sight of the food, more grateful than you could express. Just as you were about to thank her, your stomach betrayed you with an embarrassingly loud growl. Wanda let out a genuine laugh, and for a brief moment, you felt like a burden had been lifted.

“Guess I was right,” she teased, handing you the bowl.

As you eagerly began eating, Wanda settled opposite you, her expression growing serious again. “What were you two even thinking tonight?” she asked softly.

Swallowing, you sighed, “I tried to stop him, Wanda. But I couldn't talk him out of it.”

Wanda looked down, her fingers playing with a loose thread on the couch. “I don't blame you,” she finally said, her voice gentle, “I never do. In fact, I sometimes wonder how much worse he might've been without you around.”

A moment of silence hung between the two of you before Wanda whispered, more to herself than to you, “I'm so worried about next year.”

Curiously, you looked up from your food, "What do you mean?"

“Pietro's turning eighteen. He was supposed to get a baseball scholarship, but with this run in with the police, that’s probably hanging in the balance now…” she trailed off.

Your heart sank. You had known Pietro had big dreams tied to that scholarship, dreams that now seemed to be teetering on the brink. "And what about you, Wanda? What's your plan?"

Wanda took a deep breath, and her face lit up slightly, “I got accepted into Columbia. It's amazing, really. But…” She sighed, looking down, “Even with the scholarship they offered, I can't afford it. Plus, with everything going on, I think I need to be here, help Mom out, you know?”

“That's tough,” you whispered, feeling a pang of sadness for the bright future she might be putting on hold.

She nodded, “I'm thinking of starting work and maybe attending community college for a bit. It's not Columbia, but it's something.”

“That's... that's just unfair,” you whispered, setting down your bowl, your appetite momentarily forgotten. “If there's anyone who deserves to be at Columbia, Wanda, it's you.”

Wanda looked up, her eyes filled with something you didn’t recognize.

“I wish things were different,” you continued. “I've always thought of you as one of the most intelligent people I know. And not just smart, but kind... genuinely kind.”

She took in your words, the distance between you two closing slightly. “Thank you,” she murmured, her gaze never leaving yours.

Then, with a flash of resolve, she inched closer. “There's something I want to do,” she began, her voice a whisper. “Something I've wanted for a long time, but it never seemed right. I don't think there'll be another perfect moment, another chance. Not after tonight.”

Before you could process her words, she was leaning in, the space between you disappearing. Your eyelids dropped, and for a heartbeat, everything else melted away as her lips met yours.

For the longest time, nothing made sense to you. That was, until Wanda Maximoff kissed you.

Now

Your best friend's walk down the aisle feels like the longest part of the ceremony–at least to you. The sight is so magical that time seems to stand still. When you snap back to reality, the priest is asking if there's anyone in the crowd who wishes to object to the marriage.

Nobody breaks the silence which lasts a mere two seconds. It's a rarity these days for anyone to object. They only happen now in movies. Modern weddings are more intimate, almost closed-door affairs. The guest list is meticulously curated, ensuring anyone with a complex history with the bride or groom remains absent.

You watch the ceremony unfold, every word, every shared glance, making you feel more trapped by the promise you made earlier. You'd promised to chase that very kind of happiness, the kind that was unfolding right in front of you. Yet as you watch, there's this nagging feeling at the back of your mind, asking if you ever really will.

What they have feels like a world apart from where you're seated.

You try to be genuinely happy for your best friend, and on many levels, you are. But you–you’re the last person to believe you deserve even a fraction of such a miracle.

Then

The kiss, as Wanda had promised, never happened again.

At least not for the duration they remained neighbors. Soon after, she and Pietro moved to another town for their studies. As for you, you and your mother also moved shortly after their departure, to a nicer neighborhood that’s closer to Manhattan where you also transferred schools.

For five years, you didn't see either of them. No calls. Nothing on social media. But that didn't stop them from occasionally drifting into your thoughts. Especially that memory of your first kiss.

That was until one night, while dining alone in a midscale Soho restaurant, you looked up to find Wanda as your server.

She wore a simple black uniform that most servers donned, but she carried it with an elegance that made her stand out. For a moment, you thought she didn't recognize you, as she professionally presented the menu and described the evening's specials without missing a beat. But then, as she was turning to leave your table, she paused and looked directly into your eyes.

“It's been a long time,” she said, her voice becoming more familiar as she shed her professional facade.

You nodded, struggling to find the right words. “Yeah, it really has. I didn't expect to see you here.”

She smiled, a little sadly. “Life takes us to unexpected places sometimes. I... well, I needed a job while I finish my degree.”

You both chatted briefly, catching up on lost time, but Wanda was called away to attend to other patrons. As she bustled about, you found it difficult to focus on your meal, your gaze repeatedly drawn to her fluid movements around the room. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and she'd offer a fleeting smile, a touch of color rising to her cheeks.

After a while, you signaled for the check. Wanda was quick to bring it over, her fingers brushing against yours as she handed it to you.

“How's Pietro?” you asked tentatively.

Wanda hesitated, her eyes betraying her composure. “He was released from prison about a month ago,” she began, taking a deep breath. “It was tough, but he's doing better now. Trying to change, you know? And he... he misses you.”

Baseball never happened for him. College too. You wished you hadn’t lost your connection together. Perhaps you could have made a difference.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured. “Life just... took over.”

Wanda nodded with understanding, but remained silent.

As you prepared to leave, Wanda slipped a note along with your bill. It read, “It was good to see you again. Maybe we shouldn't wait another five years?”

Beneath these words, Wanda had also written down her phone number.

You waited a total of three days to call Wanda.

Wanda was... an open-ended chapter in your life. It wasn’t that you hadn’t been with other women since she stole your first kiss, but she remained a persistent afterthought in every relationship of yours that ended.

It didn't help that you'd left a bookmark in her chapter, aware that revisiting it had the potential to alter the trajectory of everything.

The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, it's me,” you hesitated for a moment, wondering if she would recognize your voice after all these years, “From the restaurant, the other night?”

There was a brief pause, then her tone softened, “I hoped you'd call.”

You were grinning so hard that it didn’t occur to you that you hadn’t responded to her in a while when she gently teased, “Took you long enough.”

“Three days isn’t that long,” you defended with a slight chuckle.

“Well, in the grand scheme of things, no. But in the context of us? It felt like an eternity,” she admitted.

And it truly felt that way. Finding Wanda over the past several years hadn't been impossible or even especially hard. Yet, both of you had consciously let things drift. You had navigated through college, and Wanda, well, she'd been engaged in whatever endeavors she had pursued.

But that night, it felt right to call her. And you hadn’t realized you were waiting to find her again.

You and Wanda scheduled to meet some time during the week and the conversation should’ve ended there. But neither of you wanted to hang up, and Wanda quickly asked about your college experience and the new neighborhood you'd settled into after their departure. By the time you both ended the call, nearly two hours had passed, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

It was evident; the bookmark you'd placed hadn't lost its page and it was easy to ease once more into its pages.

Now

The sun has set when the newly-wedded couple finally arrives at the reception.

You're seated at a table filled with strangers, but your best friend made sure to place you next to a woman she's been raving about—one she's suggested more than once you should date.

Her name is Natasha and she’s gorgeous beyond words. She's so striking that you find yourself wondering if she's even your type. Typically, you've steered clear of people who seem universally more attractive than you, a defense mechanism to sidestep lingering insecurities from over the years.

But as she leans into your personal space, you can’t help but respond to every question and laugh at every joke she throws your way.

Maybe it’s safe to let yourself enjoy this, even just for tonight.

Then

It was scarcely two weeks since that encounter with Wanda at the restaurant, and there you were, in her bed.

It was cramped and the air conditioning kept failing many times during the day.

But you didn’t care.

You had known this woman for almost your entire life, and you'd waited just as long to be in her bed like this: with your arm growing numb under her weight, her head resting on your chest, and your nose buried in her hair.

She stirred slightly, her fingers tracing patterns on your chest. “Did you ever think...?” she began, voice hesitant.

“Think what?” you prompted, adjusting slightly so you could see her face.

“That we'd end up here, like this?” she whispered, her eyes searching yours.

You smiled, thinking back. “I don't know if I let myself think about it. But I hoped.”

She chuckled softly, her breath warm against your skin. “I had a feeling you'd say that.”

The sheets beneath you were thin and had seen better days, but it didn't matter. The world outside, with its faint hum of city life, seemed so far away. Yet, the world outside seemed irrelevant. All that mattered was the rhythm of her breathing syncing with yours and the warmth of her body next to you.

Every so often, she'd shift, mumbling half-formed sentences that would make you chuckle.

“Is the penguin wearing a bowtie?” she murmured in her half-asleep state.

You laughed softly. “What penguin?”

“The one in my dream,” she mumbled, snuggling closer to you. “He's quite the gentleman.”

“Sounds like a classy penguin,” you teased.

She smiled faintly, her eyes still closed. “He reminds me of you, in a way.”

“Oh? So, I'm a penguin now?” you quipped, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“In the best way,” she whispered, pulling you closer. “My dapper penguin.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Only you would dream of something like that.”

“And only you,” she murmured, lips against your chest, “Would be there in that dream with me.”

While Wanda seamlessly reintegrated into your life, with Pietro, however, things weren't as straightforward. His past, speckled with run-ins with the law and a battle against addiction, made you and Wanda wary of him, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You could tell he was on the mend though, especially when six months into your relationship with Wanda, Pietro was able to hold a job for that same duration. Yet, his living situation with Wanda was far from ideal. Their apartment was snug, to say the least. His room was barely big enough to fit his bed.

You wished you could help, but with college expenses looming over you, your hands were tied. The thought of asking Wanda to move in with you played on your mind constantly. It seemed like the ideal solution: she would have a more stable environment, and Pietro could fully occupy the apartment, giving him some semblance of independence.

“What do you think about moving in with me? I know it's soon, but…” you asked her one night in the quiet confines of your dorm room.

“I don’t think I’m allowed to live here with you,” Wanda said, a bit amused at your suggestion.

“I didn’t mean here,” you replied. “I meant finding an apartment for the two of us.”

“That’s just adding more expenses, Y/N. I can’t let you do that when you can stay here without any costs,” Wanda countered.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “It's not about the money, Wands. It's about... us. Having a place of our own. And it would also give Pietro the whole apartment.”

Wanda's eyes met yours, searching for a hidden meaning. “Are you saying that because of Pietro? You think he's a burden?”

You quickly shook your head. “No, no, it's not that. I just... I see how much you worry about him.”

Your fingers found hers, lacing together as you both sat on the edge of your bed. “I get it,” you began, exhaling softly, “But I thought about Pietro too. He’d have the apartment all to himself. More space, more independence.”

Wanda's eyebrows knit together in concern. “And what if he…” she hesitated, searching for the right words, “Relapses or needs me?”

You tightened your grip around her hand. “We wouldn't be too far, Wanda. And maybe giving him that space and trust will help him more than you think.”

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I know you're thinking of what's best for all of us, but Pietro's situation has always been so... fragile.”

Wanda looked at you, her eyes filled with emotion. “I'll think about it,” she whispered.

“Take your time,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss on her knuckles. “Whatever you decide, I'm with you every step of the way.”

“Promise me,” Wanda said, her eyes hardening, like she’s on the verge of tears or something worse. “Promise you’ll be with me always.”

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Always.”

Now

“It’s not everyday you find the person you’ll be spending the rest of your life with.”

Short and sweet, but that's your whole speech, cliches and all.

“I never thought I'd see the day,” you start, nodding towards the newlyweds with a smirk. “But hey, miracles happen.” You raise your champagne glass. “To two people who finally figured it out. Cheers.”

Your best friend laughs, rolling her eyes affectionately at you. “Trust you to keep things real,” she murmurs, clinking her glass with yours.

And that’s when you see her, amongst the cheering crowds.

In the middle of all the people, she stands out. Always has. It doesn't matter where or when, you can always spot her. Your heart skips a beat, just like it always does. It's like everyone else fades a bit, and she's the only one in focus.

Wanda Maximoff.

Pristine in a scarlet trumpet gown, her hair pulled into a tight, strict bun. A few stray tendrils of hair have escaped the bun, framing her face in a way that gives her an almost ethereal quality.

As you take a moment to really look at her, you notice the fine details. The way the light catches the small diamond earrings she wears, making them shimmer just so. The delicate curve of her collarbone, revealed by the gown's off-the-shoulder design. And her eyes—always her captivating eyes–that hold an entire galaxy, scanning the room until they land on you.

The shock in her eyes mirrors yours, and for a moment, everything else blurs. Your legs wobble, threatening to give way beneath you. The room's atmosphere grows thick, or perhaps you're just struggling to catch your breath.

Beside you, the bride and your best friend, Maria, notices your sudden change in demeanor and follows your gaze to its source.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

You manage a shaky head shake in response, pushing through the crowd to escape the room. But you can hear Maria, not too far behind, calling after you.

Then

“So, Maria,” Wanda began once your friend had left and it was just the two of you in the cafe. You had been so keen for the two of them to meet. But with Maria spending a whole semester in Germany as an exchange student, their only prior meeting had been a brief video call that interrupted one of your dates with Wanda.

“How did you two get so close?”

“Did I never tell you about that?”

Wanda shook her head, taking a sip from her now lukewarm cappuccino.

“Freshman year. We were looking for this book and it only had one copy in the school library, and believe it or not, we reached for it at the same time,” you recounted with a wistful smile.

Wanda's face shifted ever so slightly, a change you didn't quite catch.

“We both really needed it badly, so we promised to take turns using it, and we ended up studying together for weeks.”

“That sounds like something out of a movie,” Wanda mused, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.

“It kind of felt like that,” you admitted, laughing softly. “From bickering about who would get the book on Mondays to sharing our notes and coffee breaks. Before we knew it, we were inseparable.”

Wanda hummed, her eyes flitting restlessly around you.

“What is it?”

Wanda shrugged. “Nothing.”

You frowned slightly, knowing her well enough to see past her facade. “Wands, come on,” you coaxed. “Talk to me.”

She looked away for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “It's just... it's hard sometimes, hearing about these memories you shared with someone else, when I wish I had been there with you.”

“Wanda,” you began gently, “There are moments in your past that I wasn't a part of. But what matters is now. Right here, with you.”

She sighed, her posture deflating a little. “I know. It's silly, isn't it? To be jealous of a close friend of yours.”

