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t-lostinworlds · 5 months

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Competitively Stupid | Steve Harrington

》 PAIRING: steve harrington x female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: rivals-ish (since childhood) to lovers, some angst; fluff

》 SUMMARY: It was stupid, jumping off a cliff just to prove that you were better than Steve fucking Harrington. But you were competitive. You were not losing to him. But you know what was stupider? For it to take a near-death situation for you both to confess what you truly feel for each other.

》 WARNINGS: canon divergent (everyone is alive & well & happy thanks), pet names (sweetheart, baby), shitty parents (on both sides), competitiveness on all accounts, r is basically a counterpart of steve during high school (cheerleading captain, queen of hawkins high, swim team captain, etc.), peer pressure-ish, some stupid decisions & stupider actions, very irresponsible cliff jumping (which doesn't end well), drowning, CPR, injuries, an emotional moment™, love confessions, and a happy, sappy ending.

》 WORD COUNT: 5.3k+

A/N: hi! okay, well, it's been a while since i posted a steve fic so i'm kinda nervous ngl. also, not me making it a habit to include swimmer!steve in all my fics from here on out. this was meant to be short & sweet to dust off the cobwebs but lol. super random. i saw a video of someone cliff-jumping & boom, the idea was born. also, not me using the first aid training i learned in college.

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ STEVE H. MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

You genuinely have no idea why you were even doing this in the first place.

"There's no way you can do it."

Right.

That's why.

The taunting voice of Steve fucking Harrington was the reason why you were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at a thirty-foot drop into the dark ocean.

This was supposed to be a relaxing trip with your new found family.

"You know you don't have to listen to him, right?" Robin sighed, so completely over the fact that her two best friends who never got along no matter what she tried, somehow came to an agreement to not listen to her right now.

Not that you could blame her.

You and Steve had been rivals ever since you were kids.

It was what you had always known.

What with narcissistic parents who used their children as pawns to one up each other, you had been conditioned to see him as an enemy from the second you step foot into their home.

Your family was invited into the Harrington residence for dinner as a way of welcoming you to the neighborhood. You recently just moved in, so you didn't know anyone else yet. When you heard that the next-door neighbor had a son who was your age, you had been really excited to gain a new friend.

All that changed when your dad sat you down an hour before, prepping you about how the Harringtons were a respected family in the town, and that you needed to show them you weren't any less than them, if not show them you were better. He drilled it in your brain to be on your best behavior, to be the best and the perfect daughter.

It only got worse when you finally sat down at that dinner table.

The comparisons were endless.

"See, my daughter here is a wonderful gymnast, quite amazing for someone her age."

"How wonderful. Steven here has swimming lessons every weekend. His coach said he might end up in the Olympic team once he's of age."

"Splendid. How about his academics? I'm sure he can take inspiration from my daughter's exemplary grades."

"He's the top of his class. Maybe if they study together, your daughter would be able to catch up in time."

It was harsh, pitting two seven-year-olds against each other—impressionable kids who only wanted to make their mom and dad proud.

But neither your parents nor his truly gave a shit. All they cared about was becoming the best family in the street, if not the whole town.

The sad thing was, those dinners became a regular thing, held alternately between your house and his.

It always looked like a preparation for battle whenever your mom would pull out the finest china in her collection along with the cookbook she only ever used for special occasions.

It was in the guise of cordiality when it was, in fact, an excuse to show off, to make a competition out of everything, a moment to compare who did what best. Those dinners were like monthly scoreboards, tallying up the respective families' recent achievements—and that included yours and Steve's.

Nobody was surprised that the competitiveness stuck with you both.

And it only got worse during high school.

Whether that was something as mundane as winning the popularity contest when running different circles—even going as far as getting crowned the King and Queen of Hawkins High—down to academics and extracurriculars.

Captain of the basketball team. Captain of the cheerleading squad. Prom Queen. Prom King. MVP of the season. Brightest student of the year. Beer pong Queen. Kegstand King. Best summer camp counselor. Lifeguard of the month and it went on and on and on and on.

When he got co-captain for the men's swim team, you rubbed it in his face that you were the captain of the women's team. When you got second place at the science fair, he made sure to rub his first place medal right in your face. When you became president of the student council, you ordered him around to do extra work whenever the basketball team was required to help with community service.

It was a constant back and forth.

There was always a competition between you and Steve Harrington.

And sure, since you graduated, it became subdued. But it was still very much there. Vying on who was the coolest babysitter in your band of ragtags, even fighting to have the title of Robin Buckley's ultimate best friend.

This thing between you and Steve was deeply rooted. So there really wasn't much Robin could do apart from getting in between your frequent squabbles before you started actually killing each other.

In Robin's words, something drastic had to happen for you both to finally wake up and see that this rivalry between you both wasn't what it seemed to be on the surface.

You had no idea what she was even implying.

Now, on a little getaway on the nearest beach you could drive to, the competition started with a race on who could get there first. It wasn't even fair seeing that you weren't the one driving.

The group had split into two, some were in Eddie's van—along with everyone's belongings since he had ample space in the back—while the others were in Steve's Beemer. Since you and Steve couldn't be in the same room together without an argument ensuing, it was a unanimous decision to have you two separated. Nobody wanted to deal with that for hours on the road.

Not that you could blame them, either.

And sure, it was the kids who suggested the race, but with Steve's smug smirk and that arrogant wink he threw once you got into Eddie's passenger seat, you knew it was game on between you too.

Yet despite the metal head being a fast—albeit slightly reckless—driver, he somehow took his sweet goddamn time getting to your destination.

Only when your group arrived at the beach last, did he say something about Steve threatening him to be extra careful with driving because there's important cargo in his van—whatever the hell that meant.

You lost to Steve on that one, but you would argue it was rigged from the start.

The next was a supposed friendly bout on who could build the biggest sandcastle that didn't topple over after a few minutes.

It was boys versus girls with you and him being team leaders. The girls won, obviously and El never used her powers. It was fair and square since the other team mostly argued over everything they could think of and had no teamwork at all. You made sure to point that out to Steve as you watched their sandcastle crumble into ruins.

Another one was beach volleyball. Same leaders as before, but you get to pick the members of your teams this time. Steve made it his mission to pick the tallest of the bunch. Still, it wasn't the advantage he thought it was because it ended up being one point too close.

Your team would've won if Steve wasn't such a dramatic asshole.

It was truly an accident. When you spiked that ball, you were not aiming for his face. He simply thought it was a good idea to catch the ball with it. Besides, he was distracted, flirting with some random girl in a bikini who was passing by, right in the middle of the game.

How was it your fault that he wasn't paying attention?

He made sure to oversell his injury after that, curled up on the sand as the girl fussed over him. But you saw that smirk on his face. You would've hit him again—definitely not by accident this time—if you weren't busy arguing with Robin about the point deduction. She said it was only fair since you hit the ball when she hadn't blown her imaginary whistle yet.

You decided to let it go when Steve commented on you being a whiny sore loser.

Unfortunately, the competition was ending with who could make jumping off a cliff and into the ocean look the coolest—adults only, despite the groans of protest from the mischievous bunch.

Eddie offered to stay behind and watch the rascals. When teased, he simply said he didn't want to test Death today.

His comment didn't help your nerves.

Robin said she was only coming purely as a voice of reason. She'd been saying nonstop how it was a horribly stupid idea, that there really was no need to be doing this in the first place.

But Steve wasn't backing down, so you weren't going to either.

So once again, it was only you and him.

As it always had been.

He volunteered to go first, throwing in a comment about rushing back up the cliff's edge before you could take your turn because he wanted a front-row seat for when you'd chicken out.

It only made you want to do it more.

His dive was smooth, almost flawless, you admit. He even showed off with a little flip near the end. It didn't take long for him to swim back to the shore, either. His years of training as a swimmer were obviously paying off.

But you trained just as much if not more than he had.

The only difference was, adrenaline didn't fuel you as much as it did Steve. So instead of getting all powered up looking down at a cliff's edge like he was, you were terrified.

But who wouldn’t get scared looking down at harsh waves crashing against sharp and jagged rocks? There was no margin for error here because one wrong slip and you'd be dead.

Still, if Steve could do it, you could do it better.

You weren't about to lose to his stupid ass.

"I'm not listening to him," you argued back, taking in a shaky breath as you took a step.

"He's doing reverse psychology!" she squeaked. "So you doing it is still listening to him!"

"I'm fine, Robs, I can do it," you mumbled, a slight questioning lilt at the end of your sentence.

"Look, sweetheart, it's okay to admit defeat," Steve said, cocky voice with an even cockier smile as he crossed his toned arms against his bare chest. His hair was still damp, quick to climb back up so he could get his front-row seat as he promised.

But you weren't chickening out.

Never.

"I mean, it wouldn't be the first time you lost to me so, it shouldn't sting as much."

You ignored him.

Instead, you took another step, the tips of your toes now hanging over the edge.

You can do this. Wipe that smug smirk off his face. You got this.

"Listen, you don't have to do—"

"Shut it, Harrington," you growled.

With a deep breath, you closed your eyes, counting from three, two, one…

You jumped.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

He shouldn't have pressured you like that.

The jump wasn't deadly, per se, but it also wasn't exactly deemed the safest, especially if you weren't an expert in any sort of way.

And he didn't want to say it out loud because if he did, he knew it would only push you to do it more just to prove him wrong.

But Steve could see how scared you were.

He was already dropping the act, voice laced with concern as he started telling you that he wasn't worth all of this, that he was stupid and that you were always going to be better than him.

But, obviously, you didn't listen.

You simply jumped.

You and your stupidly competitive ass.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, rushing to the edge of the cliff, tensely watching your falling figure disappear into the water with a splash.

"You two are complete idiots."

"Shut up," Steve gritted, never looking away from the water. Yet any annoyance was quickly overpowered by sheer worry as he scanned the deep blue for anything.

There was no sign of you.

"Like seriously! It's like I'm the only one with a brain cell here!"

"Come on, come on, come on," Steve mumbled, completely ignoring Robin when you still hadn't emerged to the surface. "Come on, Y/N, don't scare me like this."

"Uh, Steve?" Robin asked after a moment, carefully looking over the cliff before shooting him a worried glance. "You look anxious and you being anxious is making me nervous."

"She hasn't come up," he grumbled, glancing at his watch.

It was nearing a minute.

"Maybe you didn't see her?"

"I haven't taken my eyes off the water, Buckley," he gritted, too harsh and uncalled for since Robin didn't do anything wrong.

But he was panicking.

A minute and thirty seconds.

"Come on, sweetheart, you can do it. You're an amazing swimmer," he whispered encouragingly, hoping some sort of magic would let you hear him underwater all while saying it aloud for his own sanity.

Two minutes.

You could never hold your breath any longer than that.

Steve knew because he always won that competition.