“If it makes you feel this way, then it's valid, no matter how silly you think it might be,” you assured her.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. “Growing up, our worlds were confined to that same apartment building. The people, the routines, everything was predictable. And now... being out in the world, seeing you connect with others, it's just... intimidating. And, honestly, a little scary.”

You paused, smirking a bit. “You know,” you began, but Wanda cut in, “What?”

“It's just...Do you even know how happy you make me?” you said, a bit sheepishly.

She looked like she was about to say something, but you quickly added, “Seriously, Wands.”

Wanda blinked, clearly taken aback. “You have this strange way of turning things around,” she said with a soft chuckle, her face turning a shade pinker.

“Because I love you.”

Neither of you had said it up until now. And it’s quickly evident that it was the right thing to say, at the right moment.

She took a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with her cup. “You always jump in headfirst, don't you?” Then, looking up into your eyes, she added softly, “I love you too.”

You grinned, feeling a weight lifted. “Took you long enough.”

Now

The grand ballroom doors open with a soft whoosh, the muted melodies of a string quartet drifting into the cool night. You step out quickly, breathing in deep gulps of fresh air, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Memories of Wanda Maximoff, which you've tried hard to keep buried, surge to the forefront of your mind.

Maria, noticing your abrupt exit, quickly follows you out. “Hey,” she calls out softly, her heels clicking on the stone path as she reaches you. “Are you okay?”

“Why is she here?” you exclaim, the pitch of your voice inching towards a sharp octave.

Maria gently grabs your arm, offering solace. “I had no idea she'd be here. I promise. She must be someone’s plus one.”

You swallow hard, trying to steady your suddenly spinning surroundings.

“Y/N?”

“I'm okay, Maria,” you say, forcing a weak smile. “Sorry about this. It's your wedding, and you shouldn't be out here with me. Go back, enjoy your day.”

She looks conflicted, torn between staying by your side and going back to her new spouse and guests.

After a moment, Maria steps forward, enveloping you in a tight hug. “Promise me you'll be okay?”

You nod, hugging her back. “That’s too many promises in one day. But yeah, I’ll be okay.”

It’s just Wanda, you tell yourself.

Just the girl who could always bring out that special smile in you—the same one Maria had when she said, “I do.”

Then

The call came unexpectedly in the middle of the night.

You and Wanda had been dozing in her room for a few hours, following a particularly exhausting fight that concluded with even more exhausting—and mind-blowing—make-up sex.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” You instantly recognized Pietro’s voice. “Hey, listen, can you pick me up? I'm at a bar,” Pietro said, his voice tinged with guilt and slight slurring. “I... I swear I didn't do anything. I got promoted to store manager and I treated a few colleagues to celebrate. I'm a bit tipsy so I... I'm sorry to bother you.”

There was a pause, and you ran a hand through your hair, exchanging a glance with Wanda who now sat up with a worried look.

“Which bar?” you asked, trying to keep yourself calm.

“Mike’s Tavern,” he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your keys from the nightstand. “Alright, I'm on my way. Stay put.”

Wanda frowned, her gaze conflicted. “I want to come with you,” she said, her brows furrowing together in concern and sleepiness.

“You should stay,” you said, sliding into your jeans. “It's a bit of a drive to New Jersey. You've had a long day, and you need to rest. I'll handle this.”

She bit her lip, torn, but finally nodded. “Please be safe. Call me if anything happens, okay?”

“I will,” you said, leaning down to give her a brief kiss on the forehead before making your way out.

You didn't call Wanda on your way back from New Jersey, but not because nothing occurred.

Rather, something did happen, and you weren't conscious enough to make the call.

You and Pietro made it to the hospital.

Wanda was an emotional wreck, grappling with the challenge of dividing her attention between her brother in ICU and you being wheeled into a separate ward.

An hour later, she didn't need to decide any longer.

Pietro Maximoff's time of death was called just as you started regaining consciousness.

The days following Pietro's death were a blur. You'd wake up, immediately feeling the weight of the world pressing down, your every moment drenched in guilt in the form of alcohol and, sometimes, your own vomit.

Though you weren't close to Pietro anymore, he was slowly turning his life around. And while a drunk truck driver caused the accident, your own haste to get back to Wanda made you reckless.

That choice haunted you daily.

That choice made you believe that Wanda hated you in secret.

You began avoiding Wanda, her presence a haunting reminder of the brother she lost and, in a twisted way, the brother you felt responsible for losing. The relationship you cultivated turned into something that only existed as a label. Otherwise, it didn’t exist at all. It faded, just like the gash on your face that you acquired from the accident.

Nights blurred into days, and sometimes, it was hard to tell which was which. Friends would find you in bars or on the rooftops, looking worse for wear, lost in your thoughts. Yes, Wanda grieved, but she was also lost without you by her side. She yearned for your comfort, your grounding presence; instead, all she got was your voicemail.

The breaking point came on an evening when she didn’t hear from you for two weeks. On a hunch, she decided to visit your dorm room. The last thing she expected was to find Maria there. While the situation was innocent enough, to Wanda's overwhelmed and grieving heart, it felt like a betrayal. Maria, sensing the rising tension, made a hasty exit, leaving the two of you alone.

Wanda's eyes glittered with rage and sadness. “Is this it?” she demanded. “Is this how we handle grief? You shut me out and bring her in?”

You looked away, the walls you had put up to protect yourself now seeming like a prison. “It's not about Maria,” you murmured, your voice empty, almost lifeless.

Wanda's red-rimmed eyes searched yours, looking for a glimmer of the person she loved. “Then what is it? Why do you keep pushing me away?”

“Why don't you blame me?” you suddenly screamed, tears blurring your vision. “You should hate me for your brother dying!”

For a few moments, there was a deafening silence, interrupted only by your quiet sobs.

Wanda's hands cupped your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “I've never blamed you. Not once.”

You remained quiet, refusing to let Wanda lift your chin from your chest.

Wanda continued, “Life is a series of 'what ifs' and 'maybes'. You can't control everything. And neither can I. We both lost him, Y/N. I don’t need more loss by losing you too.”

“Maybe you already have,” you whispered, finally looking into her eyes.

Wanda's voice cracked, “You can't be serious. What are you saying?”

You felt drained, worn out. “I don't know how to be us anymore, Wanda.”

She looked devastated. “So you're just walking away? Because we're hurting?”

You just wanted to be able to breathe again. You just wanted all of the pain to end, even if it meant letting her go.

Wanda's face crumpled, her voice rising. “So, that's it? You're just giving up?”

You could barely muster the strength to speak. "I just think... maybe it's easier this way."

“Easier for whom?” Wanda yelled, unable to hold everything back any longer. “I don't need easy, Y/N. I need you. But if you're so set on this, then be honest with me.”

You took a deep breath, your throat tight. “I think we need space, Wanda. A break.”

For a moment, it looked like Wanda might collapse. She took a step back, her gaze cold and hard. “You think a break will fix this? Fine. But don't expect me to be here waiting when you come around.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and left.

The last image of Wanda Maximoff etched into your mind as you closed her chapter.

Now

You half-expect her to seek you out after you left the reception. So, when the familiar scent of Wanda’s perfume wafts over, you keep your back turned, taking a long drag from your cigarette rather than acknowledging her arrival.

“Can I bum one?” she asks, her voice softer than the last time you heard it.

You hand her a cigarette without a word, watching her closely as she lights it. Her fingers, slender and pale, bring the cigarette to her lips, and she takes a long drag, exhaling with a sigh.

She looks so different, yet so achingly familiar.

Her hair is red—a detail you missed earlier. But now, standing this close to her, you can pick out everything that’s changed about her.

And you hate how good you are at doing just that.

For a few minutes, both of you stand in silence, letting the smoke swirl around in patterns before it gets carried away by the wind.

Wanda breaks the silence. “It's been a while.”

“Did you know it was Maria’s wedding?” you ask, finally gathering the courage to look at her.

She hesitates, exhaling a plume of smoke before admitting, “Yes, I did. But explaining to Steve our... complicated history and why I'd refuse to be his plus one seemed harder than just going with it.”

“Steve?”

She looks down, taking a moment before murmuring, “Steve’s my fiancé.”

Your eyes instinctively flit to her left hand, landing on the glimmering diamond ring. It's large and hard to miss, and you almost want to laugh that you hadn’t noticed before.

There’s a long pause between you both before you find your voice. “Congratulations, Wanda.” And to your own surprise, you genuinely mean it.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, an action you still find so endearing after all these years. But you’re not supposed to find anything about her endearing anymore. They’re not supposed to make your heart race. They’re not supposed to make you feel light-headed with desire.

It hits you painfully just how possible it is to stand mere inches from someone, yet feel oceans apart.

Wanda takes a deep breath, releasing it shakily.

“You know,” Wanda says, her voice soft, “I never really got to apologize for how things ended between us.” She shakes her head slowly, tears forming in her eyes. “I was angry, hurt... lost. And when you tried to come back, I was already seeing someone else. By that time–”

“–so much has happened and I’ve hurt you too much,” you finish for her, a pained smile on your lips. “I’m sorry too.”

Wanda's breath hitches, and for a moment, she's transported back to your dorm room. She's spent a long time wondering what might have happened if she had stayed. But that choice belongs to a different timeline, a version of her that might have been braver than she feels now.

You pause, glancing at your hands before meeting her eyes. “Are you happy, Wanda?” A part of you hopes she's found happiness, yet another selfish part wishes she hasn't—because if she hasn't, maybe there's still a space for you in her life.

Wanda meets your gaze, her eyes shining with a clarity you hadn't seen in years. “I am happy,” she confirms softly.

The unexpected rush of emotion tightens your throat, and your eyes mist over. But you fight it, forcing a big smile that wrinkles the corners of your eyes.

“That's great, Wanda,” you say. Your heart aches a bit, thinking how happiness can feel like a double-edged sword.

Reading your expression, she asks, “What about you? Are you happy?”

You promised Maria you won’t stop looking for the kind of happiness that brings people together.

So, now you hang onto the hope of that promise.

“Getting there,” you answer, the corners of your mouth lifting ever so slightly, “I will be.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #oneshots #steve rogers #wanda maximoff au #maria hill #bittersweet ending

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mixedupmelody · 1 year

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tough guy.

notes: someone needs to seriously make an effort to bruise these guys' ego a little. the t-birds in GENERAL need to come with a warning sign saying "Will Not Show Affection in Public".

contains: danny zuko x gender neutral reader , kenickie murdoch x female reader

characters: danny zuko, kenickie murdoch, t-birds and pink ladies (briefly mentioned)

warnings: swearing, suggestive themes and dialouge

. ☁️ .

꒰ danny. ꒱

“ 'S cool with me, baby. ” Danny holds a hand around your waist, taking care not to look into your eyes. God, he could stare at them for hours. He'd live a happy life if all he ever saw was those eyes. But he can't look at you. Not now. The T-Birds stare at him, almost as if they were waiting on their leader to slip up and say something cheesy. “ I'll see you after school, beautiful. ”

You press a quick kiss to his lips, before walking off to your next class. You knew his status meant something to him, and weren't trying to put him in an annoying spot with his friends. Danny's shoulders relax as you walk off, eyes trailing after you as if he could keep you next to him with his mind.

Danny is the leader of the T-Birds, so he's held to a somewhat higher standard than the rest of the guys. Out of all of them, he's suppossed to be the most macho, the most hard-headed, and the most gutsy member all into one. In between all the turf wars and fights at school, he's the face of their gang that let's everyone know he means business.

And then you came along. You managed to break through his tough exterior and unlock a sweeter, more sensitive side of him. He couldn't help but feel like a total melvin each time he dressed up nice to bring you flowers, or when he put his best efforts into not getting fresh with you when you invited him to your place to study after school.

To him, it's all worth it. Just seeing that smile on your face is enough to keep him going through the exhaustion he feels trying to keep his pure, romantic advancements under wraps.

꒰ kenickie. ꒱

Kenickie's hand reaches dangerously close to your ass as you sit with him at The Frosty Palace. As the T-Birds and Pink Ladies chat at their shared booth, Kenickie made sure to show off that he was a certified ladies man. And what better way to show that than messing around with his girl while they ate?

“ If these jokers keep this shitty conversation up, i'll just have to take ya' home for some real fun. ” You could tell he was practically working overtime tonight. With all those notes you left in his lunch, you were more than sure he was trying to make up the jokes he was subjected to. It's not that he really cared what the guys would think, they knew he would knock them out before they had the chance to flap their gums for too long, but it was a matter of dignity!

Kenickie Murdouch would rather die than let the guys think he's gone soft. He's a rockin', smooth talkin' rebel who's all bark. At least, until he started going steady with you. He feels all mixed up, wanting to treat you nice while also having to be on the look out for the other T-Birds.

God forbid you ever give him a tender kiss in front of his friends at school, or make him quiet a quick "i love you too" when you part ways in the halls. The guys will rip on him for as long as Kenickie will take it, making obnoxious kissing noises and jokingly threaten to take his second-in-command spot.

If they push him too far, he'll switch right back into greaser mode, and threaten to knock the living daylights out of them. They shut up quickly after that.

There's been at least one instance where you and Kenickie were on a date at The Frosty Palace, sharing a milkshake. As you two are talking, he laughs, slamming his hand on the table, and the milkshake splashes on the tip of his nose. When you go to clean his face for him, the other T-Birds barge in through those glass doors. It almost feels unreal how accurate their timing is. You hear a chorus of "oooo!"s as you clean his face, trying your best to calm your boyfriend down before he loses his cool.

You don't see his walls go down often, even when you're by yourselves. Give him time.

#grease x reader #t birds #t birds x reader #danny zuko x reader #danny x reader #kenickie murdoch x reader #kenickie x reader #grease #grease 1978

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maple-seed · 1 year

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What Ails You

Loki x Fem!Reader

Content: Pining, fluff

Summary: Loki is your closest friend in the tower, which leaves you struggling when you want something more.

Word Count: 3,444

Author's Notes: A fluffy little oneshot to see if I'm capable of telling a story in less than 100k words. Results are mixed! I'm dedicating this one to my friend @sarahscribbles and her follower milestone celebration. Congrats, Saz! You've earned it. <3

AO3 Link

Loki Fic Masterlist

You had decided to take advantage of the quiet and do some reading in the common room. The quiet never lasted long in the tower, and especially not in the common areas. Still, it was hard to beat the way the sun came through the windows in the lounge, so it was worth the attempt. Even if it was doomed to be short-lived, the quiet was nice.

As you turned your page the exact opposite of "quiet" strolled into the room.

"There she is!" Loki's arms spread wide. "My favorite mortal." You kept your face neutral, without looking up from your book. "What do you want, Loki?" Loki feigned hurt. "What do I want? Why should I want anything other than your company?" You looked up at him now. "You want something. You're trying to butter me up with that 'favorite' line." "Darling, it's true. You're more dear to me than anything else on this planet." "Loki, you hate this planet." He smiled brightly, spreading his hands. "All the more reason to rejoice; you have so little competition." You kept your expression hard, though the both of you knew you were going to give in.

When Loki first came to the tower the two of you became fast friends. It was probably easier for you than the others, since you hadn't been around for the whole "world domination" thing. Whether is was that or simply your natural proclivity for mischief, the two of you fell in together almost immediately. Then, later, you did a little more falling on your own. You had managed to keep your feelings under wraps so far, or at least you hoped you had, but every day was a new frustration.

Today it was the way the light hit his cheekbones as he looked down at you, leaning forward onto the back of the adjacent chair.

"Out with it, Laufeyson." You muttered. "Well, if you insist that there must be a favor to be garnered here, there is something that you could help me with." He casually inspected the upholstery, as if anything Loki did could ever be nonchalant. "Oh, is there really? Who could have thought?" "I am wounded. I was simply seeking you out to pass the time. This task was purely an afterthought." You rolled your eyes and closed your book. That was all he needed. "Excellent. You likely haven't heard, but yesterday I was issued an insult of the highest order-" "You once said that about a sandwich I made you." "Yes, and I stand by it. You used cheddar when it clearly called for provolone." You rolled your eyes again and waved for him to continue. "Thor has-" You held up a hand. "Stop. No. I can't prank Thor. He was pretty upset with me last time." He scoffed. "Hardly a concern." "It's a concern to me!" He dismissed it. "At any rate, you will not be committing the trick. In fact, you'll barely be involved at all." You sighed and fell back in the chair. "What do you need me to do?" He grinned, victory in sight. "Very simple. This afternoon after our training Thor will pass through the kitchen for one of those atrocious pastries before heading to his room to shower. Just post yourself in the kitchen and stall him. Distract him for a few minutes. A short conversation is all that's needed." "And what will you be doing during this conversation?" "I will be occupied elsewhere." His smirk told you that he wasn't going to give up anything else. You pursed your lips as you thought it over. Inevitably, you relented. "Fine." "Wonderful!" He stood and rounded the chair, lifting your hand and placing a kiss to your knuckles, which had you scrambling to remember how to breathe. "This is why you are my dearest friend." He flashed you a devastating smile before turning and striding out the room just as he had come.

You watched him leave while the word "friend" settled in your stomach like a lump of lead.

You were perched on a stool in the kitchen with a sandwich that was more of an alibi than a meal. Their training session would be over any minute now and you were peering cautiously down the hall.

"What are you up to, Trouble?" You jumped, nearly falling off the stool, and swung around to Tony. "What? No. Nothing." It was not your best performance. Tony raised a brow at you as he opened the fridge. "Don't give me that. I can tell when you and Prince Harming are scheming. I can practically smell it." You lifted your chin. "I don't know what you mean." "Fine. How about this." He pulled out a Chinese takeout box that was clearly marked "Rhodes" and grabbed a fork from the drawer. "Whatever it is that you're doing, leave me out of it, and I'll keep quiet." He speared a forkful of noodles and took a bite. You watched him for a moment. "Deal." He pointed the fork at you and winked before leaving the room.

You settled yourself back on the stool just in time to see the gods and the super soldiers coming down the hall in their post-workout ensembles. You watched Loki saunter past with his hair tied back, face flushed and glistening, and almost forgot why you were here. The sound of Thor rustling in the pantry brought you back to the task at hand. He had retrieved his pop-tarts and was turning to leave.

"Hey Thor." The greeting was casual. He stopped and smiled at you. "Good evening, my lady." You made a note of the super soldiers rummaging in the fridge. "How'd training treat you?" He grinned and flexed an arm. "You tell me." You laughed and prodded his bicep. "Pretty good. I mean, it's not vibranium, but that's pretty good." Behind Bucky, Steve's eyes widened. He gave you an imploring look and quickly shook his head. "Hah! A measly, metal, mortal arm is no match for a god's physique." Thor shifted and flexed again. Bucky scoffed and turned away from the fridge. "Hey, I gave you a run for your money today!" "Oh, certainly." Thor turned to the super soldier with a jovial smile. "But you are a friend, I didn't wish to hurt you." "What, so you're saying you were going easy on me?"

This devolved in the predictable way. In short order everything was swept off of the breakfast bar and they stood on either side and commenced an arm wrestling match. In the background Steve went about making his post-workout smoothie while periodically shooting them a disapproving look. Loki had said he only needed a few minutes, so when sparks of static began to crackle over their stalemate you stepped forward and placed your hands over their fists.

"Okay, guys, I think you've proven your points." You spoke to them as if they were children. "You're both very strong, I'm proud of you." The situation defused immediately. They reluctantly let go and both grumbled something about the next training session. You took your sandwich and made your way to your rooms.

Loki was already there, which was not a surprise. He often retreated here after pulling off a scheme. As if it were some kind of sanctuary. Maybe it had been at first, but everyone had caught on by now. If someone was trying to find him, his rooms would be the first place they would look. Your rooms would be the second. He was lounging casually on your couch with a book and had apparently used your shower, his dark curls hung damp on his shoulders. You pushed away the mental image of Loki in your shower and took a seat beside him.

"So, are you going to tell me what you were doing?" You asked before taking a bite of your sandwich. "Of course not, darling, I know how you like surprises." "I don't like surprises." "You know how I like surprises." You rolled your eyes. "Trust me, the reveal will be divine." He took the untouched half of your sandwich off the plate and took a bite, immediately frowning at you. "Really? Cheddar?" You smirked and shrugged. "It's my sandwich." He shook his head disapprovingly but took another bite.

You propped your feet up on the table and sat back. The two of you passed the time reading and chatting. It was not much time, the expected interruption arrived fairly quickly.

A pounding fist rang out at your door. "LOKI!" Thor's voice boomed through the wall. You looked to Loki, who smirked and waved you toward the door. More pounding. "LOKI! I know you are in there, you coward! Come out here at once!" You walked to the door and settled your face before opening it. "Hey Tho-" Your words were choked off mid-greeting. A hand flew up to clamp over your mouth as you took in the image before you with wide eyes.

Thor was standing before you, clothes hastily thrown on, it looked like he had showered too. His glorious golden locks had a new color: a vibrant shade of green.

He was wearing a powerful scowl and spoke through gritted teeth. "Where is my duplicitous brother?" You fought back your laughter and dropped your hand. "I'm sorry Thor, I don't know. I haven't seen him since this morning." "Lies!" He boomed. "I know this is his refuge." You stepped back and let the door swing open, giving him a full view of the room. It was empty. Thor scanned the room with a frown, giving you another doubting look. "Maybe check the library?" You offered helpfully. He scowled again, looking across the room one more time before silently storming off.

You closed the door and placed your back against it, immediately breaking into a fit of laughter. Loki reappeared on the couch with a victorious grin.

"Loki! His hair!" You wheezed. "You are awful! He's so mad!" He shrugged. "It was a just retribution." "I doubt that." You wiped away a tear and returned to the couch. "I'm hurt you would take his side in this." "Hey, I'm harboring you, fugitive. That's hardly taking his side." "A true friend wouldn't doubt my motives." That word again. You ignored it. "A true friend wouldn't make me an accomplice." "You would be terribly bored with a friend like that." He stated confidently as he opened his book. "Lots of people like peace." "Not you." You scoffed. "What makes you say that?" "Because you like me." He looked at you, smirking and satisfied. It made you want to grab him by the collar and show him how true that was. Instead you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "Barely."

Loki stayed with you until he felt it was late enough to safely return to his rooms. When he was gone you took the throw pillow he was laying on to bed with you. His scent clung to it, and as you fell asleep you told yourself this wasn't pathetic at all.

You arrived in the kitchen early the next morning and made yourself breakfast as usual. Natasha was already sitting at the table with her mug. You took the seat beside her.

"Morning, Nat." "Good morning." She was drinking tea. That was strange. Usually she had coffee, especially this early in the morning. You didn't ask. The others were slowly filtering in and you didn't want to miss Thor's entrance.

You kept an eye on the doorway as you spread jam on your toast, the room filling up with the murmur of quiet conversations. Without notice, Nat reached over and snatched a triangle of toast from your plate. "Hey!" You dropped the knife back into the jar. "You make it so much better than me." She took a bite. You narrowed your eyes. "It's toast." "I know. It's my greatest shame that I can't get it right." She winked. Something wasn't right. You didn't have time to dwell on it, Wanda's gasp told you that Thor had arrived.

You looked up to see him walk through the door, dejected. The green had not faded in the slightest. The room had fallen completely silent. Then it exploded with laughter. It blended together into a roar, with a few jibes being thrown here and there. Thor simply stood and took it with a stern expression. From across the room Tony met your eye, giving a silent thumbs-up and sipping his coffee.

"Alright, alright, that's enough." Thor held up a hand to quiet the crowd. "This is not that funny." "It's pretty funny." Clint replied. Thor scowled. "This is a tremendous slight against me." "Come on, big guy." Tony jeered. "Why so serious?" Another roll of laughter. Thor glowered. "Has anyone seen my treacherous snake of a brother?" A murmur of answers in the negative between more laughs. Thor frowned. "I might kill him for this."

The cacophony had dwindled and normal conversation was returning. You took another bite of your breakfast then froze in place.

Natasha walked into the room, making her way to the coffee pot. She chuckled as she spotted Thor. "That's a look."

Every eye in the room turned in unison to the Natasha sitting next to you. She was wearing a very familiar smirk. "Well, you didn't think I was going to miss the show, did you?" A green light washed over her and Loki sat in her place.

A moment later the shape of Thor blurred past and suddenly the chair was knocked to the floor and two gods were having it out in a frenzy of limbs. The crowd watched with mild amusement as the brothers wrestled on the ground, growling ancient expletives at one another.

"And don't think-" Thor dislodged an arm from around his neck. "that I'm not aware your lady had a part to play in this." Your heart skipped a beat. His lady? "Hah!" Loki twisted a leg free. "You're only trying to target my mortal friend because you can't best me!"

Friend. You hid your reaction but it stung. You didn't need to see the rest, you knew how it would end. They would carry on for a bit then Steve would probably break it up, Loki would eventually change the hair back. You quietly stood and carried your plate to your room.

It was irrational, what you were feeling. You like being Loki's friend. You like that he claimed your room as sanctuary. You like that he steals food from your plate. You like that you were the first person he turned to for mischief.

Still, you want something else. You flopped onto your bed, lovesick, and wallowed for a bit. After a sufficient wallowing you decided you needed some time alone to clear your head. When a familiar knock came from your door you remained quiet and pretended you weren't there. He left. You didn't feel better.

Over the next two days you changed your routine. You ate at different times, trained at different times, you avoided the quiet places where Loki would usually find you. You started to think it was working. You didn't feel that lovesick ache in your chest so much. That came to a sudden stop when you turned the corner in your hallway and ran into Loki. Literally. You slammed into his chest and he caught your arms to keep you upright.

His face lit with a bright smile. "Dear heart, where have you been?" That was a new pet name. It had your stomach floating immediately. "Oh, I've been around. Just... busy. And tired. Tired lately." His hands slid down to take yours, his thumbs caressed your knuckles. "I've missed you." You stared, trying to decipher what his expression might mean and how you should respond. "I've just come from your room." Seeming to remember himself, he dropped your hands. "Barton will be hosting one of his... meat festivals." "I know you know that's not what it's called." He waved it away. "I can't be bothered to learn every inane detail of Midgardian culture." You pointed a finger. "It's a barbecue and you know it." He smirked. "At any rate, I wanted to make sure you would be attending. These rooftop events are unbearable without your company." You couldn't deny him, and numbly nodded. "Yeah, I'll be there. Sure." He smiled a gentle smile. "Excellent news." He took your hand again and pressed a kiss to it, like it was nothing, before releasing you and taking a step back. "Are you busy?" You recovered your faculty of speech. "Y-yeah, sorry. I was just about to go take a shower and head to bed." You glanced away. "Tired, you know." His disappointment was visible, but he only nodded and said, "I won't keep you." You managed a quick smile before stepping around him to head to your room. You felt his eyes on you the entire way.

You shut the door and leaned against it, closing your eyes. How did he do that? It was nothing for him, and you barely made it out of the interaction still on your feet. A cold anxiety settled into your stomach. You were going to end up giving yourself away. Embarrassing yourself. It was inevitable.

You hadn't actually been tired before, but you were exhausted now. You dragged yourself to bed, miserable.

It was inevitable, yes, but you decided to delay it anyway. You kept yourself away the next day, shut in your rooms, and when it was time for the barbecue you messaged the team to let them know you weren't feeling well and wouldn't be attending. You curled up on your couch with your book and did everything you could to avoid thinking about dark-haired gods and their perfect faces.

It worked for a while. Then there was a knock at the door. You knew who it was. You remained silent, maybe he would think you're asleep.

There was another knock, then he called your name through the door. You winced, calling back. "Loki, I'm sick. I'm not coming." "Yes, I've heard." His voice came through muffled. "I would like to come in." "You probably shouldn't. I'm sick." "Darling, you and I both know I can open this door." His tone made it clear that this was a courtesy.

You heaved a sigh, trudged over to the door and pulled it open.

Loki stood placidly on the other side. He didn't look upset, but you felt compelled to apologize regardless. "I'm sorry I didn't come, I'm just feeling a little under the weather." "Never mind it." He stepped past and turned to face you as you closed the door. "I haven't been feeling myself either." When you looked up you found he was studying you. You withered under the scrutiny, looking away and rubbing your arm. "I'm sorry, I'm just not up for having company right now." He wore a soft smile and stepped closer. "Surely you don't consider me to be company." You took a step back and hit the door. "No, I'm just... not feeling well." "Yes, so you've said." He stepped closer again, with a knowing look in his eye. "Tell me, what are your symptoms?" There was no space to back away. "Just... you know... tired." His gaze was making you squirm. He seemed to know it. "You did mention that." His eyes raked over you once and a slight smirk pulled at his mouth. "I think I may have the cure for what ails you." You scoffed. "Right. Of course you do." You looked up at him to retort but froze when you found something new in his expression. "Yes." His gaze was gentle and open. "I believe I suffer from the same affliction." You gaped at him, wide-eyed, and no longer felt the need to get away.