And that was in a calm pool.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, gearing up to dive after you. "I don't think she's coming up!"

"Okay! Okay," Robin rushed, panicking. "Maybe she's already on the shore. We should go down now and see—"

Steve didn't listen.

He jumped right after you.

The biting cold was awakening.

Still, it was the absolute fear of losing you that was keeping him alert.

He ignored the sting of the salty ocean water in his eyes as he frantically searched for you, his heart beating hard and fast, struggling for oxygen all while fearing for your safety.

Steve didn't know which came first, relief or dread when finally found you, aimlessly floating and unconscious under the deep blue.

He swam to you as fast he could, securely hooking his arm under your shoulder and dragging you up to the surface.

Steve always knew that adrenaline can give you a random boost of strength when needed. He simply didn't expect that to be proven true when he was carrying your unresponsive body in his arms as he brought you to the shore.

He gently placed you on your back on the sand, cupping your face as he checked for any injuries.

You were so cold.

"Hey, hey, wake up," he begged, grabbing your shoulders to try and shake you awake.

Nothing.

"You didn't have to make the jump, you idiot. Why do you always want to prove me wrong," he scolded with no ounce of anger, only worry. He started tapping your cheek frantically. "Come on, wake up!"

Still no response.

"Dammit, Y/N, why'd you have to be so fucking stubborn," he scolded, his voice shaking in fear, his chest tightening as he pressed two fingers against your pulse point.

His own heart stopped when he couldn't feel yours.

And you weren't breathing.

Steve tried to keep himself calm. If he panicked now, he wouldn't be able to give you the aid that you direly need.

"Come on, Harrington. You know what to do. You trained for this," he mumbled to himself, getting into the proper position to give you CPR.

He gently cupped your forehead with his left hand, his other two fingers under your chin as he tilted your head up.

"You're going to be okay," he whispered, pinching your nose before slotting his lips against yours.

Breathing into your mouth, one, two, he watched your chest rise as it filled up with air, only for it to settle back down without coming back up again. He quickly kneeled straighter, locking his fingers together and placing the heel of his left hand in the middle of your chest, pushing down with enough pressure to try and get your heart to start again.

"One, two, three, four, come on, sweetheart, breathe for me," he mumbled, easily finding the right rhythm, his first aid training as a lifeguard coming back to him like it was second nature.

Still, he never wanted to use this skill in a real-life situation, much less use it on you.

It was the longest thirty counts in his life.

Check for a pulse. Check for breathing.

Still nothing.

"Goddammit, Y/N, come on!" he growled, blinking back the tears as he pressed his mouth against yours again.

Two rescue breaths.

Thirty chest compressions.

Steve repeated the cycle over and over. His eyes were stinging with unshed tears, his knees were burning as the rough sand dug deeper into his skin, and his arms were starting to get sore, tiredness slowly covering his aching muscles.

But he'd rather die first than give up on you now.

"Steve—"

"Call for help, Robin!" he ordered, not taking his eyes off you for even a second. When he didn't hear any movement, he yelled, "Don't just stand there! Go!"

He was going to apologize for being an asshole later. For now, he needed you to fucking breathe.

"Come on, come on, please," he begged, leaning back down to give you two more rescue breaths. "Breathe for me, baby, please."

Thirty chest compressions.

"Trying to prove me wrong when I've always been wrong, you idiot."

Five, six, seven—

"Sweetheart, come on," he choked back a sob. "Who's going to call me out when I'm being stupid, huh? You know Robin can't do it alone."

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen—

"And you're really going to leave me alone to watch our kids?"

Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two—

"Y/N, baby, please, I can't live without you," he whimpered.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thir—

Steve felt his breath leave his lungs when you finally gasped for air.

He quickly turned you to your side, rubbing your back as you choked out all the ocean water that got into your system.

"There you go, you're okay," he whispered, whether to reassure you or himself, he didn't even know anymore. All he was focused on was making sure you were going to be okay.

"S-Stevie?" you coughed out the nickname that was only ever used by you.

It was the equivalent to his nickname for you—sweetheart.

Names that started out to annoy each other but the more often it was used as time passed, it only managed to grow into an endearment that held something warm underneath it. You both were quick to realize that the nicknames you had for each other weren't out of spite anymore.

Neither of you simply addressed it.

"Steady, sweetheart, I'm right here," he reassured, hurriedly getting into your line of sight to stop you from trying to turn around to face him. He gently cupped your cheek, offering you a soft smile when your gaze found him. "I'm not going anywhere."

You nodded as best as you could, your eyes clinging onto his brown ones only for them to screw shut when a shiver ran through your whole body.

"C-Cold," you stammered.

"I know, I know, come here," he said softly, guiding you to sit up before quickly settling behind you. He gently pulled you closer between his legs, his chest pressed against your back as he blanketed his body over yours, rubbing your arms to keep you as warm as possible.

You turned to face him slightly, burying your face into his neck only for you to wince at the slight movement. He quickly tried to steady you again, checking over you twice to look for any visible injury. But he couldn't find any.

"Tell me what hurts," he asked, pressing his lips against your cold forehead as he fully wrapped his arms around you.

"A-Ankle," you whimpered in pain, your grip on his waist tightening and God he hated that sound so much.

You must've rolled it when you jumped, and having landed on it when you reached the water, it definitely made it worse.

"It's okay, you're okay," he murmured, littering kisses against the side of your head to try and keep your mind off it. "Robin already called for help, they should be on their way, alright?"

You gave him a small nod, inching even closer to him, seeking as much warmth from him as possible. Your cold breath was tickling his skin but he didn’t care. Hell, you could be breathing fucking ice and he still wouldn’t give a shit.

As long as you were breathing.

"I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

"I-I'll try," you whispered.

"First to fall asleep is the biggest loser," he mumbled, squeezing you slightly when he felt your eyes flutter close. "And you wouldn't want me to win this, babe, because I'll be a little shit about it."

"Not f-fair," you choked out a laugh.

"It's plenty fair," Steve chuckled tearfully, ignoring the sudden wetness on his cheeks. He hugged you tighter instead. "So stay awake or you'll lose to me. Again."

"Right there! They're right over there!"

Steve had never been so grateful to hear Robin's voice.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"So are you finally going to tell her?"

"Tell her what?" Steve questioned back, unable to take his eyes off of you, soundly sleeping in a hospital bed with your foot now wrapped in a cast.

The doctor had already checked everything and thankfully, there weren't any further injuries apart from your twisted ankle.

Now, all you needed was to rest and recover.

"That you've been in love with her this whole time."

Steve sighed, squeezing your hand before turning to look at his best friend.

"I'm not in love with her, Robs."

"Right," she scoffed, raising a knowing brow. "Because jumping off a cliff with zero hesitation so you could save her is totally normal behavior for someone you claim you hate."

"I never said I hated her," he argued, and it was true. He couldn't think of a single moment where he hated you.

"Yeah, well, you two definitely don't act like you like each other."

"Does she annoy and frustrate the shit out of me? Yes. But I never hated her," he admitted.

Steve didn't know what it was exactly, maybe it was his tiredness muddling his brain, maybe it was from everything that happened in the last couple of hours finally catching up to him, or maybe it was the overwhelming need to confess everything into the open before it was too late—and it almost had been. Either way, he found himself suddenly spewing out all the things that he always just kept to himself.

"She's also been the most constant person in my life, you know? Hell, we basically grew up together. I can't just not care about her," he continued, memories flooding his system before he could even stop it. "She's been so ingrained in my life, her and the cute dresses she wore at those stupid dinners our parents always dragged us to. Her and her stupid competitions whenever our babysitters would bring us to the park together. Her and that stupid dance she always did whenever she won at anything even if it was my expense—she always does this cute little wiggle whenever she won, and that never left her even as we got older," Steve chuckled at the thought.

"And fuck, don't even get me started with how similar our parents are. She's the only one who will always get me when it comes to that," he continued. "And yeah, we compete a lot, but there was no hatred between us. Maybe at the start but all that went away when we learned that whatever our parents were feeding us was bullshit—that they were bullshit.

"And fine, did I sometimes get so annoyed whenever she got a new boyfriend? Yeah. But only because she always had this bad habit of dating fucking assholes. I don't know where she got those dickheads from but every time I see a glimpse of her crying by her window at night I swear to fucking God I would've killed every single one of those assholes if she asked," he gritted, slumping down in his seat with a sigh.

"She deserves to be treated right, you know? She's already experiencing so much shit at home, she doesn't need any more of that anywhere else. Sure, she irritates me to no end but that doesn't mean she's not a sweet girl who always cried whenever some random pet commercial came on the TV during the holidays. Does her competitiveness drive me up the wall? Absolutely. But that doesn't mean I don't feel so fucking proud of her whenever she wins another medal or achieves another milestone. And yeah, I wonder about how she's doing, if she's taking care of herself, if she's getting enough sleep between her work and classes. But that's only because I worry, you know?

"And maybe I do think about her a lot but that doesn't mean I'm in love with…"

Steve blinked.

Well fuck.

"Wow," Robin marveled. "You're stupider than I thought."

"He hit his head as a kid, cut him some slack."

Steve paled at the sound of your voice, swiftly turning red at the thought that you probably heard all the things he said.

He turned to face you, groaning in annoyance when he saw the smug smile on your lips. "You've been awake this whole time?"

"I'll leave you two love birds alone," Robin sang, quickly slipping out of the hospital room and closing the door behind her.

"How much of that did you hear?" Steve asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Enough to say you're stupid," you hummed.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms. "I'm not the one who jumped off the cliff and almost died just to prove a fucking point."

"Yeah, well, I guess we're both stupid then," you snorted.

He shrugged. "I guess we are."

"Jesus, you don't have to act so tense. I mean, you've already given me a mouth-to-mouth, we've practically made out already," you scoffed playfully. "I honestly thought I'd die first before swapping spit with you yet here we are."

It was your attempt at alleviating the tension, to throw in a funny quip. But with everything still so fresh in his mind, Steve simply couldn't take it well.

"Don't fucking joke about that will you?" he snapped, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face.

The silence that followed only made the tension worse.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Steve immediately felt bad.

"No, no, no. You didn't do anything wrong, don't apologize," he sighed, meeting your eyes with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. It's just—"

He stopped himself, chewing on his bottom as he looked everywhere but at you when he felt the tears well up again.

"Will you come here?"

Steve took a calming breath and did as you asked, moving his chair closer but didn't attempt anything else than that.

"Stevie," you called when he still wouldn't look at you.

Harshly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he lifted his head. You smiled at him sweetly, wiggling your fingers to get him to come even closer.

"You scared me back there," he croaked, taking your hand with a squeeze.

"I didn't mean to," you softly said, remorseful and apologetic even though you didn't have to be.

"I know," he murmured, pressing your warm palm against his cheek as he shot you a glare. "Just don't do that again."