He slid an arm around your waist and dipped forward to kiss you as he pulled you close. You eagerly returned the kiss and as your hands found their way to his neck you felt his muscles relax beneath them. You pulled him closer and he hummed approvingly, his other arm finding its way around you. You clung to him, perhaps the only reason you remained upright. He broke the kiss with a sigh, pressing his forehead to yours. "How are you feeling?" You tilted back to see him more clearly. A smile curved one corner of his mouth, you reached up and traced the crease with your fingertip. "Better." You said quietly, looking up at him through your lashes. "But I think I might need another dose."

****

Loki Fic Masterlist

Maple's Loki Fic Tag list If you would like to be added or removed from this tag list please leave a comment or send me a message/ask.

@cheekyscamp, @muddyorbsblr, @gigglingtigger, @imalovernotahater, @mischief2sarawr, @goddessofwonderland, @purplekitten30, @lokisgoodgirl, @ultrasnakesona, @ozymdias

#loki #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki mcu #loki fanfiction #mcu loki #reader insert #oneshot #fluff #pining

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koos-kave · 10 months

Text

💙💛🧡💚💖❤️💜

The demon brothers with a main character (MC) with social anxiety

(bulleted headcanons on how each brother would react to an MC with social anxiety.) Gender neutral. MC is the reader. Slightly implied yandere (Belphie). Can be taken as platonic or romantic relationships.

Lucifer:

•At first he assumed you were simply shaken up by suddenly being forced to adapt to life in a new realm.

•He knew humans were slow to adapt to new environments.

•The second one to notice there’s something… off about you.

•The way you froze up whenever anyone tried to talk to you.

•How you would always find a reason to quickly excuse yourself from any situation that required social interaction.

•He would go out of his way to help you with your schoolwork so you didn’t have to ask the instructors for help.

•He does everything he can to minimize the amount of interactions you have to have with others, but he’ll occasionally push you out of your comfort zone.

•He’ll be sure to reward you if you manage to successfully interact with one of your peers.

•He’s surprisingly soft with you, it’s probably because he thinks you’re extremely fragile.

Mammon:

•He thought you were too enamored by his greatness to hold a proper conversation.

•The last to notice something is wrong with you. (Satan eventually points it out to him.)

•Mammon tries realllllyyy hard to look into this anxiety thing…

•Meaning he read half of an article and considered himself an expert on the matter.

•Will drag you to all kinds of parties to try and see if exposure can help ease your fear.

•He does all of the talking for you!

•He speaks up for you, advocating for you when you can’t find the courage to do so yourself.

•You’re his human, so it’s the least he can do…

•It’s not like he finds your shyness adorable!

•H-he doesn’t like you, not one bit!

Leviathan:

•Knows almost immediately.

•He takes you under his wing.

•You share your little victories with each other.

•He thinks you’re just like one of his favorite anime characters.

•He feels like he can be brave when he’s near you, so expect him to hold your hand tightly when he’s advocating for you!

•You both support the other.

•He listens intently about all of your interests, they’ll soon become his own.

•He truly respects and admires you.

•Expect to become an anime fan of you aren’t already one…

•He understands your struggles, and willingly allows you to come to his sanctuary and unwind with Henry even if he’s not home. He trusts you that much.

Satan:

•Oh, he’s going to enjoy this.

•”What’s wrong, MC, cat got your tongue?”

•He eventually realizes your problem is a bit more severe than he was expecting.

•…You weren’t just shy, you must have a serious case of social anxiety.

•He will be a shoulder to lean on, but be warned, he will push you out of your comfort zone much more often compared to Lucifer.

•He celebrates the small victories.

•He finds you adorable, perhaps even comparing you to a cat.

•He does his best to control his temper around you.

•He would never forgive himself if he scared you away…

•Tell him if someone is bullying you. He can make sure this person doesn’t bother you again.

•Like Lucifer, he will help you with your studies.

•He leaves little notes of encouragement in your room, they always make you smile after a particularly rough day.

‘You’re doing great, MC.

I truly believe you’ve been making progress.

Oh, today I saw a cute pair of cat socks and they reminded me of you.

Check under the bed.’

•That day you found a pair of fuzzy cat socks under your bed.

Asmodeus:

•”I know I take your breath away, but please talk to me…”

•”Ugh! You’re such a tease, you’re driving me crazy!”

•”I give you permission to speak to the most gorgeous demon in hell, me!”

•He is the second to last to realize something is wrong.

•First he thinks you’re intimidated by his beauty. (How could anybody not be~?)

•Next he assumes you’re barely talking to him just to be annoying.

•When realization hits, he feels absolutely ashamed of himself.

•He makes up for being so ignorant by doting over you.

•He… eventually realizes you don’t exactly like all of the extra attention…

•Like Mammon, he drags you to different clubs and parties to try and help expose you to social interaction.

•He introduces you to some friends of his that also struggle with anxiety. (Leviathan is one of them.)

•He’s the king of hyping you up, he compliments you constantly.

•”You ARE enough! Everyone will love you, and if they don’t… well, you have the most stunning demon in the Devildom by your side~!”

Beelzebub:

•He isn’t quick to catch on, only because he doesn’t really worry about what you act like.

•He doesn’t let the fact you have social anxiety change his opinion about you.

•He’s not big on talking either, so you both find it easy to hang out together.

•He knows when you’re having a rough day. Expect a surprise hug if you’re having a rough day.

•He’ll take you out to eat if you’ve been making progress working on your anxiety, when you ask him why he sometimes takes you out to eat he smiles softly and shrugs.

•He never admits to knowing about your social anxiety, and he never brings up your social skills.

•He’ll give you tickets to his sports match, knowing it’s a good chance for you to practice socializing.

•He’s always down for holding your hand or cuddling you if you ask.

•He doesn’t expect anything in return for subtly helping you, he just wants to see you happy.

•He will stand behind you like a bodyguard when he notices anyone picking on you.

Belphegor (No attic in this case for convenience purposes):

•He teases you, borderline bullying you for being shy.

•When he realizes you actually have major social anxiety he doesn’t treat you any better, if anything the harassment becomes more frequent.

•You’re too scared to tell anybody about what Belphegor is doing to you.

•One day a lower demon is bullying you for being unable to hold a proper conversation with him.

•He makes sure the lower demon knows that you’re his human, it’s his job to make your life hell. If anybody dares try to bully you they will face the consequences.

•Belphegor eventually decides to just walk you to school, escort you between classes, sit next to you at lunch, walk you back home, and even join all of the clubs you’re in- it’s easiest to make sure nobody is bothering you if he becomes your living shadow.

•Sometimes you swear you can see him smiling at you…

•He likes to nap beside you.

•He could never like a human.

•He’s just keeping you to himself so he has more time to harass you, right…?

————————

Thank you so much for reading these headcanons!

I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors, I’m the kind of person that jots things down quickly. That does mean that I rarely bother to check for mistakes.

I would love to hear some requests 💕 Feel free to leave random Obey Me thoughts in my requests too, I’ll share my personal thoughts on them!

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gorpiepng · 10 days

Note

it’s me again… guess who i’m requesting….. THATS RIGHT PEST *insert loud correct buzzer sound*

pest with a gn!reader whos very possessive of him

for some elaboration. the reader loves him to death and they get VERY jealous when pest is interacting with someone other than them. and if pest shows even a slight distaste for the conversation reader is strolling on in and cussing that person out and scaring them away but literally two seconds after the reader is the sweetest person in the world to pest

I FOUND THIS SUPER FUNNY TO THINK ABOUT SO HERE U GO

🗨️ a/n: OKAY BEFORE I SAY ANYTHING i am SO SO SO sorry this took so long .. !! THIS WAS REALLY FUN TO WRITE THANK YOU FOR MORE PEST REQUESTS <3 kinddd of projecting here a tad bit because I have bpd and heavily relate to this so umm teehee giggles

🗒️notes: gender neutral reader ofcofc, not really anything else huhhh reader is bpd coded a little me thinks

🪲Pest x A very possessive S/O ⋆.˚

The beetle boy finds your behavior amusing. He likes watching you scare strangers off with a stern stare or a more... ‘bold’ approach (barking 100% teehee). Although Pest can handle anyone bothering them with ease, they like to sit back and watch you work your magic. Not only do they find it cute, but your methods work 99.99% of the time soooo BONUS!!!

Your quickly changing attitude can be a little confusing for them but Pest is a very adaptable person which makes everything a whooooole lot easier. Since you’re quite the unpredictable person, Pest likes to play a little game with themself in their head and guess what you’re going to do next. And fyi he’s usually wrong. NEVER LET THEM KNOW YOUR NEXT MOVE 😎

Pest can be hard to read so it’s a little unclear whether he’s being neutral or actually irritated, so you have a little look you give each other as an okay for you to step in. Though if Pest is obviously bothered by someone you’re going right up to them and doing what you do best without warning

They enjoy your sweet side, too. The way you pamper him and give him your undivided attention makes him feel like the only person in the WORLD. Pest doesn’t show his appreciation through words but more so through actions. Swiping something you wanted but couldn’t afford off a store’s shelf, silently listening to you vent or rant WITHOUT offering unsolicited sarcastic advice, or even burning your favorite music onto a cd. Yes they know how to do that

If you manage to get your hands on any electronics Pest will ALSO gladly pirate games and movies for you too. As long as he can play them ofcofc, that stuff’s hard to come by in the elevator

Pest isn’t much different from you in a way. If the roles are reversed and someone happens to be annoying YOU... if you haven’t already handled it, Pest 100% will. Though they don’t have to put in much effort to be intimidating, it’s all the same. You get really really visibly happy whenever he does it and that’s one definite way you can get the beetle to blush lol

Honestly there’s nothing Pest doesn’t like about your possessiveness. It’s just a big bonus in dating you. Sometimes you can get a little too ahead of yourself and get way too heated, but that’s nothing Pest can’t fix with a little kiss :]

#regretevator #regretevator x reader #pest x reader #pest #pest regretevator

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deaddovedecadence · 2 years

Text

How Dick Grayson becomes a yandere for theoldest daughter reader

I’ve been thinking about dick grayson with the oldest daughter reader again so here’s some headcanons

Before we start this, reader is very much gender neutral. Oldest daughter is a term for the child (most often raised as a girl) that has everything placed on them.

Now time for the headcanons!

So you probably meet dick at a coffee place or a record store. In any of my universe’s Dick is not a cop so he works at either a coffee shop or a record store.

Let’s start with a record store. Record stores are often small local things so it’s more common for people there to be closer with the customers in comparison to a generic coffee place where everyone wants to get their coffee and leave. You probably come to the counter and ask him to help you find a record. The two of you search all over the store for this specific record because he’s also a really big fan of this band/artist and manage to really hit it off.

You agree to go and get coffee together. For the first little while you’re just like talking about the band and how you got into it. When you mention that you got into it to drown out your siblings or for when you just need to feel somethin, he internally lights up. When you mention that you’re the oldest daughter he’s smiling so big that it’s like his smile is the sun itself.

Now lets go with the coffee shop version. With this you probably come in, managing your entire family and he notices. Dick’s working on a drink or something and the noise makes him look up. He sees you, the eye of the hurricane, managing orders for some and full on ordering for others. When he hears you finally ordering at the end of all of the chaos, he’s kind of charmed when you order a sweet drink with four extra shots of caffeine.

Dick happily makes the drinks for you and your family, frowning a little bit as he hears snippets of conversation that remind him to much of bruce. When you come back the next day, he’s manning the register so he gets to chat with you about coffee (duh) and you’re a little charmed by this human boxer puppy. You might keep coming back , always getting very caffeinated drinks but dick never charges you extra for the extra caffeine because we’ll he likes you, not romantically, not at all, but like a little sibling, someone he genuinely wants to care for

So either way, dick likes you because you aren’t taking from him without giving. You don’t just want him because of batman, you really do like him and even better you understand how hard it is to be the oldest child. Dick doesn’t realize he’s a platonic yandere for you right away because he is a master at emotional suppression. He”s a bat after all…

(let me know if y’all want more, asks and requests are very open)

REBLOGS HELP MORE THAN LIKES. PLEASE REBLOG THIS POST IF YOU LIKE IT

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scarletttries · 2 years

Text

You Are In Love (Eddie Munson x Reader series)

Part One: Buttons on a Coat

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things) x Reader

Tags: Mentions of bullying, verbal and physical. Jerk! Jock! boyfriend trope included, and he raises his voice at reader at one point. Little bit of swearing Gender neutral reader.

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: This is the first part of an Eddie Munson series inspired by Taylor Swift's "You Are In Love" because I think the song could fit perfectly with a growing Eddie love story. Let me know how you like part one as I work on part two :) And feel free to send me other Eddie Munson thoughts and headcanons <3 Part two out now!

One look, dark room, meant just for you. Time moved, too fast, you play it back. Buttons on a coat, light hearted joke. No proof, not much, but you saw enough.

You sat beside your boyfriend and his basketball team friends that lunch time, staring vacantly towards the hall, never feeling further away from the group as you did in that moment. This time yesterday you had been all smiles and laughs like the rest of the table, excitedly making weekend plans and talking about the cheer routine for next week's game. Not a lot had happened between then and now, but everything had changed. You had changed. Because of one conversation with Eddie Munson. You played it back in your mind, the new, confusing, freeing feelings rushing over you again.

***

Ushered by the crowd of students heading from one class to the next, you drifted through the hall before your final lesson of the day, listening to Robin nervously rehearsing her presentation beside you as she headed to English. Flicking through the decorated notebook in your hands as you nodded along to her monologue, you stopped, frowning,

"I left my copy of Hamlet in my locker, I'll just grab it and meet you there." Robin nodded and split away from you, not once pausing from her now over-rehearsed speech. The corridor quickly quietens as you head to your locker, cursing the stack of books, sweaters and lip balms that seem to tumble out every time you even touch them. Eventually you found the lost text buried under a hoodie Hunter had reluctantly leant you on Monday when you got stuck waiting for him to finish practice in the rain. You shook your head, trying to bury the thought as you shoved everything back in a haphazard pile before slamming the door shut, turning to head back down the now deserted hall.

As you moved to walk in the direction of class, a noise drew your attention behind you, rumbling closer and closer until you were sure a fully formed stampede of elephants must have been right around the corner. But the figures emerging were in fact on two legs, not four; first the wild, dark shape of Eddie Munson, skidding around the corner at top speed, misjudging the turn and slamming against the row of lockers on the opposite wall with a hollow thud. Before you could even begin to comprehend his, three of the guys you knew from the basketball team came hurtling around the corner, with much more coordination than Eddie, pushing him back against the locker before he could take another step. One the jocks gave him a hard shove to the stomach, a pained grunt coming from Eddie that managed to mask your own startled gasp. You wanted to say something as the guys shoved him again, to step in and put a stop to it, scanning to make sure Hunter wasn't among the mob of bullies, hoping you could reason with him. But to your relief he was nowhere to be found, unfortunately neither was your voice.

The mob landed a few more blows against Eddie before the biggest of the team lifted him up by the collar of his dark coat, sending two gold buttons flying across the floor towards you as he was slammed back against the locker again. Despite being all but frozen you managed to stop the sliding circles with a quick step of your shoe, figuring you could at least help patch up Eddie's coat since you'd done nothing to help defend him from this brutality.

As the towering bully yelled something about "that teaching Eddie not to joke around about that devil shit" he let the boy go, his figure quickly crumpling to the floor as they left without a second thought, spying you as they turned and giving an unsettlingly friendly, "Hey (y/n)!" before disappearing from view.

Eddie's eyes darted to you as they called your name, looking almost apologetic that he was in your field of view. The shock of the disruption finally starting to dissipate, you crouched down, rescuing the thankfully undamaged buttons from under your pump before heading over to the metalhead, still hunched over on the floor, showing no sign of rising to his feet in any hurry. He combed his fingers through his long, now-matted hair as you slowly walked towards him, glancing up to see your hand reach out for him,

"How bad are you hurt Eddie?" You spoke so softly, such a stark contrast to the usual shouts and jeers he got from the popular crowd that he instinctively frowned at you, searching for any sign of insincerity in your expression. What he found instead was a caring smile, and a worried gleam in your eye that made him want to say whatever he needed to to ease your concerns.

"Don't worry (y/n), I am entirely unscathed, that was nothing." He joked, accepting your hand as he rose to his feet, the casual tone of his words betrayed by the slight crack in his voice as he looked at the loose thread hanging off his damaged coat. "Which is more than can be said for my coat." He shook his head, trying to reserve any emotion for when he was clear of the school, never wanting to let his guard down in the place that caused him the most anguish.

"I can help with that at least," You held the gleaming buttons out in your free hand, smile forming at the realisation that Eddie hadn't quite been able to let go of the other yet. "I keep a needle and thread in my backpack, you'd be surprised how much damage gets done to a cheerleading uniform over the year." Eddie blinked at your offer, the protective voice in his head telling him to run the other way, that you weren't actually trying to help, this was an even crueller act than the assault. But as he watched you rummage in your bag for your sewing kit, he couldn't help the warm feeling of hope growing inside him, and so he nodded, eyes trailing down to his own hand encompassing yours.

"The music room is usually empty last period, we can go there," You said, pulling him along with each step, English class and Hamlet speeches long forgotten.

"Of course, we can't have you being seen with the Freak if those goons come back." He laughed bitterly, withdrawing his hand as you peeked into the small classroom window, confirming there was no one inside. You held the door open for Eddie as you replied,

"It's just a lot easier to sew sat at a table, you know, rather than stood in a corridor?" He all but flinched at your sensible response, guilt rising inside as you continued, "also if I got pushed against a locker I'd probably be a bit upset, and might want to sit somewhere quiet where no one else was going to bother me, but that's just me." You shut the door behind you as you watched Eddie nod thoughtfully. You settled cross-legged on the table at the front of the room, ushering Eddie to sit beside you as you started measuring out black thread.

"Sorry, that was a shitty thing to say when you're helping me. Thanks for this." His voice was kind and apologetic as he hopped on the table next to you, more softly spoken than the usual rants you heard from him across the cafeteria. You hadn't exactly crossed paths with Eddie before considering you'd only just joined him as a senior, but living next door to Dustin Henderson meant you had heard plenty of stories about what a great guy he was, and as you started double checking the button placement of his coat, you were pleased to get the impression that Dustin was right. His eyes flickered between your eyes and your fingers as they worked, every delicate brush of your hand against him sending his heart rate ten beats faster.

"No apology necessary, I'm just sorry I didn't do anything when they were hitting you." You paused for a moment to check the first button was secure, earning an impressed nod from Eddie as you moved to the next vacant stitch.

"I was just really surprised, I didn't realise people here treated you quite that badly." You jumped a little as a hollow laugh left Eddie's chest, shaking his head as he asked incredulously,

"Aren't you dating Hunter Jackson?" You stilled as you took in the implication of his question. You hadn't been wholly convinced your boyfriend was the nicest guy in school, but you would have never agreed to go out with him if you knew he was a bully. Your hurt stare met Eddie's as you asked, disappointment audible,

"Is Hunter like this too?" Eddie gulped. On one hand, all the basketball guys were as bad as each other and you deserved to know that, but on the other you looked so hurt by this, and he hated that he'd banished the smile that had given him the strength to accept your help. So he resigned to sparing your feelings as little, and only told most of the truth,

"I don't know if he's ever been the one to hit me, but he'll happily laugh along with the rest when they do." You flinched at the information, despite how obvious it seemed, like any rose-tinted glass between you and your boyfriend had been unceremoniously shattered. You felt Eddie's gaze follow your pained expression, and pushing the horrible feeling in your chest aside you shook your head and turned your attention back to his coat, firmly reattaching the second button to its home.

"I guess I'll have to talk to him then." You gave Eddie a resolute nod, allowing yourself a longer look at his expression this time. The depth of his big, brown eyes caught you off guard, as if he could tell what his words had meant to you, a small smile creeping across both your cheeks the longer your eyes stayed locked. Breaking the moment of tension to glance down at your needle, Eddie shook his head softly, and sighed,

"Don't get me wrong sweetheart, if I was your boyfriend I'd do just about anything you said, but I don't think even You talking to Hunter is going to make him less of an macho jock asshole." You let the words hang in the air while the warmth in your cheeks settled, not unnoticed by an equally flustered Eddie, struggling to contain the excitable energy just sitting next to you was stirring up inside him.

"Well I can't control his actions, but I can control mine, and I wouldn't feel right not saying something." Eddie hung on each word, surprised by the weight of your sentiment when you hardly knew him. Although in just the space of this afternoon Eddie felt closer to you than he did to most anyone else in the Senior class of Hawkins, praying this simple exchange wasn't only meaningful in his head, that you could feel the electricity that seemed to sparkle and shimmer between you. He stared down at your focused expression, trying to not blush at the intoxicating proximity and your undeniable beauty. His eyes fixed to your lips as you spoke again,

"Speaking of things I can't control, I don't know if your coat will get manhandled again, but I can guarantee these buttons aren't going anywhere." You gave the brass circle a sharp tug to demonstrate, stifling a laugh at the way Eddie jumped at the movement.

"Impressive work (y/l/n), any other secret talents I should know about?" Eddie laughed, running his fingers gently over the new stitches. You hopped off the table, gathering your things up at the realisation that you were going to have to apologise to Robin for missing her English presentation, wondering what she would make of how you spent your afternoon instead.

"Well don't be a stranger Munson, and maybe you'll find out." He beamed at your response, despite the dawning disappointment that your afternoon together was about to come to an end. As you reached the classroom door, you gave Eddie one last loaded stare, speaking softly,

"You sure you're okay Eddie?" The caring look you gave him had him grateful for the table he was perched on as it all but melted him to a heart-shaped puddle. The gentle smile and the affection in your eye were clear, even across a poorly lit music room, and he knew in his heart no one had ever looked at him like that before. A look just for him. His stomach seemed to flip at the realisation as he nodded his head.

"I'm okay (Y/N)." He replied with unusual sincerity, not least of all because in that moment he really believed it was true.

***

"Babe. Babe!" Hunter waving his hand an inch from your face brought you out of your trance and back to the cafeteria with a startle. The guys laughed, as you shook your head, pushing the memory of your afternoon to the back of your mind as you feigned a smile,

"Sorry Hunter, I was miles away then."

"Well be careful, it almost looked like you were staring at the FREAK's table." He bellowed in Eddie's direction, a raucous round of laughter rising from the table as Eddie glanced over at the call. It was pretty common for the table to be throwing jabs his way, but what stood out today was the way you were staring, disgusted at the boy beside you. Eddie watched your furrowing brow as you looked him over, seeing your boyfriend in a seemingly new light. Had the flags on Hunter always been this red? You liked to see the best in people, but in this moment it was hard to identify what you had ever seen in him. As you glanced up to meet Eddie's intrigued gaze, you watched him shift his chair about to rise to the taunt.

"You shouldn't call Eddie Munson a freak. It's cruel, and it's not true." You spoke flatly, not looking over to gauge your boyfriend's reaction as you watched Eddie settle back into his seat, not used to being defended.

"What did you just say?" The table grew quiet as your comment was processed by the group, Hunter spitting the question from beside you.

"Have you always been this much of a bully?" You asked sincerely, more thinking aloud than expecting an answer as your disappointed barb struck the confused boy beside you,

"Eddie Munson is a loser and a freak, he deserves worse than being pushed around a bit," The table laughed around him, the group of three you'd seen harassing Eddie the day before looking especially pleased with themselves. You rose to your feet before you'd really thought about it, drawing the growing attention of the cafeteria, the Hellfire table paying particularly close attention to unfolding events.

"What are you doing now?" Hunter sighed, exasperated by your sudden objection to his behaviour.

"I want to go." You choked out quietly, growing more and more uncomfortable at the leering table.

"SIT DOWN!" Hunter rose to his feet, towering over you before you could move away, voice rising to the point that the room grew completely quiet. You looked around at the sea of wide eyes on you, a mixture of confusion and sympathy as the now irate basketball player was glaring down at you. You caught the frightened, almost guilty stare of Eddie Munson, knowing he was the reason you were in that position. He didn't speak out, his mouth seemingly frozen shut, but the look he gave you said everything you needed him to. You looked up at Hunter, jaw tense at your standoff, and you knew what you had to do, suddenly deeply calm in your resolve.

"You're right babe, sorry." You said sweetly, returning to your seat with a sickly smile plastered to your face that seemed to appease the group around you. Hunter settled beside you, draping an arm across your shoulder and called out, loud enough for the interested crowds to hear,

"Good girl!" The table erupted in laughter again as you dared a glance at Eddie, a sympathetic gaze meeting yours as his friends seemed to quiz his on the exchange. Now he knew how powerless you must have felt watching him get roughed up yesterday, wishing you could step in and help. But you didn't need his help as you tuned back into the other conversations around the table, because you knew exactly what you were going to do next:

As soon as the school day was over, you were breaking up with Hunter.

#one shot #writing #fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson series #stranger things 4 #stranger things #reader insert #eddie munson imagine

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9leaguesofmirrors · 6 months

Text

How It Feels To Hate (a Ross Gaines x Joseph Lisgoe fanfic)

I don't know if this will ever see the light of day but, if you're reading this, that means it has and I've lost the small amount of shame I was clinging onto. Mad respect to smut-writers, because this was difficult!

WARNINGS: Hate-sex, knife play, very light choking/breath play

Ross Gaines and Joseph Lisgoe despised each other, it was obvious from a mile off. In the rare moments the two of them were together there was calm chaos, like two electrodes coming together to create a spark that threatened to set them both alight

Yes, they really did despise each other

Which is why Lisgoe hated the fact that Ross would continuously fall behind on his debts, forcing him to take time out of his day to sort it out

"What the fuck," he emphasised the question by pushing Ross hard against the door as it shut behind him "is your problem?"

"Not even a hello? What a shame."

That's another thing he hated, the fact that Ross seemed to take great pleasure in being a smarmy prick. Especially so, since his wit was quick enough to prove a challenge

"Why do you insist on making my life difficult? My freetime gets pissed down the drain because you'd rather play silly buggers!"

"You don't have to come, surely your subordinates could take over. Maybe not the fat one, but that tall man could easily take your place."

Ross expected the silence to follow, and the hard glare Lisgoe frequently gave him. What he didn't expect was the patronising smile it ended up contorting into

"Something tells me you wouldn't be too fond of that."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not stupid, Ross. You're not the kind of person to forget their debts this many times," as Lisgoe spoke, his voice became more condescending, hands on his hips "you're usually so good."

Ross hated the way that tone made his stomach turn, in a way that he couldn't equate to sickness. It was the type of turn that settled deep within up, his lower stomach... and somewhere else below. For a split second, he moved his head away and suddenly felt his chin being grabbed and tugged back with such force it almost knocked his glasses off

"Fucking look at me when I'm talking to you."

"I tend to tune out of conversations that bore me."

There was something about Ross' eyes that gave Lisgoe the creeps. They were blue, but reminded him less of skies and oceans, and more of ice. Yes, they struck through him like icicles and he hated the fact he couldn't pull away

"You have no fucking idea," Lisgoe tightened his grip on Ross' chin, stepping closer in a sharp movement "how much I fantasise about dragging a knife across your chest."

"Fantasize?" Ross repeated, looking him up and down with a glint in his eyes "What an interesting word."

"What that means," his hand moved from Ross' chin and wrapped slowly, almost teasingly, around his throat "is that nothing brings me more satisfaction than imagining every single way I could hurt you."

Ross hated the way his pelvis dropped when he heard that

"You wouldn't do that." He showed no signs of being affected, keeping his face as neutral as possible

It was the exact face that pissed Lisgoe off

"Is that right?" He replied in a half-whisper, pressing gently against Ross's neck "And why's that?"

There was something oddly amusing in all of this. Toeing the line, hatred boiling into something else. Something that rested deep within both of them, and this was all part of the game. How long before the fire started?