"Promise," you giggled, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

Steve leaned closer into your touch. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks to you," you hummed, brows furrowing in thought. "When Marcus got that black eye, you said it was because he was playing dirty on one of your games." You tilted your head knowingly. "That wasn't true, wasn't it?"

Steve shrugged. "He hurt you."

"It was a small bruise on the arm, Steve," you reasoned.

"He shouldn't be giving you a fucking bruise in the first place," he growled, the memory bringing back the same anger he felt when he first saw that bruise. The soft tapping of your finger against his cheek calmed him down. "Sorry."

"Did you lose on purpose to get him expelled?"

"What? No!" he scoffed, offended, rolling his eyes when you giggled. "I tried so fucking hard to win that fight, you know, for you."

"You've always been protective of me," you hummed, taking his hand and interlacing your fingers together.

"Don't think I didn't know it was you who dyed that poor girl's hair green that one year in middle school summer camp," he retaliated.

It was a sharp and piercing scream that woke up the whole camp that morning. Everyone rushed out of bed to see what was going on only to find a girl who once was blonde was now sporting bright green hair in the middle of the crowd, crying her eyes out.

Steve would've thought it was only some silly prank if he didn't know who the girl was. But he did. Because the day before he tried to ask her to be his girlfriend, only for her to turn him down in the most embarrassing and humiliating way possible.

It wasn't difficult for him to find out who the culprit was since he immediately noticed how you kept hiding your hands in your pockets for the next few days after the incident.

The counselors quickly found out that the little menace—whoever she was—decided to use permanent dye on the poor girl's hair instead of something washable.

Your green palms colored you oh so guilty.

"She called you pathetic and gross in front of everyone!" you argued, pouting. "You looked like you were about to cry and I hated it."

Steve's heart warmed at that, a smile on his face despite rolling his eyes. "I wasn't about to cry."

"Yeah well," you shrugged, eyes trained on your intertwined fingers, your thumb playing with his. "I'm the only one who's supposed to be mean to you."

"Hmm," he agreed, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. "I guess we've always been there for each other, huh?"

"I guess so," you giggled, cupping his cheek and tugging him closer.

He stood up from his seat, following your lead until he was pressing his forehead against yours.

"Thank you for saving my life, Steve," you whispered, eyes turning glossy as so many emotions covered your irises, the weight of what almost happened catching up with you.

"You don't have to thank me for that," he said sincerely, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "I'd do it over and over again in a heartbeat."

You nodded, sniffling, "Still, thank you."

Steve wasn't able to argue some more when you all but kissed him.

The first time Steve felt your mouth on his was a horrible experience considering he was trying to keep you alive.

Now, everything was the complete opposite.

A kiss that was careful but sweet, a hint of nervousness and excitement all the same, completely unhurried yet burning with passion as his lips molded against yours.

But still, it felt like that first gasp of air—a finally.

"I'm in love with you, too, by the way," you murmured as you pulled away, your warm breath tickling his lips.

"Thanks for clarifying," he chuckled, eyes laced with adoration, unable to stop his smile from growing wider, warmer. "I couldn't figure that out from the kiss."

"I mean, you are kinda stupid," you teased.

"We're on that same boat, sweetheart," he chuckled. "I'm sure Robin would remind us about that every single day now."

"Unfortunately," you groaned playfully. "God, she gets annoying when she's right."

"Tell me about it," he hummed, brushing his lips against yours, moving away when you chased it.

You whined.

Steve didn't hesitate to dive back in.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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seabirdtxt · 1 year

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Glitch in Irminsul

The creator descends to Teyvat, but the information they know VS the information that Irminsul retains causes the tree of knowledge to glitch out and ‘branches’ the current known state of Teyvat, and the information that was erased blooms into existence once more [Blog tag] [next >]

Notes: SAGAU, Reader is the Creator but no cult shenanigans. there ARE shenanigans of a different kind though. No romantic relationships in this one despite aforementioned shenanigans

WC. 3.8k

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“You’re just mad because I’m the Creator’s babygirl, and you’re not.”

You’ve never heard such an absurd sentence in your life, but the hands on his hips and smug expression on the Wanderer’s face is unmistakable. Across from him, just barely restrained by Lord Rukkhadevata hooking her arms under his shoulders, is an apoplectic Scaramouche.

Nobody is entirely sure what happened to Irminsul, yet, but the Tree of Wisdom continues to cheerfully cast its divine light on the scene below without a single care for the chaos it has caused.

“Now now, let’s all settle down for a moment,” Nahida grasps at Wanderer’s sleeves, trying to pull him back from the increasingly tense situation. You can’t help but think of two dogs pulling at the end of their leashes to bark at each other. “I’m sure there is a perfectly logical reason why this is happening.”

You think it might be because of you, considering this all happened when you made your inopportune arrival in Teyvat and accidentally cut your hand on the stem of a Leyline flower, your blood glittering strangely as it was sucked into the plant.

“There’s no way you’re the Creator’s favourite,” Scaramouche sneers, ignoring Nahida in his effort to escape from Rukkhadevata’s grasp. “You’re just a glorified errand-boy for your betters. I have the power of a Fatui Harbinger at my fingertips! Countless soldiers, ready to live and die by my whims!”

“Ha!” Wanderer brushes off Nahida’s attempts to restrain him. He moves her to the side, far more gently than you expected him to, and strides up to where Lord Rukkhadevata is holding Scaramouche. He pokes the Balladeer’s cheek and smirks when he nearly gets his fingertip bit off. “And what has that gotten you so far? You still haven’t gotten to be a true god. On the other hand, I’m on the Creator’s main exploration team, along with the Traveler and other equally powerful Vision wielders. At least I have proof that I’m favoured.”

The light from Irminsul glints off the polished metal of Wanderer’s anemo Vision, and Scaramouche’s frown deepens.

“That doesn’t mean anything. Anyone and their mothers can get a Vision these days.” He waves his hand dismissively as best as he can. “Need I remind you of the Vision Hunt Decree project that I—oh, sorry, I mean you—spearheaded? Those things come a mora a dozen.”

“I think you’re both wrong, clearly the Creator likes me the best!”

The two incarnations turn toward the new voice so quickly you’re nearly afraid their heads might snap off. Picture this: you, sitting sideways across Kabukimono's lap with your arms around his neck in a hug as he rocks the two of you back and forth. You wonder if Kabukimono is aware of the effect his words have on his other selves, but judging by his ‘cat that caught the canary’ expression he most definitely is.

The look Wanderer gives you is nearly scandalized, and you can only shrug at him with a helpless smile.

“Sorry guys… but look at him! Isn’t he just the sweetest thing?” you bring a hand up and pinch Kabukimono’s cheek, causing him to giggle and kick his legs in surprise, nearly dislodging you from your spot.

“He’s kinda pathetic, really.” Scaramouche deadpans, finally having stopped struggling in Rukkhadevata’s hold, and attempts to cross his arms.

“He’s you. You don’t have to like him, but at least be polite.” the Greater Lord scolds, making him yelp by shaking him like a sack of rocks. She then changes to a more matter-of-fact tone as she shakes her hair out of her face, and adds: “If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

“I agree, let’s talk this over like grown-ups, and get to the bottom of this mystery so we can send you all back home to your correct timelines!” Nahida claps her hands together, interrupting any argument that might break out at Rukkhadevata’s statement. Her smile is starting to look a little strained at the edges and you can’t help but feel a little bad for the tiny god.

“This might be the only correct timeline,” the Traveler mutters, chin resting in their hand where they sit propped up against one of Irminsul’s invisible walls.

“That’s right!” Paimon nods and shakes her finger at Nahida. “We assumed only the Descenders’ memories would remain intact when someone erases themself from Irminsul, but clearly the Creator’s memories still exist too!”

Lord Rukkhadevata drops Scaramouche at last, letting him land on the ground with an annoyed oof, and turns to you consideringly. The taller god glances between you and Irminsul, worrying her bottom lip as she thinks.

“If that were wholly true, then wouldn’t I have reappeared in my last known state, diminished to the form of a child due to having depleted my power?” she wonders. “And for that matter, why have two versions of the Wanderer appeared, when the previous erased timeline only contained the Balladeer?”

The Traveler hums as they begin to think out loud, and your attention shifts to them when they address you. “When we found you, your Grace, you were recently injured by a Leyline blossom, correct?”

You nod in agreement, not bothering to speak as you settle more comfortably into Kabukimono’s arms, the long sleeves of his kimono wrapping over you like a blanket. Whatever mechanism is inside him causes his entire chest to vibrate against the side of your head, as if he’s purring.

“And you did mention that your blood was absorbed into the flower, which we know is an extension of the Tree of Wisdom…”

“I think I can see where you’re going with this, Traveler,” Nahida interrupts. Using her power, she draws two green puzzle pieces in the air and slowly pushes them together until one of them overlaps with the other. “If the Creator’s memories are intact, then it stands to reason that, should their memories somehow be introduced into Irminsul, then the information with the greater priority will overwrite the previous existing information.”

“That still doesn’t explain why there’s three of me.” Wanderer crosses his arms and kicks Scaramouche, who has yet to get up. The Balladeer crosses his own arms, pointedly ignoring his newer incarnation.

“I believe I can answer that, now.” Lord Rukkhadevata jerks her thumb toward the Tree of Wisdom. “Having known Irminsul my entire existence, I can sense that there have been deviations in its growth. Where normally the trunk and branches originate from a single organism, there are now several branches that seem to be… grafted, for lack of a better term, onto the main plant. Likely a result of the Creator’s mishap.”

“So instead of overwriting or restoring knowledge into the correct branches, it just got added on to the side?” Paimon asks, floating closer to the tree before the Traveler grabs her by the back of her cloak and pulls her back before she can accidentally touch any of the sprouts.

Nahida claps excitedly. “Correct! All available information is now running concurrently, meaning that all states of being have been altered to allow the five of us to exist at the same time!”

“Oh!” you exclaim, startling Kabukimono out of his contented state. “Like a glitch in the matrix!”

Seven pairs of eyes turn directly toward you, varying degrees of bemusement on each of their faces. You chuckle a bit and sink further into Kabukimono’s lap out of embarrassment. He dutifully wraps his arms tighter around you, obscuring you with his long sleeves.

“So we’re just going to let you not elaborate on that at all?” Scaramouche drawls, throwing a hand in your direction. “By all means, keep us in suspense. It’s not like we need to know what our situation is or anything.”

“It’s really not that helpful, I promise!” you tell them, muffled by the kimono’s fabric. “It’s just… a figure of speech, I guess? It’s just something we say when something unexplainable happens. It’s based off this story where, like, the world is fake-”

At this, Scaramouche and the Wanderer share a brief glance, unnoticed by the rest.

“- and everything is programmed to be a certain way. So when something unexplainable happens, like if you see a black cat walking past you and then a minute later the exact same cat walks past you again! It’s an error, or a glitch, in the programming of the world.”