"Because," Ross' voice came out hoarse, but didn't lose it's smugness "I don't think you hate me half as much as you claim to."

He managed to move his knee between Lisgoe's legs, taking the breathy groan that slipped up from the bottom of his throat as a small win

"I think you're full of fucking shite." Came the retort "I hate you just as much as you hate me."

"Then show me."

That wasn't what Lisgoe expected to hear

Hell, it wasn't what Ross expected to say!

"Show you what?"

Regardless of the unexpected demand, Ross kept his demeanour calm and collected

"You talk a lot about the pain you want to inflict on me, but you're yet to actually do anything about it. It's not as if I don't have plenty of knives for you to play with, but if you don't have the guts-"

"Cut the shite, what are you on about?"

"Show me how much you hate me."

Lisgoe's jaw tightened, considering where this could go. If he were more collected, perhaps more logical, he'd have thought about how this would further complicate whatever strange relationship they had

But Lisgoe was never good with logic

"Right." His lips were brushing against Ross' ear, murmuring into it "This is what's gonna happen. I'm heading for the kitchen, you're can either wait here or leave. I don't give a fuck what you do but, if you decide to run off, god help your sorry arse when I find you."

As soon as he felt Ross nodding slightly, he was off

Ross knew he'd be in deep if he left, but then again, he didn't really care. It's my house, he reminded himself and he invited himself here. I can do what I like, who does he think he is? With that, he took his keys off the hook beside the door and left. Part of him wondered whether he should lock Lisgoe in to teach him a lesson, put him under citizen's arrest, but he quickly decided against it. He hated him, why would he want him in his house for that long?

So Lisgoe came back to nobody

"That bastard!" He snapped, fully prepared to turn the whole house apart before he noticed the unlocked door, which he swung open and stormed right out of

"Come out, you fucker..." he muttered to himself, making his way to the back of the house - where he saw Ross at the other end checking, presumably, for him

Wasting no time, he darted over and grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulling him into an iron grip. His torso was pressed against Ross' back and he had a knife under his chin

"I just want to talk." His voice was unnervingly soft as his eyes trailed the length of Ross' throat, meeting his eyes with a hard stare "Why do you have to piss about?"

"You're talking way too much, it's like you're overcompensating for-"

Ross was cut short by teeth running up his neck and his shirt being unbuttoned. Before he knew it, his back was slammed into the brick wall behind him. Despite the growing feeling of heat through his body, his face was unmoving

"As I was saying, it's like you're overcompensating. You're stalling." At this point, his face contorted into one of cold arrogance as he leaned towards Lisgoe, peering at him "You're scared."

"Scared, am I?" Was the response, in that dangerously soft tone "You have a lot of fucking nerve." He took his hand to Ross' throat, using it to push his against the wall again

The cold tip of the knife met Ross' lower stomach, but in a way which showcased a rare gentleness. It hovered slowly up his torso, barely touching his skin, and sent a sensation which caused him to lean his head back and sigh. It wasn't long before he could feel the bladed edge at the side of his neck

Each stared at the other. Eyes fixated, as if neither was able to move in that moment. Perhaps they didn't want to. There was something electric which had somehow become magnetic

They hated each other, but they didn't hate this

All at once, Lisgoe's mouth was on Ross' and his other hand was following the path his knife had taken, this time moving down the body until it reached his belt and-

Ross' right hand was shielding the buckle. He broke the kiss and stared at him with a cold expression, as if he wasn't being held at knife-point

"The fuck are you doing?" Rasped an impatient Lisgoe "If you didn't want it you should've said-"

"I do."

Lisgoe lowered the knife in his confusion

"I want this, but I'm not sure you do."

"What the fu- I'm the one that fucking started it!"

"And I'm not convinced by you. At all."

"OK? What am I meant to do about that?"

"Beg me."

That caught Lisgoe completely offguard and he moved back slightly. Once the shock had melted away, he couldn't help but laugh

"You're taking the piss, me? Begging you?" He brandished the knife in front of his face "I don't need to beg you for anything."

"I'm the one that's put in most of the work," Ross shrugged, as if he were discussing business plans with a colleague "you just waved a knife around and got a little violent." He pushed the knife away with a look of superiority "If you really want it, convince me."

Lisgoe's smirk melted into a sneer as he grabbed Ross' right wrist

"We both know I could rip your hand off if I wanted to."

"But you won't, because that's boring."

"If you don't shut your mouth, I'll leave you high and dry."

"You won't do that either."

Ross' eyes showed no signs of intimidation, and it was pissing Lisgoe off. To ask such a thing of him with such little shame, it was unheard of. The worst part was that he couldn't say he disliked the push-back

He moved closer, one hand gripping at Ross' wrist and the other grabbing the collar of his open shirt. He was close enough for his mouth to brush against his neck

"You're a thick bastard if you don't think I want this." He muttered sharply, running the flat surface of the knife down his throat "So cut the shite and just..." by the time he reached his collarbone, he felt something in him slipping and he let his hand rest over Ross' right hand "Please Ross, put me out of my fucking misery."

A smarmy remark brewed in Ross' head, but ultimately died there when his brain realised just how nice it sounded to hear the slight hint of Lisgoe's need slipping into what was clearly meant to sound like a demand. He moved his hand away from his belt, felt a hand move down his trousers, and everything blurred. It was just heat, friction and breath. Lisgoe's mouth pressed hard on Ross' and their heavy breaths syncronised in a way that made them both light-headed, breathing in each other's exhales until they were both pleasurably dizzy. It was like, if Ross didn't dig his nails hard into Lisgoe's back (which tore out someone quite nice from the pit of his throat), he'd end up falling. Clearly, this was a shared feeling; as Lisgoe had dropped the knife and his free hand was against Ross's jaw, his fingers gripping the back of his head like an anchor

As soon as Ross ripped his head away for air, Lisgoe took the opportunity to go for Ross' neck, but was stopped

"Work tomorrow." He panted, leaning his head back against the wall "I don't feel like explaining it to them."

"Would make you more interesting."

Ross retaliated by moving the collar of Lisgoe's shirt down and biting, hard, at his shoulder. The sound that followed send shivers through Ross' whole body and resulted in him being grabbed by the throat and held there as Lisgoe's hand pumped faster. The bitemark was prevalent, even now, despite the top of the tattoo sleeve on the man's arm

"Suits you." He breathed out

Lisgoe didn't respond, he was too busy watching every movement on Ross' face. He was trying to keep composed, it was obvious by the way his jaw clenched, showing all his teeth. And the way, every so often, he'd bite down on his lower lip to muffle any sound that might come out. He leaned in close, his breathing heavy against Ross' ear

"Next time, I'm marking you."

"Next time?" Ross raised an eyebrow, somehow not losing his smugness despite what was happening "I thought you hated me."

"And?"

"Why would there be a next time?"

This got a breathy, slightly gutteral, laugh from Lisgoe and he pressed a kiss to Ross' mouth, pulling his lower lip between his teeth

"Let's not be fucking stupid."

A/N: DONE IT'S DONE! I hope you all saw that because I will NOT be doing it again... or will I? /hj

#league of gentlemen #the league of gentlemen #joseph lisgoe #ross gaines #gainsgoe

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 9 months

Text

Battle Of The Knights Alt Ending 3: And The Winner Is Marc

Pairing: Moonknight trio x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: technically none still but Jake is a bit volatile here

Genre: fluff, what else would it be

Summary: "So let me get this straight, you all like me, so you each want to take me on a date and let me decide what to do after?" You can't believe the words you're hearing even as you repeat them back.

What happens when the relationships you've built with Marc and his two alters are turned on their heads by a proposition that is anything but simple? How can they expect you to risk blowing up the carefully crafted dynamic you've worked so hard to create? And why do you agree to such an insane suggestion?

***

You didn't really need to ask for three weeks to consider things. You knew the moment Marc left your apartment who you were going to choose. Hell, you might've known before this whole thing started honestly. It's why you had them go in the order you did. You've always cared for Marc in a way you didn't want to admit even to yourself, but everyone deserved a fair shot. You didn't want your less than simple feelings for Marc to win out by default. You love Jake and Steven and genuinely believed one of them could sweep you off your feet unexpectedly, but not if Marc went first. Even with your efforts, even though you enjoyed your dates with all of them, Marc wormed his way into your heart long before Steven and Jake could, there was no question about that. Still, you waited over a week to message them. Even if your decision was made before you'd even fallen asleep that day, you didn't want them to think you were rushing the choice. You weren't, you'd been thinking about it since this all started, pros and cons lists for each date are scattered about your desk to prove just that.

Hey guys, I've made a decision.

You send the text before you can talk yourself out of it.

Great! I'm at work right now, but if you'd like to swing by this evening we can discuss it! I get off at 5 :) -Steven

Going to their place means you're not in neutral territory which on one hand puts you at a slight disadvantage despite being pretty familiar with their place but on the other hand, they'll be more comfortable which is good since they're at your mercy in this conversation.

Sounds good! I can come over around 6?

You shouldn't prolong this. You've already sat on your choice for like 8 days.

That works! See you then! -Steven

You glance at the clock on your wall, it's only after 3 now. You've got a couple of hours before you have to head over there during which you actually manage to get some things done before you head over there just before 6. When you knock on their apartment door it's about ten past and the door swings open after a couple of moments.

"Y/n! Hi! You're here!" Steven breathes out.

"Hi Steven, good to see you." You smile.

"Good to see you too! Glad you came by." Steven gestures for you to enter the apartment.

"Of course, how was work by the way?" You ask following him in.

"Oh it was fine. My boss is awful but, that's certainly not new." He shrugs.

"You know Steven I really think someone should say something to that woman she's horrendous to you and I don't like-"

"No! No. I know she's like the worst but I just want to keep my head down and do my job. No antagonizing her, low profile, you know the deal." Steven cuts off the vaguely threatening thing he knows you're about to say.

"Fine. If you insist. Still- she should get a taste of her own medicine." You roll your eyes.

"Maybe one day." He chuckles.

"If there's any justice in this world." You smirk taking a seat on the couch.

"If so. Can I get you anything by the way? Something to drink or perhaps a snack? I can make something quickly if you're hungry." Steven walks over to his kitchen as he makes the offer.

"I'm alright Steven thank you, darling- but is um- Marc around? Or I guess rather, is he like prepared to have this conversation?" You ask.

"You want to talk to Marc?" Steven whirls around to look at you.

"I think it would be easiest to start by speaking to him yes, if he's in the place to have this discussion." You nod.

"Of course! Just hang on a second." Steven says. You watch from the couch as you notice the switch between Steven and Marc. It's subtle but after seeing it so many times and being so familiar with them as individuals it's easy to know that it's Marc when their eyes pop open again.

"You called?" A small grin appears as Marc greets you.

"I did. Hi Marc." You say as he plops down onto the couch beside you.

"So you've made a decision. Rip off the band-aid." Marc says.

"Don't make it sound so dreadful Marc." You laugh.

"The dreadful part was the waiting." He snorts.

"Well now I wanna make this more dramatic since you're gonna be like that." You poke him.

"I feel like you're stalling now and like if you're not ready to-"

"I'm picking you." You cut him off. You would lose your nerve if you let him go on whatever rant about you stalling he was thinking of.

"What?" He frowns.

"You wanted the band-aid ripped off. I'm picking you." You say.

"Oh-" Marc blinks at you. "I'll admit I'm kind of surprised."

"Why?" Now it's your turn to frown.

"Oh come on, you've always had a soft spot for Steven and I mean Jake is- Jake." Marc scoffs.

"Well- yeah I guess. I mean don't get me wrong I do care for them, a lot. Of course, I do, but- it's different with you. The way I feel for them it- it isn't the same." You say.

"We never stood a chance did we?" You didn't exactly notice the switch but the difference in their voices is obvious.

"Jake?" You're surprised he's here so suddenly.

"You were always going to choose Marc. Makes sense I mean you have known him the longest but-"

"You have to go." Marc's voice cuts off whatever Jake was going to say.

"Wait- what?" You shake your head.

"It's not that I want you to go. They're upset and clearly, we need to have a little system chat."

"Don't be too hard on them, okay? Rejection isn't easy for anyone hm? As long as they aren't hurting anyone allow them to process their feelings in whatever ways work best for them." You warn Marc.

"Sure sure, I'll call you, okay babe?"

"Babe?" You quirk an eyebrow up at him.

"Oh, I guess I didn't ask- does this make us an item? Am I your boyfriend?"

"Would you like to be?" You ask.

"Of course." He nods.

"Then yes. You are."

"Cool. So- I'll call you later babe."

"Sounds good." You nod. You pause for a moment, should you kiss him? You want to but it's probably not a good idea with Jake as upset as he seems. You turn to leave but Marc grabs your wrist before you can get far.

"What was that look?" He asks as he pulls you back towards him.

"Nothing I just- I was debating on if I was going to kiss you, but given the... internal conflict now doesn't seem like a good time for that." You say.

"You're probably right." Marc huffs out his annoyance.

"I'll make it up to you. Good luck and try to enjoy your evening."

"You too." Marc says. With that, you leave Marc to whatever discussion he's going to have with Jake and Steven- here's hoping your choice doesn't backfire.

***

Taglist: @queerponcho @avengersinitiative2012 @stressed-cherry

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fluff #steven grant fanfiction #jake lockley fluff #moonknight #moonknight x reader #moonknight fanfiction #steven grant fluff #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader

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honeylikesyanderes · 1 year

Note

Hiiii honey! I hope your having a fantastic day! If You want to answer then could I request yandere karma with a shy timid cute smart/nerdy s/o? They are intelligent but they don’t have friends so he doesn’t really need to manipulate them but they are both still in class e and teenagers so you know bullies and stuff and he’s just clingy and protective of them? Feel free to take your time or ignore bye bye!

hi my love!!

hmm i like your idea anon

i'm just gonna make this a highschool au!

karma and darling are both 18

that being said:

hope you enjoy!

18+ minors dni (like fr, there's violence and blood in this)

gender neutral reader/darling

likes and reblogs are highly appreaciated

if there’s something i missed or something that you're still curious about, feel free to send me another ask!

-------------------------------------------------------

karma as a teenager is a bit different from karma as an adult

he's less quiet and a bit more impulsive

but he's still very very charming

kinda like a boyish charm

karma is very popular in high school

especially since its a private school and everyone knows how influential his family is

he's still a lot more mature than his peers

that being said

assuming that darling is the shy intelligent type, teen! karma would be sooo into it-

i think his yandere tendencies with a shy darling would just start off as him being protective

he might not acknowledge that he's a yandere at this time

he might just assume that he's 'protecting someone who can't protect themselves'

then down the line, he gets to know you

and he falls so hard.

you're perfect.

everything he's ever wanted.

so he becomes even more protective

and more clingy

he follows you everywhere

and where he cant follow you, he's either sending bhodi or his sister to follow you.

and when they cant follow you everywhere, our dear karmichael gets an idea.

concealed cameras.

karma has always been tech savvy

so making tiny concealed cameras were a breeze.

(he attached them to your bag and phone when you weren't looking)

a few days after he installs the cameras, he realises that he needs to hear your conversations as well!

he doesn't want any boys asking his beloved out ofc

so after pulling an all-nighter

he created tiny concealed mics!

(he also attached them to your phone and bag when you weren't looking)

(you should really pay attention more to your surroundings darling.)

karma observes you through the cameras

<they're connected to his phone fyi>

btw teen karma is pretty violent towards bullies.

anyone that makes you feel bad for being intelligent/ a nerd?

they come to school with their head bashed in.

someone talking to you in a disrespectful manner cause they know you're shy and you wont say anything back?

they're suddenly seen wearing turtlenecks everyday for the next month.

(rumour says that they have handprints on their neck from an attempted strangulation)

another person touches you in any way without your explicit consent?

they come to school with the arm (or both arms) that they used to touch you spontaneously broken.

a love rival confesses to you even tho youre already his?

they randomly start vomiting blood in 5th period.

(karma's sister is good with poisons)

if darling is a scholarship student and someone makes fun of them for being less advantaged,

karma will report their parents company for tax evasion/fraud/embezzlement/money laundering

this will cause their accounts and assests to be frozen

and they will become paupers overnight.

then it becomes clear to the entire school.

dont fuck with y/n unless you're willing to face the consequences.

darling on the other hand knows that karma is behind the punishments given to their antis

(its kinda obvious, lets be honest)

and they don't mind it too much

they do beg karma to be a little less mean with the punishments

but teen karma is very stubborn, yet still very charming

so he'll manage to convince you that being mean is for the best

cause rich teenagers are dicks.

and they deserved to be treated as such.

basically, teen karma with a shy intelligent darling is basically just karma showing his true nature over and over again.

he's ruthless, unforgiving towards offenders and he is the judge, jury and executioner.

#yandere oc #honey's anons #honey answers asks #male yandere #yandere headcanons #obsessive yandere #yandere #manipulative yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere high school #my oc karma #shy darling #high school au #my oc bhodi #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x reader

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hillbillyoracle · 9 months

Text

Fawn isn’t “Good” Fight isn’t “Bad”

So something I’m pretty tired of in conversations about the nervous system and trauma reactions is that when it comes to Fawning, all I see is how hard that is on the person doing it and when it comes to Fighting, there’s very moralistic language that implies it’s always abusive in some way. So I want to challenge that.

In general, the order goes Flight --> Fawn and/or Fight --> Freeze. You try to get away from the threat, then if you can’t you try to placate and/or fight off the threat, then finally if that won’t work, you freeze/play dead and try to feel the least amount of pain. The order can wind up being different based on personal histories.

I say this to point out that Fawning actually occupies a similar function as fighting - repelling the threat.

If you do something neutral and someone reacts with being defensive and seemingly ready to fight, you’re probably understandably taken off guard and wonder what the hell you’ve done. Maybe you even feel defensive yourself. If you do something neutral and someone reacts by trying to placate you as if you’re actively threatening them, you’re probably understandably taken off guard and might even feel as if you are being bad person in some way.

The mental toll of being exposed to that again and again can be very psychologically damaging and can be just as ripe for psychological abuse as fighting can be. In my experience, the toll ca be much worse because fawning is afforded so much social cover. “Why would you partner feel the need to fawn that hard if you hadn’t done something wrong?” - because they are a traumatized individual not managing their trauma reactions in part because it affords them social coverage to control the situation in ways other reactions do not.

Just ask anyone who grew up the child of a parent who defaults to fawning what it’s like to grow up feeling like you’re a villain or a bomb about to explode at any minute for even the most gentle pushback or requests. These are people who often wind up defaulting to freeze because even healthy attempts manage conflict are met with villainization. They often feel as if they have literally no options in the face of circumstances they find uncomfortable or threatening because all roads - fleeing, fighting, or healthy conflict methods - lead to being the bad guy.

And it honestly freaks me out that I keep running across people who do not feel like they need to manage their fawning because of the social coverage it receives - “it’s hardest on me after all and I deserve it” followed by waves of reassurance. Fawning is just as ripe for manipulation as anything else - and is getting more common in spaces I inhabit as moderators and leaders continue to refuse to create space for productive open conflict. It becomes covert, passive aggressive, and socially subtle.

Fawning is damaging and needs managed just as much as Fighting does. And whether you think one is “good” is a sign of your personal preference, not material reality of the reaction itself. I would prefer people Fight with me over any other trauma reaction. I’d rather have it out where neither of us has the ability to socially manipulate the other. But that preference doesn’t make my tendency to drop to fight - born out years of not being able to flee or socially placate - any better than any other reaction. It’s just a preference. .

Obviously, not all Fawning is manipulative. But just as obviously, not all Fighting is abusive. And allowing “Fighting is abusive always” to become the social norm in the spaces you inhabit means you just wind up rewarding one potentially damaging trauma reaction over another - not reduce them all together.

So what do you do if you’re a leader in one of these spaces and you want to turn the tide? I recommend reading up on Fawning with examples. Start to keep an eye out for it. In the spaces in which you’re leading, be willing to call it out and - this is the most important - redirect the behavior into something productive.

“It seems like this interaction is difficult for you. Could you perhaps make a request for the kind of assistance you need? If not, why don’t you take a moment to get regulated and then rejoin the conversation. Absolutely no hard feelings it happens to all of us at some point”

People who are fawning not out of any attempt for social control might feel uncomfortable but usually will either request some reassurance that they haven’t royally fucked up or take a moment to get into a better headspace and be quieter upon rejoining. You can always circle back with them and give them some safe social interactions to help show the conflict has passed and there’s no harm done. The behavior usually starts to become extinguished (except during times of high stress) after a couple interactions like this.

But for people who’ve become accustomed to fawning as a way of manipulating others to regard themselves in a certain way, this kind of redirect can be taken as an active threat. They will often switch and act as if you are the one being an aggressor in an attempt to get you to stand down. It’s hard but you’ve got to hold your ground. They might begin to get defensive and actively blame the other person in the interaction. They might use moralistic and social justice/identarian language to cloak their actions in some sort of legitimacy and redirect the intervention onto the other person. They’re used to being able to use leaders and the opinions of others to harm those they feel threatened by.

I’ve often found folks like this will actually self select out of your group when they realize they cannot use you to alienate those they find harmful or they don’t receive the kind of reassurances they’re used to getting without having to ask for them outright but have a clear policy in place for how many warnings someone gets before they’re asked to leave/kicked out and just follow it as normal.

In summary, all trauma reactions can cause harm to people other than you. None are inherently abusive and none are free from the ability to be used toward abusive ends. All trauma reactions need managed.

#mental health #probably kind of a spicy take #but it needs talked about more #fawn-fight is the backbone of cancel culture #and I'm tired of it personally

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megamind2010 · 3 months

Note

standing outside your window knocking on the glass hard as fuck hand bleeding

3, 5, 12, 18, 19, 21, 33, 35 for my buddy nell bishop obvi

hello bitch (oc ask meme)

3. weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon? And here it becomes obvious that ive thought way more about nells personal life than their job as a superhero LMFAO i really like the weapon ideas shayan came up with… the ladybug shield and the little throwing stars (circles) i also think of her with some kind of derivative of the bb gun… something cute and nonlethal. most of her weaponry was developed with/by ted which explains a lot. similarly to ted she generally fights hand to hand but she probably has a few gadgets in her belt. maybe a ladybug taser

5. how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics? nell wears the same outfit to work every day (slacks, button down, sweatervest, tie, fingerless gloves, converse) because they found a comfortable outfit ten years ago. they tend to wear the same kind of thing casually as well… the gloves are a sensory thing so they tend to wear them pretty much whenever they arent asleep or showering lol but overall their entire wardrobe is extremely samey because i mean. He knows what he likes if it aint broke why fix it

12. how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays? ……… I DONT REMEMBER? i think i came up with the first inklings pretty soon after colleen doran posted the original unused ladybug and blue beetle illustration which wassssssssss february 2023…? NOT EVEN A YEAR AGO? but i didnt start really developing them in earnest for a while after that I GENUINELY DONT KNOW i feel like theyve been around forever. if i made their birthday the day i "made" them it would have been too close to my birthday which felt weirdly indulgent so i made their canon birthday january 2nd :-) she doesnt tend to tell other people when her birthday is but isnt like Secretive about it, she just isnt a fan of huge displays

18. their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing? lying is fine if its for a reason or if its funny. in general her morals are in the service of preventing harm so stealing in the abstract is kind of neutral. not a fan of killing! you might ask then why she lives with casey, an attempted murderer. well you see 1. she didnt actually manage to do it 2. it was kind of funny

19. are they quick to anger? what sets them off? its very easy to annoy them step 1 be casey step 2 profit LMAO like with most of their emotions nell doesnt really externalise anger very obviously until it reaches a crisis point… many things that anger them! a big one is having her abilities/independence questioned… deliberately obnoxious behaviour… mouth sounds

21. their favorite place to be? he really does like his workplace… he likes being at home. being by himself in a dark quiet place is top tier

33. if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them. erm well not all of them are my characters but the people in her life casey: (under her breath) boring judgemental bitch (out loud) SAVE ME LADYBUG ted: she's a real bright spark :D booster: difficult to read michelle: really cool… but kind of frustrating at times! her dad: incredibly driven… just like his mother alex (middle brother): they work really hard even when people dont notice seb (youngest brother): SO COOL

35. do they ever return home? not very often. their family moved out of their childhood home after nell left so it's strange to go back to somewhere they didnt grow up

#nell #sorry this took a moment ihad to make shockwave and then listen to a thousand songs #wiihtigo

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pinkest-nekomata · 9 months

Text

Finally gathering some words around my AFAB femme enbie experience, and a special thanks to the gender dysphoria bible for getting me over the line here.

Probably one of the more surprising developments of my gender journey has been that the more secure I’ve been in identifying as gender vague, gender queer, and nonbinary the more femme I’ve presented.

As I’ve followed what feels good, another key ingredient to gender euphoria to me has been some element of weird.

“I want to get neck tattoos,” I said, “So even when I’m on a zoom call people will know I’m Not Normal.”

I spent the first twenty four years of my life working incredibly hard to not appear weird. I received praise from my parents and adults for being “so mature” (which now I see as a red flag). I developed a constantly self-effacing attitude in social situations, working hard to create an easy conversation for everyone else. I was calm, sharp, self-aware. I would hedge and self-deprecate around my special interests, anticipate and proactively avoid complaints. I hated the arrogance and patronizing tone with which other “smart people” moved through the world.

I leaned into smart casual at work. A-line dresses, a retro bob. I wanted to be seen as fashionable, different, as caring about my clothing—but without spending tons of money or seeming too vain. I now refer to this as “dressing as the type of lesbian I wanted to date” era.

I walked a careful line when it came to femininity. I studied and worked in STEM, meaning the prettier I looked, the less likely I was to be taken seriously.

And as friendly as I was and am, I was also smart, cunning, driven, ambitious—and I wanted to be perceived that way. When I worked as an engineer, I would go out of my way to wear jeans and a polo (which, if I was honest with myself, I hated) to ensure I was taken seriously.

It chafed. I could never quite put my finger on why something felt “off”, even though on paper, dressing more androgynously theoretically should have been affirming to me.

Masculine elements were not foreign to me—I would have dreams where I was a man, and the emotional tenor was always curious neutrality. I had the sense that if I had been born a man, very little about me would be different. My me-ness ran much deeper than that.

When I write, I drift between masculine and feminine perspectives. Writing for me has always been a flow state—an unfolding of parts of myself that are usually suppressed, a safe place to explore emotions and identities and experiences that are unsafe or inaccessible in physical reality. Not everyone who writes the opposite gender inhabits that gender—but I do. I have written whole novels from the perspective of a man—not wondering what it’s like to be a man, but simply existing, expressing, experiencing as a man. (Though, not a particularly heteronormative man, to be fair.)

I never wished to be a man—but I did wish that being perceived as a woman did not bring with it expectations about my preferences and competencies.

It seemed at the time that my experience was well-explained by friction with misogyny, but there were other clues. The wordless not-rightness. An internal flinch whenever I was included in a “thanks ladies” or a “oh a girls meeting”, even at the same time as I felt strangely distant from the more masc-oriented women in my workplace.

I was, on some level, jealous that they were more comfortable in polos and jeans, more awkward in a blouse and skirt.

I felt the most affinity with our office manager, who wore flowing sundresses from Anthropologie and carried herself with feminine strength and warmth.

Meanwhile, I would reach for a dress in the morning and then correct myself—No, you see clients today. Better to be taken seriously.

The shifts happened slowly—and then in lurches. I realized I had ADHD, and then autism. I started to trace all the ways that I’d been compensating, all the signs that I’d never really fit in.

And with great relief, the thought settled over me—“I have never been particularly good at hiding how weird I am.” Now I understand it wasn’t just relief—it was a little jolt of gender euphoria.

I have never thought about gender a cis amount. But my flavor of autism means I think about most things more than most people do, and I had never hated being a girl, and I had never wished to be a man. “Non-binary” had still be framed to me as a matter of androgyny, but terms like “gender vague” and “auti-gender” and “demigirl” started to illuminate my path.

I felt simultaneously a disconnect with my gender and a not-yet-realized sense that my gender was so much broader than I realized—that it included my autism, my weirdness, my enthusiasm, my sarcasm, my interests, my intensity, my me-ness.

The switch to remote work with the pandemic left most of my closet irrelevant. When I was going to bother dressing up, it was for me. I bought goth dresses and thigh highs, mini skirts and crop tops. I reclaimed the adolescence I’d never had. I slowly learned how to do my makeup—something I’d spent hours trying at in high school, then scrubbed off in frustration, more terrified of looking like I’d tried and failed than that I didn’t care to try at all.