Nahida and Rukkhadevata head over to investigate the new growths on Irminsul, discussing what you’ve told them in hushed voices, leaving the Traveler to mitigate the situation with the three puppets. Kabukimono clings to you as Scaramouche attempts to pull you out of his lap, the two of them making you wince as you’re forced to withstand their tug of war.

“No! The Creator is my friend now!” Kabukimono protests. “Stop pulling, you’ll hurt them!”

“Then let go and it won’t hurt them anymore, stupid!”

“Niwa told me you have to be nice to people if you want them to do things for you.”

“I know for a fact your precious Niwa also said I’m allowed to take whatever the hell I want, so give!”

“I really don’t think that’s what he meant by that,” Wanderer interjects, coming between the two of them and forcing them apart. “Besides, does the creator call you guys babygirl? No? Didn’t think so, so I’ll be taking my leave now.”

Taking advantage of their surprise, Wanderer scoops you up and launches into the air, anemo power whirring behind him, putting you both out of reach. You shriek at the sudden movement, holding onto the front of Wanderer’s outfit for dear life.

“What, this again? I’m not sure if you want me to be jealous of you, or pity you.” Scaramouche scowls up at where you two are hovering. He tries to look unaffected but you can see him clenching his fists at his side.

“I still don’t actually know what that’s supposed to mean…” Kabukimono wrings his hands and looks between you and the Traveler, who supplies an explanation for you.

“It’s just a term of endearment from the Creator’s world,” they say. “You wouldn’t believe how often I had to hear it when they were possessing me-”

“Hey, what are you doing?!”

Everyone turns to look at where you and Wanderer are. The puppet is trying not to drop you while also batting away your attempts at removing the outer layer of his outfit.

“Hold still!” you grumble. “I’m just trying to figure out if you can purr, too, but I can’t hear anything over the sound of your anemo ability.”

“What are you talking about?! I don’t purr!”

“I do!”

The four of you turn to Kabukimono as he demonstrates the ability, the mechanisms in him working overtime to produce a loud rumble from his chest. The Traveler and Paimon are particularly impressed, and Kabukimono preens under their attention.

“Cut that out, idiot,” Scaramouche smacks the back of Kabukimono’s head, successfully cutting off the noise. “You’re just going to overheat, and then we’ll be stuck carrying around your powered-down body until you start up again.”

“You know how he does that? Does that mean you can do it too?” Paimon asks, her face scrunched up at the idea of the Balladeer doing anything that could be seen as endearing.

“Absolutely not.”

“We can all do that,” Wanderer says at the same time, earning a betrayed look from Scaramouche. “It’s not purring though. You all remember that we’re puppets, right?”

“Yeah….?” The Traveler nods along with Paimon.

“Well, the prototype machinery inside us is what makes that noise.” Wanderer explains. “We can control the speed and make it as slow or as fast as we want, so making it run extra fast makes it louder. However, it also makes the machinery heat up, and if it gets too hot then the failsafe kicks in and shuts off the entire system.”

“Does that mean the Raiden Shogun can purr, too?” The Traveler wonders out loud, successfully distracting Paimon with the absurdity of that mental image.

“What happens to you if it overheats?” You ask, wondering if you should feel bad for enjoying it when Kabukimono purred.

“It’s like fainting for humans,” Scaramouche adds. “Which is why we don’t do that. Nobody likes having to carry around a useless burden.”

“But it’s not dangerous, is it?”

“No, it’s just a lot of trouble. Same as for humans, but no. No lasting damage.” Wanderer then sighs and makes a face even as he pulls you into a semblance of a hug. “Here, I’ll allow it this time, because it’s you...”

Your eyes widen as Wanderer begins to purr as well, audible even over the sound of his anemo power. With a delighted gasp, you throw your arms around him and listen happily, unaware of the glares Wanderer is receiving from below. The Traveler rolls their eyes when Wanderer points at your back and mouths ‘favourite’ at Scaramouche.

“Wanderer, if you’re done being jealous could you please bring the Creator back down?” Nahida calls, and you peek down to see that she and Lord Rukkhadevata have finished their discussion. They wait below, where Scaramouche and Kabukimono were earlier. The two puppets are now a little bit further away, bickering while the Traveler supervises them.

“I’m jealous?” Wanderer scoffs, hoisting you up so you can rest on his hip as he holds you with one hand, the other used to gesture down at Nahida rudely. “You even dare to imply-”

“Please bring the Creator down.” Rukkhadevata repeats, hands on her hips. “Don’t make me come up there and get you.”

You have to stifle a laugh as Wanderer slowly brings the two of you back down, making sure your feet are firmly on the ground before letting you go. You don’t bother to mention how you notice that Wanderer’s body actually is noticeably warmer after purring. You smooth the wrinkles of your clothes and turn to the two Dendro Archons with a smile.

“You guys give off such mom energy,” you tell them. “So, what’s up? Did you figure out anything else?”

“You forget that I was a queen before I was a god,” Rukkhadevata points out. “I know what it’s like to stymie conflict before it becomes a problem. Diplomatically, of course.”

Nahida nods in agreement. “Of course. And yes, Your Grace, we did come to some conclusions! Though, not all of them are final, mostly regarding Wanderer and his counterparts. There are some hypotheses we will need to investigate before we can say for sure…”

“Still kinda wish you wouldn’t call me that,” you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck. The lofty title is uncomfortable to hear, when you still feel like any ordinary person. “But let’s hear it then. What did you guys come up with?”

“For the most part, exactly the same conclusion that we came to earlier.” Nahida says, drawing in the air with glowing green lines. She draws a tree, and then draws some branches in a different shade. “Your arrival in Teyvat brought a ‘backup’ of knowledge which, when reintroduced to the Leylines, conflicted with the current state of things and instead created additional information that now exists at the same time as the current timeline.”

“That being said,” Rukkhadevata adds her own glowing lines to Nahida’s drawing, in a deeper and more intense green. She circles one branch, and says: “I believe that this timeline’s Dendro Archon remains Lesser Lord Kusanali. Irminsul seems to have resolved this conflict by making it so that my sacrifice to eradicate Forbidden Knowledge was not my life, but rather my godhood.”

“What does that mean for you?” You ask.

“It means that I am now happily retired!” Rukkhadevata exclaims, smiling brightly. “And from what I’ve seen of the information recorded in Irminsul, I have an old friend in Liyue who also recently finds himself with a wealth of spare time. It’s been a few centuries since I last saw him, perhaps I should pay him a visit.”

“Wow, congratulations! I’m sure Zhongli would be glad for the company.” You hug her excitedly, and she returns the gesture with a bright laugh.

“Is that the name he’s going by, now? It would certainly help to have a less recognisable name, I suppose…” Rukkhadevata ponders, and you can hear her humming as she thinks. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll just use my old name. From now on, please call me Aranyani!”

Nahida joins in on your hug, practically bouncing with excitement, and you pick up the tiny god so she can see you both. “I’m so glad for you, Aranyani! I’ve always wanted to meet you,” she exclaims with a shy smile. “I have so many things I want to ask!”

“And you are always free to share in my knowledge, little sapling,” Aranyani coos, patting Nahida’s head affectionately before you all release each other, letting Nahida back down gently.

“So what are we going to do about those two clowns?” Wanderer says and you jump a little in surprise, forgetting he was still there.

You turn to where the rest of the group is. Kabukimono seems to have finally had enough and is tousling on the floor with Scaramouche. The Traveler is attempting to haul the Balladeer away, while Paimon grabs onto the back of Kabukimono’s veil and is yanking him in the other direction. To a very small degree of effectiveness.

“Both of you, please stop!” Nahida rushes forward, and the two puppets spring apart like the other is on fire.

“He started it!” Kabukimono points at Scaramouche accusingly and the Balladeer moves to grab him again, but is easily stopped by the Traveler pulling him back by grabbing his wrists.

“It doesn’t matter who started it,” you sigh, putting your hands on your hips. You put on a stern face and your best ‘disappointed parent’ voice. “I sort of expected more from you two…”

Kabukimono’s devastated expression is enough for you to drop the pretense. You sigh and open your arms and beckon, and Kabukimono happily throws himself into your hug.

“Fine, fine!” You grumble, patting the top of Kabukimono’s head. “As long as you guys aren’t, like, maiming or seriously injuring each other, I guess it’s okay.”

“Yay!”

That’s about as far as you get before Nahida takes Kabukimono’s hand and leads him away, and begins informing him of the history of the world and catching him up to speed on the current timeline. Wanderer and the Traveler chime in every so often, adding in some details that the archon might have missed. Aranyani seems to have already taken her leave, leaving only you and Scaramouche behind.

You pretend not to notice as the disgruntled ex-Harbinger shuffles closer to you, until he bumps his shoulder against yours.

“Hey,” he begins, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I’ve been meaning to ask, but all these annoying idiots kept interrupting me…”

You wait for a minute, until it’s clear he isn’t going to continue until you say something. “Yes? What’s the matter?”

He exhales through his nose and refuses to make eye contact with you. At the edges of your vision, you can see him fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” he finally spits out. “I mean, clearly I don’t quite fit in with the rest of these happy-go-lucky morons. I can’t imagine you intended for someone like me to show up.”

“Why not?” You blurt out, more out of surprise than anything else. “I like having you here.” It’s clearly the wrong thing to say, as Scaramouche begins to close off again.

“Don't bother lying to me,” he snaps, facing you with the full brunt of his annoyance. He crosses his arms and sneers at you, looking at you down the bridge of his nose. “I’m not some sad, weak little puppet who needs to be coddled by the likes of you. So save your meaningless placations for someone who would actually feel better after hearing them. You’re only wasting your time, and mine.”

“Okay, no lies then,” you nod, and watch as he braces himself for whatever you’ll say next. “I’m glad you’re here, in a world where every part of you can exist at the same time. And I’m glad I can be here with you to remind you that you’re the sum of all your parts, good and bad, and that I do want you to be here, in all your entirety.”

Scaramouche’s face is carefully blank, and you wonder for a second if he somehow shut down without you noticing. You wave a hand in front of his face, watching as his eyes track your palm. You’re about to say something else when you feel a hand come down on your shoulder heavily.

“Simp.” Wanderer states, patting you with a teasing look on his face.

“What?!” You jump away from him with an indignant squawk. “I am not-”

“Absolutely down bad.” The Traveler adds, and you reach clumsily to slap at the two of them. You miss both by miles.

“I can’t believe I taught you guys words from my world and this is how you repay me!”

“Sorry to interrupt, Your Grace!” Nahida looks properly apologetic at the treatment you’re receiving. “We were just discussing what to do with all of the new people. The Traveler has kindly offered to introduce you to their friendly teapot adeptus in order to have a realm created for you, and Wanderer’s incarnations can stay with you in the new realm!”

“That’s perfect!” you say quickly, eager to escape any more teasing from your team. You avoid Scaramouche’s probing gaze and turn your heated face away from him to look at Nahida and the Traveler. “When can we go? Can we go right now?”

The Traveler nods and holds out a thin tab of wood that you recognize as their realm dispatch. It’s strange to see it in person, for some reason you expected it to be bigger than it actually is. The entire thing can fit in the palm of one hand, like a credit card. “We can go as soon as you’re authorized, Your Grace!”

You’re giddy as you take the dispatch into your hands, rubbing the engraved surface with reverence. You feel a strange sensation, like pins and needles, as the magic in the dispatch settles over you. “This is so cool, you guys. I can’t wait to meet Tubby! Do you think she’ll make me a teapot, too, or something else?”

In your excitement you grab onto both the Traveler and Wanderer, silently begging them to come with you. Just as the three of you touch the surface of the teapot, Wanderer turns to Scaramouche with a pointed look and grins.

“Favourite.” He says smugly as he vanishes.

#genshin sagau #sagau #genshin impact #genshin self aware au #genshin isekai #self aware genshin #genshin scaramouche #genshin wanderer #genshin kabukimono #sagau scaramouche #sagau wanderer #sagau kabukimono #sagau x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kabukimono x reader #< all currently platonic tho #seabird.txt #glitch in irminsul AU

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

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Yo! Good morning/evening, hope you are fine^^💝. I wanted to ask you a question but I was afraid that it may bother you or something (you know..that feeling when you are scared that you might disturb someone or being an unwelcome person) but yeah I will ask you since i was serious about your answer for some time now so I hope I'm not annoying you or something *feel free to answer only if you wish^^. You seem to know the characters pretty well, you are quite capable and great at reading and understanding them, one of the things I'm serious about is what do you think would make someone qualified enough to be with malleus? Do they have to be of the same species?certain Reputation, stature or traits?(sorry can't help it since I can't rest until I know everything about what interests me and figure it all out😅). Thanks for giving me some of your precious time I really like your blog, you're amazing💜

No worries, you’re not bothering me at all ^^ I love to talk about my hyperfixations www

Now, I know a lot of fans (particularly on the EN side) like to ship Malleus with their OC and especially with Yuu so I want to first make it clear that my response is NOT meant to invalidate those Malleus shippers. Whatever I say here is based on my own interpretation of canon lore (and let’s be real here, TWST won’t ever confirm if anyone is romantically interested in Yuu because it might not work with how some players view their own relationship with that character). In fanon, anyone can be with anyone, but in canon there are very specific in-universe rules and expectations laid out for Malleus so these are what I will be referring to.

I also want to emphasize that the final traits I discuss in this post do NOT reflect Malleus’s personal tastes or views. He has little say in what kind of an individual his spouse would be, so his own preferences are not speculated about or taken into account here. The traits I will be bringing up are based on what I believe the lore implies are the desirable traits for those marrying into the Draconia royal family.

We got it? Good 👍 Read more below the cut!!

Firstly, I’m completely disregarding the ideas of “Malleus can love whoever he wants to love”, “Malleus can scare people into accepting who he loves”, and/or “Malleus can change the law so he can marry who he loves” (a la Sultan from Aladdin or through some other Disney magic or logic). Here’s why:

In general, those solutions for “high stakes issues” are too simple, and that has never been how Twisted Wonderland tackles complicated problems. Just look at every single OB boy’s backstory. They’re so complex that they aren’t totally resolved by the end of their books; these problems persist and are long term things each of them are working on addressing. This is also true of the politics TWST introduces to us; Leona for example explains how there is social pushback and resistance to the idea of infrastructure reform because the culture of the Sunset Savanna stresses harmony with nature. This has made it difficult for them to adopt new technologies because real politicians in their world have to seriously weigh their cultural values with their health and societal progress. The only time there are really easy solutions are in events or vignettes where the emotional stakes are not super high, but who Malleus marries is, in fact, super important since this will entirely change the life of a main character and his country.

With that first bullet point in mind… No, Malleus cannot love whoever he wants to love. Certainly, he may feel affection for another but he can never truly be with them. He is royalty and the only heir to the throne of Briar Valley. It follows that he is expected to marry for political reasons/to better his nation. This is a non-negotiable obligation for him.

Rather than saying, “Malleus cannot scare people into accepting who he loves”, I think it’s more accurate to say Malleus knows he probably shouldn’t. I mean, yes, he may be upset about his S/O not being accepted by his people but I feel that is discrediting a lot of the loyalty he has for his own country. As a kid he may have thrown tantrums when he was upset and potentially harmed staff, but as a 178 year old he has a much better understanding of decorum and maintaining it in spite of his own grudges. For example, even though he personally dislikes Leona he still commands Sebek to apologize to him because, at the end of the day, this could harm Briar Valley’s relationship with the Sunset Savanna. That’s not to say that Malleus can’t be petty (he definitely is)—but implying he would be petty toward basically his entire country just because they would disapprove of the one he loves?? (We know this would likely be true because Sebek’s parents faced similar backlash when they got together.) I feel like his own sense of awareness and responsibility for his country, crown, and people would override that. As an example, Malleus states that he has never been in a car before because the senate would be against it and often kept Malleus in the castle. Someone of his power could easily ignore them and sneak out and do whatever he wanted, yet the dialogue implies Malleus didn’t. He obeyed his political advisors even when he was younger and arguably much more immature. Malleus might not like certain decisions made about his life but it sounds like he ultimately complies with them.

Continuing from the previous point, let’s say for the sake of argument that Malleus does scare everyone into line. What about his public image and the mental health of his S/O? Maybe Malleus can frighten people to not talk out of turn to his face, but he cannot control what people whisper about him behind closed doors or to treat his S/O well or like they actually like them. Not only would they be alienated (away from their own home and forced to adapt to a new one) but they’d be treated oddly by others too. What kind of reputation is that for Malleus? To be a tyrant king who throws a hissy fit anytime someone talks about his partner in a way he doesn’t approve of? With a spouse who is not at their best mentally because of the constant ostracization? (This is similar to what Leona experienced in his childhood.) I don’t think Malleus would want to subject anyone to that kind of life, especially not one he loves. And again, this attitude would be the vast majority of his people. It’s not like it can be avoided or resolved in an easy manner, especially when the people of Briar Valley have proven to be against change.

Lastly, Malleus would not change the law so he can be with whoever he wants to. To begin with, I doubt this is a unilateral position the senate would approve of. But okay, let’s accept that Malleus is royalty so his power overrides the advisors’ power. So he effectively just changed a law for a very selfish and personal reason rather than changing something to actually benefit his people. That doesn’t feel in-character for him, not when Malleus seems to understand that it is the duty of those in higher status to help those below them rather than themselves (see: Riddle’s Suitor Suit vignettes. Malleus has acted selfish before, yes (who remembers Endless Halloween Night? His Dorm Uniform vignettes? I do.)—but never at the cost of changing the status quo of his country. (Book 7 is not included here because he’s in a very distressed emotional state then; this “new law” scenario posits that Malleus is in a normal state of mind.) This is a major change—change which Briar Valley, its people, and most importantly, Malleus, are not ready for. You think there wouldn’t be social pushback against this? From a society that has become complacent with its own way of life and is still isolated from the rest of the world? That Malleus, someone who struggles greatly with accepting life changes himself, could enact such a big change so easily? (On a more technical level, you don’t just pass a law and it instantly becomes tangible or real, there is a process of approval and then implementation.)

Additionally, it’s made clear in Ghost Marriage that “[Malleus] cannot enter into an engagement lightly”, which is why Sebek goes in his place. Eliza, the Ghost Bride, is royalty (er, albeit dead) but it seems that royal status is not enough to qualify as his partner. Maybe this is because she’s dead and doesn’t have anything of value for Briar Valley (no land, no people, no political power), but it could also mean that the partner has to be given the thumbs up by other parties.

All that being said, here are some of the conditions I think would have to be met for Malleus’s future spouse:

Has to be someone of equal or at least high status. This means they also have to be a royal or at least of nobility. This appears to be true of Malleus’s dad, who is referred to as a duke.

Because of how self-contained Briar Valley is + nocturnal fae having beef with diurnal fae, I imagine his partner would have to also be a nocturnal fae. This would also solve the MASSIVE lifespan difference between fae and non-fae because at least fae would be far closer to each other even if their lifespans fluctuate but subspecies.

Someone suited to rule by his side. Being married into any royal family is no joke—it comes with the expectation that you will contribute somehow, and the partner should be fully equipped to enter the world of politics with him.

Piggybacking off the last point, I think mental fortitude is also a prerequisite. This is because being a politician (navigating the social climate both within your country and outside of it, keeping your people and colleagues happy, maintaining public approval, managing laws, dealing with potential attempts on your life, etc.) can be very stressful and can hurt those who are faint of heart or not prepared for the responsibility. Leaders have to make tough calls at the drop of a hat, and they have to be ready for it.

Has a lot to offer in terms of benefits to Briar Valley as a country. This could be in terms of resources, connections, and/or political savvy. This appears to be true of Malleus’s dad, who acted as a diplomat for Briar Valley.

Vetting and formal approval from the senate. lmao good luck with that

Has to be able and willing to have a child. They at least need an heir to the throne to succeed Malleus. (However, knowing how exclusionary and conservative as heck the senators are, I doubt they would accept anything but a biological child 💀)

Preferably someone with powerful magic or is skilled at magic already so as to lessen the chance of “tainting” the bloodline with a weak mage or a non-mage.

I believe that Briar Valley would prefer someone with old fashioned values like them, not someone pushing for massive reform. They have a culture that is resistant to change and a history of fighting for resources with outsiders, so if Malleus’s new spouse tries to introduce a bunch of technology or open its borders to other countries (even if they have good intentions), the people + the senate may oppose them. His father is implied to be open-minded, but he at least understood that such change isn’t reasonable without time and effort dedicated to the endeavor.

All that being said 💦 I think that this topic is actually less about what Malleus as an individual wants and what his country, his people, and, yes, even his asshole senators, want. This is basically an arranged marriage situation so that their country can maintain power and relevance. It’s about the collective and what Malleus must do for their perceived security and prosperity.

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kindasleepywriter · 4 months

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Public Displays of Affection - Azriel x Reader

Chapter summary: This is a Christmas themed oneshot of a series I'm working on (Bird of Prey masterlist), but it can be read as a standalone! It's set a few years after the end of the series, but it doesn't spoil the main story.

Warnings: None! Just a lot of fluff

Word count: 850.

Sidenote: Accidentally posted this on my personal blog at first! this is the re-upload on the right account <3

Winter Solstice was rapidly approaching. If the bite of frost in the air didn’t remind you of the fact, the extravagant amount of decoration in the House of Wind did. They’d started appearing a few weeks ago and now covered most surfaces, admittedly bringing you more joy than you let on every time you went to the library to pick up a new book. Solstice felt bittersweet to you, but you let yourself enjoy the parts you could.