And it felt right. And I started getting tattoos—and then I didn’t stop getting tattoos. I donated one batch of work clothes, then another. I figured out I was bisexual and I’d been dressing like someone I wanted to be with, not who I was.

This essay was in part inspired by trying to figure out why I feel such a strong affinity with trans women. “I walked through the valley of gender fuck and emerged in bows and skirts”, I wrote last week, my way of cheering a group of trans women being excited about dresses.

It felt too fraught to say, I get this feeling. I love dresses in this same way. In a trans way. Not in a cis way.

I insisted on wearing a dress to school every day until the second grade, and really the only reason I stopped was undiagnosed sensory issues—when I realized that I could just wear a bike short and a t-shirt and be surrounded in cotton, that became my new obsession.

But I wore dresses in the dirt, dresses chasing bugs, skorts on the soccer field, bows with frogs on them. I knew, from a very young age, that “girl” did not feel quite right—but it did not feel quite wrong, either. And if “girl” didn’t feel right, then that meant I was supposed to be a tom boy and hate dresses and parties and cooking and makeup and dolls—but I didn’t hate any of those things. I just also loved heavy machinery and science and paintball. And, importantly, I wanted to be perceived as someone who loved all of those things at the same time. I wanted the very facts of my presentation to challenge people’s assumptions.

I have thought about, and wrestled with, and chafed at gender in a way that cis women have not. I have felt a rush of gender euphoria in adulthood and have a deep, deep appreciation of how much a skirt, a dress, an eyeshadow palette can mean to someone who is finding themselves in adulthood.

Also, thanks to genetically small breasts and an ED phase, I have also experienced watching my body gain/redistribute weight in a way that is gender-affirming. I can finally buy bras off-the-rack now. (Sort of. 38A is a specialty size, but the right 36B works.)

In retrospect, I can see how I always knew that I was a non-binary person and I was attempting to present in a way that non-binary people are supposed to—androgynous, practical. Dressing femme in a “normal” way felt wrong, too. But femme on my terms—weird femme, autistic femme, queer femme, hyper femme, divine femme—feels right. It feels like it can encompass and express the power, presence, and vitality for which I lacked an outlet for so long.

Alt fashion has given me a way for my gender presentation to say, I am not what society tried to make me. I cannot be told what to be. I don’t play by your rules.

I made a little “wheel of genders” for days I’m feeling indecisive. “Cottage core”, “high witch”, “bubblegum goth” and “athleisure” are a few of the options. And even on sweatpants days, bright pink hair and a rapidly growing collection of tattoos (my own form of bodily transition) are always sure to say, I am not normal.

While I may appear to have gone from subverting stereotypes to embracing (some of) them, my inner journey has been one of attempting to comply with stereotypes and then breaking out of them—as so many other trans people experience.

My goal in sharing this, other than to affirm to myself in so many words, I am nonbinary, is that it might resonate with someone else going through something similar.

I’ve read and read and read through definitions and descriptions of what it’s like to be nonbinary (another distinctly not-cis thing to do), looking for a glimmer of recognition. And slowly I collected those glimmers into a beam of light that’s guiding me now. And I hope my story can be a glimmer for somebody else, too 💕

#actually autistic #autism #nonbinary #enbies #enby pride #enby #trans enby #trans pride #trans #gender euphoria #cw gender dysphoria #gender dysphoria

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 8 months

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Hi, if you could manage it, it would be great if you could answer this before monday since I'll then see said therapist again.

Today I visited a therapist for the first time and... I never attended therapy for a longer time but a lot of first-time meetings. And in hindsight I asked myself, if maybe the problem was in me, that not all of those therapists sucked but maybe talking about myself made me feel bad and I projected that on them.

I did have a great therapist 10 years ago, who is (for better or worse) still my imagine in mind, when I visit new therapists.

How can I objectively say, during the first sessions, if a therapist is a good one (for me)?

For example today I felt like... She forced me (by asking again and again but also by asking me out of the blue) to tell her things, i don't feel comfortable to talk about, during the first meeting. I understand that she needs to know much about me to be sure how to help me but... It didn't feel good. Where's the line there?

Also I felt like she was pretty distant. I mean, my therapist shouldn't cry when I tell them something but I'd want them to express some compassion or to look sorry. But if there faces are neutral... do you feel bad for me? Do you judge me? How can I carry on a conversation if I can't read the other persons mimic... But idk she only knew me for 50 minutes so... yeah. That's the question.

How to be sure someone is a good therapist?

Hi anon,

I'm glad to hear that it sounds like you have some self awareness when you reflect on your experience with previous therapists and if the reason it didn't work out was more so your projections onto them.

It can be hard to immediately tell whether or not a therapist is right for you because developing rapport in a therapeutic relationship is a process that takes time, and over that time you may begin to learn things about your therapist that you may not appreciate or feel beneficial. However, something that works for me is coming to the first session or consultation with a list of questions.

Some of the questions I ask pertain to their level of expertise on certain topics that may be relevant to my care. For example I may ask them how familiar they are with a certain disorder I would like to be treated for. I will also ask about views they have regarding therapy, such as their thoughts on pathologization or certain stigmatized disorders such as NPD or BPD. If I can't find anything that answers the following questions about them online, I may ask them about their specializations, like if they specialize in relationship issues, LGBT issues, certain disorders, and so on. Then I can get a sense from there if this is a therapist I want to work with.

While you may get satisfactory answers to these questions, words only go so far. It simply does take a handful of sessions to see if they actually put their money where their mouth is. It's important to watch for clues that they may not be a good therapist. This may be in the form of countertransference where a therapist projects something onto you. For example, my very first therapist used to say "If you were my daughter, I would say xyz." This is a violation of the therapeutic relationship because it breaches the professional standard of care and gets more intimate than what is appropriate.

Therapists are also not allowed to give direct advice and tell you what to do because they become liable if their advice backfires. Another reason why they're not allowed to give their clients advice is because the entire point of therapy is to help the client become self-reliant, instead of relying on the therapist to tell them how to navigate their life. Instead, therapists are supposed to serve as mirrors to help guide the client to recognize their own thoughts and behaviors.

Another sign that a therapist may not be the right fit is if they excessively self-disclose. Generally it is advised for therapists to keep self-disclosure to a minimum (self-disclosure meaning talking about themselves or something they've experienced, even if they feel it relates to what their client may be going through). Some self-disclosure is okay, sometimes I will ask my therapist what inspired them to become a therapist and usually that reason involves their own trauma. But again, my first therapist would tell me about traumatic things that happened to her completely unsolicited and it was a bit disturbing to listen to, which is not appropriate.

Addressing your questions, it can feel very cold and sterile when therapists are hard to read, but this is intentional. I think it's understandable to be confused about how your therapist feels about you, not only when you're actively establishing rapport, but when they have a poker face. That being said, this can also be to keep the relationship on a more professional level. I think it's also worth highlighting how this technique brings up some questions or insecurities for you, such as not being sure what your therapist thinks, and worrying that they're judging you or wanting them to feel bad for you. These could be things to discuss and work out with your therapist, as they could not only help you explore the root of your concerns but can potentially adjust their approach.

It's worth noting though that if your therapist asks you about something and you express that it's not something you're ready to discuss, it's not appropriate for them to continue to pry. It's important for any therapist to respect your boundaries and not force or pressure you to explore anything you simply aren't comfortable. Perhaps it's a question that could be asked again at a later time, but to continue to press you to answer when you've already explained you don't want to, is not appropriate both as a therapist and as a human being.

I hope I could clear some things up for you. Please let us know if you need anything, and you're welcome to follow up if you'd like.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks

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redbootsindoriath · 2 years

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After I answered that ask about my thoughts on autistic Beleg and Túrin, a couple of people took the bait and asked about my headcanons (as opposed to just the reasons I interpret them as autistic). And of course I am always delighted to share headcanons. Be aware that a few of them here and there will overlap with things I mentioned in the other post, so I’m apologizing in advance for any redundancy; but aside from those, please bear in mind that most of the things on this list are just my own original ideas with absolutely no direct supporting evidence from canon. If you want canon stuff instead, you’d be happier reading the other post. But for those who don’t mind me taking a bit of artistic license with the characters, the headcanons are under the cut.

Stims: • Túrin slams doors when he’s anxious, angry, or bored, or even if he just thinks things are too quiet. Later in life he develops a stim where if he has a sword at his side he frequently grips the hilt, brushes his fingers across the pommel, or otherwise is touching/handling it. It gets even more frequent the more nervous he is. He is unaware that this makes him look angry and/or dangerous. He also draws his eyebrows together to “reset” his facial features if he’s overstimulated, which of course doesn’t help him look any less threatening. • Beleg brushes or taps the fingertips of one hand against each other whenever he is concentrating and his hands aren’t busy. If he’s stressed and silence isn’t necessary, he’ll snap his fingers to reset his focus. He is also obsessed with interesting textures: if there’s something that looks like it might feel interesting to touch, he will absolutely go and brush his hands across it. If he is sitting down while happy, excited, or nervous, he will bounce one or both of his legs like a dog wagging its tail, but he always stops once he notices he’s doing it. He also has a neutral stim where he twists his forelock around his forefinger. • Both of them tend to pace: Túrin does it to relieve stress when he’s nervous, Beleg does it to let off energy when he’s bored or impatient.

Sensory things: • Túrin has trouble with certain textures, especially clothing textures. This is easy enough to manage while he lived in Dor-lómin and in Menegroth, but after his self-banishment it became more difficult for him to find the very specific fabrics that he was comfortable wearing. He has difficulty picking out a single conversation out when there are overlapping voices, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. Around the people he trusts, he is very physical. Hugs, headbutts, wrestling, brushing fingertips, he loves it all, and the deeper the pressure the better, but only with the people he trusts. When he was young, he had many food aversions, but after moving to Doriath he trained himself to handle more variety. This became especially useful during his time on the marches and with the outlaws, where it was more a question of whether or not you’d be eating at all than what you would be eating. • Beleg, being an elf, has keener hearing than Túrin, and this has been heightened even more by sensory processing disorder. This ridiculously sensitive hearing is part of what makes him such a brilliant tracker, but it also means he dislikes crowded places. He, like Túrin, finds it unusually hard to carry a conversation when there are others talking around him. There are also many sounds that he is extremely averse to. (Despite all of this sound sensitivity, however, he still cannot judge the volume of his own voice when he gets excited. This confuses people who don’t know him well.) Overall, he has a lot of sensory processing problems and is very prone to sensory overload of all kinds. This includes touch: while he likes deep pressure and shows physical affection almost aggressively at times (wrestling, punching in the arm, etc.), he doesn’t like to be touched unexpectedly, too lightly, or for too long.

Social: • Túrin has a terrible time with the concept of personal space. Naturally he often stands very close to other people, which of course makes them uncomfortable, but later in life, once he’s got an unhealthy case of post-traumatic stress disorder, he becomes very uncomfortable whenever someone else stands too close to him. He still automatically stands too close to others, though, which is a terrible combination. He is also stubborn (as we all know), doesn’t respond well to correction, and has a hard time understanding subtle methods of communication, but he doesn’t know how to communicate any of this and as a result he usually just comes across as sullen while really he just doesn’t know how to tell anyone that he doesn’t understand them or know how to deal with his own very complex inner thoughts in response to them. He also gets nervous in crowds but doesn’t actually let himself leave until he’s exhausted all his other options. He is absolutely awful with reading social cues and although he learns to read them through practice, the harder he tries to get better the more humiliated and frustrated he becomes when he still fails now and then. • Beleg can socialize in moderate sized groups for a little while, but once he’s had enough he can and will leave without any warning at all. If given the choice, he would rather hang out alone or with only one person at a time. Sometimes his friends will find him sitting up somewhere high, watching everyone else socialize, because to Beleg this counts as socializing. He’s not very clever with social cues, but no one knows if it’s because he’s completely missing them or because he’s willfully ignoring them. He entirely avoids eye contact unless he’s trying to get a point across very clearly, trying to intimidate someone, or trying to read someone’s expressions (the last of which does not come naturally but he has gotten pretty good at it over millennia of practice). • Both of them might seem somewhat antisocial, or at least asocial, to the casual observer, but this is just because they have their Very Specific People that they love to hang out with. Put them with their favorite people and they’ll talk enough to satisfy pretty much anybody’s social standards. Since both of them had to learn non-literal figures of speech through observing the ways others interacted and then experimenting with it themselves, their attempts are a bit hit-or-miss. This means that they fluctuate between being overly literal and overly cryptic, usually at the wrong time for both. Combine this with their stubbornness and intensity when it comes to the things that matter most to them, it’s probably just as well that neither of them really seek out too much social interaction.

Other habits: • Beleg is extra susceptible to hyperfocus and hyperfixations, to the point that it has become a joke among his friends to bring one up in front of him and see how quickly he drops whatever he was doing before. His two settings are utter chill and utter chaos and he can switch between the two in the blink of an eye.

How this all affects their interactions with each other: • Since Túrin loves physical touch and Beleg can only handle certain types of it, they’ve figured out how to come to a balance. Beleg will give Túrin bear hugs, and Túrin alerts Beleg (either verbally or with hand/posture gestures) before making casual physical contact (even if he’s just going to be sitting right next to him). • Neither of them are naturally skilled at picking up on subtle hints, so they both know to be very clear about when they’re upset with the other. They know that as long as they can get the problem into the open and don’t get offended by each other’s bluntness, they’re quite good at settling their differences in a way that’s perfectly satisfactory to both of them. • Beleg has had much more experience with being autistic in a mostly allistic world, so early on when he recognized some of the difficulties Túrin’s was trying to deal with, he started to suggest coping methods that he had found useful. Túrin soon began asking Beleg about whether he had problems with this or that, and whenever Beleg came back after being gone for a considerable length of time Túrin would meet him at the front gate of Menegroth with a list of questions he had written down during his time away.

#beleg #túrin #the man the myth the legends #three shinies #everyone deserved better except mîm #sometimes i overthink stuff #don't mind me #heck yeah bromance #forest pennies #just go read the book #/end classification tags #not me copying all of beleg's traits straight off myself #oh but guys about the communication thing in the last section #can society please start doing this as a whole #i'm speaking from experience when i say it works like a dream

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