You watched Azriel as you leaned in the door frame of the sitting room as he helped Feyre and Nyx make what looked to be garlands, although the latter’s work might be considered an abstract representation of one. You smiled gently as the ease with which he laughed with the others. You were glad he’d become more confident alongside you.

He glanced up, as if reading your thoughts. Your heart skipped a beat at the wide smile he gave you, still so affected at the sight of him, despite the years. He always could manage to get your heart racing from the most innocent of gestures. When you thought back, you could see it clear as day: he was always the one you were meant to be with from the first day, despite what you felt then. No one had managed to break through the walls that had numbed you to the world except for him, even if it had initially been through confrontations of anger.

Azriel whispered a few words to Nyx, the young boy giggling at his words and rushing to his mother’s side, before walking over to your side, circling around you so he held your back against his chest. He swayed slowly with you to the soft beat of the music surrounding you both.

“Penny for your thought?” he whispered, soft breath tickling the skin behind your ear.

“I don’t think you can afford all of them right now, Az,” you chuckled, turning your face to his and raising a hand to brush a wisp of hair straying on his forehead. “But I’ll give you one for free if you want.”

He hummed, eyes fixed on yours and his hands rubbing slow circles against your hips. “I’d empty Rhys’ entire vault for you, love, don’t tempt me to do so,” he said. You laughed, turning to put your hands around his neck, his hands finding their way around you and flattening against your shirt in the sensitive spot between your wings. You sighed in contentment, a shiver running down your spine. “But I’ll happily take what you’ll give me.” he continued quietly.

“I’m thinking that I never truly thanked you for sticking by me through it all.” You kissed him softly, pulling your head back with a chuckle as he tried to follow. “I couldn’t have hoped for someone more perfect than you.”

You felt his grin against your lips, smiling back at you. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours. “And I’ve been the luckiest in Prythian to see you shine, my love.”

You went to speak again, but your words were interrupted by the sound of something whizzing through the air, but no sound of impact came, only a smacking sound across the room and an undignified squeak. Azriel did not move from his position, arms tightening, but rolled his eyes and raised his voice. “Cass, if you don’t put down that second wreath you’re holding, I won’t hesitate to tell Nesta what you got her for Solstice this instant.”

A feminine laugh rang across the room.

“You guys are no fun together.” Cassian muttered, more laughs ringing from the others around you. Your cheeks reddened and tension ran through you, not unnoticed by Azriel. “Want to get out of here?” he whispered.

“Please, before he decided to move on to more intimidating weapons.” you snickered.

“I’ll have you know that wreaths are perfectly acceptable projectiles when you two lovebirds are being-” You were grateful for Cassian’s indignant protest being cut off by darkness surrounding you, you and your lover disappearing to your shared bedroom.

Your wings spread on instinct when your feet caught solid ground, and you immediately caged Azriel against the wall, your hands resting on his defined pectorals. “I believe Cassian might need to learn to be grateful of our discretion in public, love.” he muttered playfully.

“We could always show him exactly how much we restrain ourselves in their presence,” you purred. You were always more playful when you two were alone. “I’m sure a little demonstration might remind him of the fact.”

You shuddered as his hands trailed down your back, over your rear and to your thighs, tapping them slightly, and you jumped with a single beat of your wings, obliging his silent demand. He caught you, spinning you around and leading you to the bed, softly laying you down.

Not a single word was uttered about your public displays of affection again.

If I'm being honest, I was planning on finishing up Bird of Prey before Christmas and was hoping to post this as a follow-up, but finals got the best of me. I should be posting more during the holidays!

Banner created by the amazing @saradika!

#azriel x reader #azriel #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #azriel fanfic #azriel POV #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #acotar winter solstice #bird of prey

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cinnbar-bun · 3 months

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hi hi this has to be my favorite one piece writing blog, seriously ur writing makes me so happy 😭🖤

not sure if i can request multiple characters but do you mind if i can get general sfw/nsfw headcanons for jinbe and brook?

sorry i really like weird old men (again love your writing and i hope you have a very nice day!!!!!)

A/n: Aw thank you sweetheart. Please enjoy this~! Also, sorry for not posting for a bit, I’ve been exhausted from work and lost some motivation to write oneshots :( but I just love Brook so much so I had to do this.

Brook + Jinbei General SFW + NSFW HCs

Note: separate relationships, reader is GN, smut headcanons inside. Fluffy mmm.

Word Count: 874

Brook

Brook, ever the performer, loves waking you up or lulling you to sleep with his music. Heck, he’ll even burst out into song throughout the day for you if you wish. He’s your 24/7 skeletal radio.

Sometimes he also does freestyle music and makes up lyrics and beats on the spot about whatever you’re doing or how he feels. They’re usually cheesy and not all that serious, but they never fail to lift your spirits up.

Brook likes to be dramatic in your presence to get some attention from you. Sometimes he’s like a spoiled baby but he can’t help it- you’re too amazing!! And he loves you so much!!

If you’re ever feeling too hot, Brook will always put a hand to your head or elsewhere to help you cool down with his devil fruit powers. He’s your not so little walking ice pack.

Brook, while eccentric, is still an old man at heart so he often likes to treat you and spoil you the old-fashioned way. Kneeling on the main deck as you’re on the top deck while he performs you sweet sonnets and ballads he made just for you. Always wanting to keep an arm around your waist. Walking on the street side of the sidewalk. Buying you flowers at any given moment.

He’s a charming gentleman, and it’s very clear when it comes to you.

That being said, he can still be a pervert and it’s full force for you.

He goes gaga over your body! Literally loses his soul when he even gets a peek of you because ??? Hello??? You’re beautiful??

Beyond just sexually, he adores your body. It’s hard for him to explain the feeling but ever since he’s become just a pile of bones, he’s found a greater appreciation for the human body.

When he’s in bed with you, he wants to explore every inch and crevice of your body. Don’t get shy on him now, it’s not like he even has eyes to stare at you, YOHOHOHO!

Kidding, but really, when you two are getting intimate, he focuses on you and your reactions a great deal. He can’t have sex with you the way a human would, so most of his pleasure is derived from your enjoyment- yeah, he’s still got it.

His phalanges are god tier, argue with the wall!!!

Jinbei

Local dad-friend to the crew, loyal husband to you. You might not even be married but you might as well be, that’s just how sweet he is.

He really likes trying new things with you. Even something as small as a new ice cream flavor makes him happy. It’s rather silly and mundane, but something about doing it with you makes it feel wonderful.

“‘Cereal milk’…? There’s really a flavor for that?!”

And alongside new things, he likes to make traditions for the two of you. He’s a very sentimental man, so it can end up being something like eating that one specific dish you two had on your first date, or having a spot on the ship to sit and cuddle.

Jinbei makes sure you get a healthy amount of fruit in you. He will be casually leaving you a plate of freshly cut fruits and a glass of water beside you. He’s not letting you devoid yourself of essential nutrients and hydration. Will force feed you if necessary.

Okay this is just my headcanon but he’s got old man eyes so if something is in smaller fonts he squints and holds the page up to his face to try and read it. It isn’t until you offer to just read it for him that he FINALLY gives in and has you read it for him.

He’s got a great laugh. A hearty, jovial laugh that anyone in the crew can hear from miles away. Honestly, your jokes might not even be that good, but to him, it’s hilarious. Just being so carefree and funny like this is special to him. Your jokes and funny faces seriously make his day, so please never feel embarrassed to tell him one.

I don’t have a segue for this. He is just a big boy.

And yeah, he knows that he’s huge, which is why he takes extra care to make sure you’re properly stretched and ready to take him.

He never really put too much thought into his body beyond his strength, but he has to admit, he loves when you shower attention and compliment his body. Especially in the bedroom, his face just warms up and he gets a bit prideful. It gets him going knowing his body turns you on so much.

Gentle giant. He’s not going to go feral on you, especially not during the first few times you two lay together. He may consider that sort of thing later, alongside many safety measures.

He does enjoy doggy, but also, he finds it so sexy when you ride him. Forward or reverse, it doesn’t matter. It’s also a pretty good compromise because he can let you set a pace while joining with you to get it “rougher” if you so wish.

Lots and lots of praise from Jinbei, all whispered lovingly into your ear as he’s pounding into you <3

#one piece x reader #one piece #one piece smut #one piece hcs #smut #op brook x reader #brook x reader #one piece brook #soul king brook #reader insert #x reader #jinbei x reader #jinbei #jinbe #jinbe x reader

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writefightandflightclub · 2 months

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Four (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Ooh I really hope you enjoy this one! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. I so love to hear your feedback and chat more about this story! ILY :-*

Word count: 5.3k for this part.

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

The rest of the evening passes in much the same way as the rest. You rejoin the group out front, Benny injecting some much needed fresh energy into the pack. He regales you all with tales of his most recent fights, delivers excruciating detail about his latest training regimen, and proudly shows off pictures of his new puppy.

“Why am I looking at a picture of you, Miller,” Frankie jests as he holds up the screen to reveal an adorable golden retriever.

If anyone notices that Santiago seems quieter than he had earlier in the night, they don’t say it. If they realise that you are engaging in very purposeful, overblown interest in Benny’s chat, it doesn’t get called out. There are a few exchanges between the two of you and Santiago that simulate old patterns. Lend weight to the pretence that things could even return to normal between you and him, given a little more time.

Still, every time your eyes glance off of one another there is this intolerable heat, and you find you still can’t meet it head on. At times, your gaze is dropped hastily into the sand. At times, your eyes needle Frankie pointedly so that he might come to your aid, even if he does simply shrug and clasp the neck of his bottle a little more tightly.

You know Santiago. And in a sense, contradictory as it may be, the hardest thing is how easy it would be to fall into your old patterns. Eventually, you begin to wonder if this tension and this awkwardness -this disconnect – is simply manufactured, in a way. Your heart’s tactic to keep him at arm’s length. A defence mechanism, because you ran away from a whole continent and yet you still fear ending up right back where you started if you can’t extricate yourself from him.

At some stage, you tire of the beer-addled chat, and especially of Tom. Even more so of the effort of trying to make everything feel normal, whilst at the same time fearing what might happen if you could actually achieve that. What it would mean. You announce to the group that you’re going to take a long soak in the tub, and you head upstairs to the main bathroom, languishing in the sweet-scented bubbles, and attempting to wash the burdens of the day from your body, along with the gathered sweat and sand and smoke. Of course, you seem entirely unable to scrub this urge humming beneath your skin.

When you eventually emerge there is a hush over the house, a cocooning darkness in the hallways – and you realise that at least some of the group must have retired to bed already. You’re tired, sure; but you’re still a little buzzed and not sure that you could sleep yet. You certainly don’t like the thought of staring at the ceiling, thinking about who might be lying awake too on the other side of your wall.

“Hey. Cat. Everyone gone to bed?” you ask Frankie softly as you see him round the stairs to the landing in his socked feet, his footsteps purposefully softened.

“Yeah, chiquita.”

“Already? Such old men,” you snicker gently. “What the hell happened?”

Frankie’s subdued throaty chuckle cuts pleasantly through the dark. “It was a long drive,” he defends playfully; then, his tone shifts, an injection of caution evident. It puts you on edge. “Pope’s still out there though, if that helps.” Frankie must feel you bristle, as he raises his palms in the air in surrender. Or, more than likely, absolving himself of any responsibility. “Do with that what you want.”

“Mmm-kay,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, and, from the sidelong glance Frankie throws at you, you know he isn’t buying it for a second.

“You two okay? Something happen in the kitchen?”

A flare ignites under your skin. You remember a different kitchen entirely. Not the one downstairs. Instead, you recall the hot, close air of the Colombian night. The flash of cool metal against your flushed skin as Santiago pressed you back and-

“-It was fine,” you lie tersely, and before Frankie can wheedle anything further out of you, you quickly hook your arm around his neck for a distracting, albeit halfhearted, goodnight hug. “’Night, Cat. Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” With a grunt, he offers a quick, friendly kiss to your cheek, his scruff tickling up against you.

“Yeah. G’night,” he returns, looking as tired as he probably feels. And, as you part ways in the hallway, Frankie watches with resigned interest at the fact you don’t similarly retreat to your room. That instead, you shuffle onward towards the mouth of the stairs. “Don’t let the Pope’s bite.”

And then, with Frankie’s nonsensical and yet somehow apt warning ringing in your ears you head downstairs, meandering through the quiet house until you reach the exterior.

You are arrested in the doorway at the thought of experiencing Santiago alone all over again, but at the same time, that is exactly the thought which propels your feet over the threshold and out into the balmy night air.

You find him there, stretched out on his back in front of the dying embers of the fire, knees folded and pointed up to the sky. An orange glow is cast over the contours of his chest where his button-down shirt now falls completely open, the wire of his headphones snaking down and around his torso. He looks peaceful like this at first. Relaxed and loose, his chest rising and falling soporifically with his breath. His eyes are closed and he has his headphones in his ears, his fingers gently drumming and tapping where they rest against the softness of his bare stomach. Your eyes follow his happy trail, until the thatch of hair disappears beneath his shorts, now tugged tight over his thick thighs.

You note the appealing cushioning around his middle forming rolls as he shifts marginally - to better prop his head up on a second cushion. He looks beautiful. Tranquil, at first glance.

That is, until you see him tug in a huge breath, his ribs flaring with it. Until you watch him pinch the bridge of his nose before letting out a slow, sad exhale.

You know in that moment that you should without a doubt turn around. That you should go right to bed, even if that does result in staring at the ceiling for hours with the image of his gorgeous body seared into your mind. But, you can’t do that.

Instead, you already know exactly what you’re going to do. You’ve known since before you came downstairs.

Truth be told, you’ve known since before you came to the beach house at all. You’ve known since your new fella asked you to be exclusive and you said “no”. You know, because you don’t know what’s good for you.

“Santiago,” you say to announce yourself. “Mind if I join you?”

He pops a bud from his ear and opens his eyes. Somehow, he doesn’t even look surprised to see you standing there.

He blinks at you wordlessly for a moment. He could say no, of course, but you know that he won’t.

Because he doesn’t know what’s good for him either.

He doesn’t respond to you at all in words. Instead, he rises, shifting to the corner of his tartan blanket, arranging himself cross-legged with a groan. He pats the opposite side invitingly, gesturing for you to join him.

You hesitate. The setting, down on the sand on that measly square of wool, seems already far more intimate than the looming camp chairs had.

“Warmer down here,” Santiago encourages, as though reading your mind through how well he can read your body, evident tension snaking through your limbs. “Come and get comfy.”

Okay.

You hunker down, both legs folded to one side and your weight propped on the opposite arm. You take in the setting for a moment. The beach, shrouded in a blanket of dark. The sound of the waves shushing, and the gentle crackle of the fire.

It would be calming, if the silence between the two of you wasn’t so taut. Still, you know Santiago will shortly reach to fill the silence. He always does. You don’t even have to wait all that long.

“Good to see that Benny’s still… as Benny as ever.”

“Yeah. Good to see some things never change.” You look at his lips.

“His latest training regimen sounds pretty brutal, huh?“

“Uh huh.” Your eyes trail wantonly down his torso, and it’s not lost on you that he sucks his stomach in a little when your gaze drops to the soft rolls of him there. You’ve never seen a whiff of insecurity on the man before now. He’s confident as a rule - or so you thought. It’s appealing though, the softness of him. Sexy. You want to tell him that, but you don’t. Instead, you simply allow the soft smile to radiate over your face unfettered, your eyes warm and fond.

“What are you listening to?” you nod down to his phone, headphones still strung from it and one bud remaining in his ear. Wordlessly, he passes you the spare bud and you slot it in, allowing the droning sounds to wash over you. Voices talking, and smatterings of financial and investment jargon. You quickly get the gist of it, and just as quickly relinquish the bud back to him.

Your nose wrinkles. It’s not what you were expecting, honestly. “Financial podcasts?”

He tilts his head to the side. Looks suddenly as old and mature and serious as you’ve ever seen him. “Gotta think about the future sometime, right?” He says it lightly, but even so, you are somewhat hurt by it. Hurt that he’s never managed to envisage any kind of future with you.

“Right.” You nod, as neutrally as possible.

He looks at your mouth.

You note the brief fleet of pink tongue along the swell of his pillowy lower lip.

You both let the silence hang there for a moment, full of possibility, and again, you know he will fill it. After all, you made it clear, right? You told him: don’t. Even if you want precisely what you asked him to deny you. “Did you see that documentary about the octopus on-”

“-I can’t get off anymore without thinking about you, Santi.”

You interrupt him, and his jaw hangs slack for a moment, his eyes bugging out of his head as he fully registers your statement. Apparently, you don’t want to talk about Benny. Or podcasts. Or fucking octopi. You don’t want to fill the silence with meaningless chat.

With Santiago, it had always meant something. You don’t want to stop that now.

You let the words fall into his lap, and you aren’t even sure what reaction you were expecting. Therefore, you don’t even feel any particular type of way as you watch the multitude of emotions and stunted responses play out one by one across Santiago’s features. “Jesus, honey,” he eventually croaks.

Then, his second-hand embarrassment finally jars you too. In a delayed flush of self-pity, you bury your face in your hands. “Fuck. How pathetic is that?”

Santiago’s agape mouth finally closes then, a hard swallow bobbing down his corded neck. Your own self-deprecating laugh finally causes his face to split into a bemused and tentative grin. It is short-lived, however, his thick brows quickly drawing down. “You know. You’re giving me fucking whiplash over here, cariño.”

“Shit. I know. I’m sorry. I just…” You tug your knees up to your chest for whatever comfort it can offer. “Honestly? I don’t want to talk about Benny, or whatever else. I love the guy but I… I missed you. I missed you and I just want us back. I want us to be okay, you know?” Santiago’s face twists in a mirror of your own, as if he doesn’t even know how possible that is anymore. “And, I don’t know how else to do that anymore – to make us okay - without… without that. I don’t know how to stop wanting you.” As you keep talking, your voice seems to break into a thousand pieces, as if sand in your throat is grinding it down, eroding the body and timbre of it away. “I try. I try, Santi, and it… I never…”

Your name rises from his throat, and the sound is tired in his mouth. He knows what you’re asking him; and he doesn’t even seem surprised. “It’s a bad fucking idea.”

“I know.” He’s not even wrong. “I know it is, but I… I don’t care anymore.” Emotion weighs down your tone. Makes it heavy. “It’s like a wound in me - the way we left it - and I just need…” Your eyes flicker and flit everywhere as you reach for the word, dancing around the scene, around his face, like the licking, greedy flames.

You can’t find the word, the concept, the sentiment, but, as you search, Santiago’s voice filters through to you, certain and resigned. As though he understands perfectly what you crave after the wound that he left that night. “You need healing.”

Your head whips towards him and you nod slowly, with conviction, searching his face for any sign that he might give it to you. For any sign that he might be able to repair you. He had hurt you, yes. But his fire was so hot that you think he is the only thing capable of cauterising the wound he left in his wake. The only one who can ignite you enough to heal you, as selfish and misguided as your desire may be.

However, Santiago’s demeanour remains calm and cool even in the face of your desperation. You see only a vestige of desire dancing in his eyes now, as though all you had might truly be in the past. “You wanted out, remember?” he says thinly. With regret. He smiles even thinner than that. “No need to repeat your old mistakes, huh?”

“I wanted out of that life, man. You were never a mistake.”

“Heh. Don’t be so sure. If you know what’s good for you-“

Unconsciously, and with ill-timing, you shift on the mat in discomfort, rolling your spine to try and release some of the niggling, tight muscles – another old injury which continues to plague you long after the fact.

“Still got that damn tweak?” Santiago asks, seemingly grateful for the diversion.

You nod. “Mmm.”

“Want my fingers?”

You look into his eyes, mellow in the dancing light. How could you say no to that? “Please.”

“Come here then,” he encourages, shifting position to the edge of the porch step, his thighs spread wide apart and leaving space for you to settle on the sand before him. “Let me help you,” he insists, tipping up his chin, and his eyes softer and brighter again.

You hesitate, but you can’t find it in you to decline the invitation. Can’t possibly find the strength to say no to his hands on you. To some relief, even in this form. “Turn around. Back to me, hermosa.” His voice is soft, so soft. Rough and undone around the edges like this frayed edge of land you perch on.

You settle before him, and, just as he had promised, his fingers and his hands begin to inch over your body, on top of your clothes, seeking to unravel the knots. To bring you some relief. He used to do this for you all the time – always took care of you like this, and it’s bittersweet to recall a different, more innocent way his hands used to touch you. He would do this for you after training. After a mission. In the field. At the mouth of your tent when camped out in some desert or field or jungle. In the back of a Humvee on the way to the F.O.B.. At Benny’s fight nights when you’d had to sit in those shitty plastic chairs for too long. Whenever and wherever you needed it.

His hands always knew how to fix you, long before you learned all the ways they could take you apart like a weapon in his palm. “Santiago,” you keen, as the pad of his thumb works into all your sweet spots. You don’t know what his name is in your mouth. A plea; a promise; a prayer; a poem. Perhaps all of these at once.

“I know,” he soothes. “I know, cariño.”

You close your eyes against the sudden tears you find threatening at the corners of your eyes. Knowing his touch again is everything you wanted, and, despite yourself, you are eminently glad it is happening like this. That he is giving, instead of devouring you, for if he did the latter, you don’t know that there would be anything left for him to take.

His touch like this though, deft and tender, reveals that perhaps, there’s another way. That maybe, instead of burning you, Santiago could merely warm you. Maybe his flames only hurt because you had dared to get too close. Maybe you could simply learn to stay at arm’s length, where he had always attempted to keep you anyway.

Still, that’s all very well, but… his touch - as it skims down your body - is enough to subsume you. It is a tide swallowing hot shores. It is a relief. A balm. Healing.

“You’re so tight,” he complains gruffly, and you wonder if he is simply being careless, or whether his words were chosen ever so deliberately to remind you. To remind you of him praising you for that very same thing, under other circumstances.

Regardless, Santiago shifts then, shuffling his hips closer towards you. His thighs -either side of your torso - boxing you in a little more tightly. Then, he braces one hand carefully against your shoulder, the other digging and kneading into your knotted muscles at the spot he always knew how to help you with.

You moan for him, willingly, as he takes all your tension and melts it like butter.

“Santiago,” you keen, and there it is again. A promise; a prayer; a poem.

A plea.

You hear him swallow thickly. Hear him exhale a sound like sea trapped in a seashell, his face dipped closer towards the shell of your ear in this new position. His breath continues to quicken as he manipulates your body, pliable under his sure hands, his warmth practically coiled around you like the fire around its fuel.

“Do you want my fingers?” he repeats, voice now flecked with grit, even as he remains slow and languid, not whipped into any frenzy. “Tell me.”

A stone plummets through your belly, sinking heat through your core at the mere suggestion he might touch you there too.

“Mmmph,” you plead – a strangled affirmative wrung from your chest, and Santiago’s hand reaches around, calm and slow and tantalising. He winds his arms between your legs and his index finger trials along the seam of your shorts, up towards your clit like he’s following a carefully laid fuse line. Like he knows precisely how to detonate you, and all he needs is a spark. “You want my fingers here?” he purrs, and you moan his name, throwing your head back into the crook of his shoulder. “Want me to help you like this too?”

You submit an unintelligible string of sounds to the air, which you hope he recognises as an affirmative.

“Sssshhh,” he soothes, as his fingers deftly flick open the button of your shorts and you squirm in search of his friction. “It’s okay. I got you. I got you, cariño.”

You sigh out a broken, guttural noise now, rolling your mound against his palm as his girthy fingers travel eagerly below the waistband of your clothing. Barrelling towards your want without dwelling on the implications even for a moment. On what this might mean. On what this may fix or further fracture.

It is too much to think about that, and it is enough to know that you need some relief.

Specifically, the kind of relief you have not been able to give yourself. The kind of relief you have not been able to find from elsewhere. The kind only Santiago knows how to give you. The only kind Santiago knows how to give you.

“Fuck. You’re soaked,” he praises, all rusty-voice and practiced fingers, and with the ease that the thick pads of him glide through your folds you know it is true. “Holy shit, come here.”

You would oblige if you were not so loose-limbed already; and so, in the next moment, Santiago is dragging you up towards him, settling your ass in the space before him on the porch step, so you sit a little higher. He is shucking your shorts and panties down and hooking your thighs over his parted, sturdy legs to spread you wide open. To give him better access to you so he can give you what you need.

Your hands clamp down on his thighs like claws, your back flush against his chest and your head still languishing in the apex of his neck, feeling the steady rhythm in his shoulder as his arm reaches between your legs. With his other arm he simply gathers you up and holds you close to him, until the warmth of his skin seeps right through to yours.

“Fuck! Santi,” you keen, voice ragged with need already as his fingers tease and circle where you need him. “More. Please, I need more.”

He does not disappoint. He plunges a girthy finger into your heat, and the lack of resistance is telling, your cunt opened up and eager for him as the heel of his hand rocks a steady rhythm against your clit. He goes slower than you would like, but it turns out to be the exact pace you need -two fingers now- dragging molten heat through your core with each curl and pump and scissor he applies to your giving walls.

“Ohhhh. Fuck!”

“I know, baby. This is what you need, isn’t it? I know.”

He does. He does know. He knows every damn inch of you and how to make you sing.

“That’s it. I’ve got you. Don’t come, Princesa. Not yet.”

That’s easier said than done. Especially as his rough voice - all honey and grit - filters into the shell of your ear. As the fleck of his stubble rasps against your neck as he sucks an angry mark into your skin. Your core flutters in straight-out defiance of his orders then, and he feels you clamp down on him, tightening around his fingers. “Ah ah,” he scolds. “Hold on to it for me. Gonna get you there. Don’t worry. I got you.”

Christ, you slosh around him as he makes you molten, and you feel his thighs begin to shake beneath yours. You feel his insistent hardness pressing at your back. “Fuck, princesa. I missed this pussy. Holy shit.”

“Santi. I- I can’t hold on.”

His thumb massages circles into your swollen, needy clit.

“No, baby. Hold on for me. I know you can, huh? Don’t even think. Let me give you what you need.”

“Mmmphhh,” you moan out like a woman possessed as Santiago builds you up.

He chuckles darkly into your neck, and smothers his spare palm over your mouth. “Shhhh. Quiet, hermosa. No-one else can take care of you like this, huh? I got you now.”

The way he’s touching you, fingers speared inside your wet heat, is everything you’ve needed for so long. God, you’ve so needed him to help you like this. And now, he’s finally giving you relief. It’s welcome, and it’s good; but you still have enough about you, even in this state of becoming putty in his lap, to realise that he’s not giving you everything. You turn your head, tipping your lips wantonly up to him, but he won’t kiss you. His arousal presses insistently at your lower back but he isn’t making any move to get himself off. It seems obvious, even in this state of coming undone, that even as you lose yourself he won’t allow himself to get lost in you; not entirely.

He’s navigated some extreme terrain in his time, but perhaps his feelings for you really are a jungle far too dense for him to navigate.

Still, you certainly do not feel any lack, even if you get the sense he is holding back. It would be hard to feel any lack at all with his thick, warm fingers buried in you up to the knuckle, stroking and curling with precision against your swollen arousal, coaxing hoarse moans from your lips which he buries in the meat of his cupped palm. The pad of his thumb rubs haphazardly -almost roughly- in circles over your clit, puffy with need. Your thatch of hair is soaked, and your plumped folds are slick with your pearly, moonlit juices.

“Holy fuck,” you rasp as Santiago’s fingers draw a broad circle deep inside your walls, stretching you open and sending a delicious spiral of bliss through your core. He curls his fingers against your g spot, rocks his palm roughly against the mound of you, and God, it’s so good. You’re on the edge, but you still find you can’t quite let go.

You don’t need him to give you everything, but you do need him to give you just a little more of what you’ve been craving. Just a little more healing.

“Santiago,” you plead, tears of emotion and bliss and disbelief and sadness balling in your eyes. Relief at the fact you get to feel his touch again, and despair at how long you may next endure the lack of it.

However, as though he senses what your body is telling him, that you are getting far too in your head by now to let go, you realise Santiago knows exactly what you need to get out of it. He always does. Always knows how to help you. “Mmpph,” you moan as he wraps his hand more tightly around your mouth and nose, playing with your air supply - just enough to provide a gentle thrill. To offer this simulation of a loss of control just long enough that you feel a secondary surge of adrenalin and arousal building within you. You gasp as he releases his palm and you suck his fingers easily into your mouth, wanting to feel full of him wherever you can. He obliges by shoving them deeper, over your tongue.

“That’s it,” he praises, soothes, encourages, feeling it coming before you do, reading the signs in your body. Almost immediately, pleasure blooms out from your middle, completely engulfing you.

You screw your eyes shut tight and you can barely even focus on his fingers pulsing in and out of your wet, suckering heat, or on this string in the middle of you being drawn so tight it’s about to snap. Instead you focus on him. On the warmth and sturdy form of him at your back. On the way he knows just how to touch you – where, and when, and how. The way he soothes you and relieves you. The familiar scratch of his stubble against your cheek. The soft, sweat-tacky rolls of his bare stomach cushioning your back, skin-on-skin where your t-shirt has ridden up your back. His meaty thighs. The familiar press of that hard promise up against you. But most of all his warm, sandy voice, slipping into the shell of your ear like the sounds and shushing of the sea.

Hermosa. Cariño. Princesa.

His words melting out of you like liquid pearls and making you shine.

He praises you, and the sounds of him slip inside you just like his fingers, a smooth glide like the surge of the tide devouring an aching shore. His touch relieves the ache, the burn, the fire, the hurt, as you find your release. You gush over his hand, your mouth open with a hoarse, hollow moan, silently echoing the roar of the sea as your whole body becomes liquid on top of his.

He holds you, and he works you through it, tears squeezed from your eyes with each wave of bursting, engulfing pleasure which radiates through your core – not blistering like the heat of your fire, but gentle and soothing.

Your breath is ragged now. You have the feel of a tide between your legs.

You are sated, and yet you want more of him. You may feel healed in some ways, but your whole body still sings for him like a wound.

He stays inside of you. Feels you for a moment, with a shuddered, satisfied moan you feel vibrate against your back before he draws his fingers out, painfully slow. You shudder too, your core still fluttering for him, and you would reach for him if you weren’t still boneless. Would seek to satisfy him too.

“Fuck. I missed your fingers,” you purr.

“Uh huh,” Santiago says, a little too morosely for your liking, and he unslots himself far too quickly from around your form. Far too quickly he comes to standing, leaving you feeling cold and alone on the porch stairs, shorts shunted down past your knees, exposing you to the night air.

“Don’t you want… something for you?” you ask in confusion, in hope, eyeing the bulge tenting at his crotch and the way his hand is hung curled at his side, his fingers still shined from you. You enjoy all of that, but you certainly don’t enjoy the heaviness bedding down on his brow, and you reach to pull up your shorts as quickly as you can, the moment of relief fast-retreating, like the deceptive tide.

“No,” he says firmly. “That was just for you.”

You bristle at the implication in his words, your momentary bliss falling quickly away.

He did you a favour.

You were the one undone by your desire – your want. Not him. You were the needy one who couldn’t be without him. Couldn’t even get off without him. And damn. Here he is, slow and controlled and, for the better part, seemingly unaffected.

You know that’s not wholly true – that he does still want you, but your eyes still swim when you wonder if his desire is subdued compared to what it used to be. If it has lessened.

Don’t you cause this frenzy in him anymore? This quickening, like he does with you? Is the flame burning in your chest -or your loins- not catching, any longer? Like the dying embers of this fire, is it almost out?

Could there truly be an end to this?

Soldiers. Friends. Lovers.

What next?

You had, at least, assumed something would be next.

And so, as you regard him, stoic and impassive, you can barely even look at him. “You’re right, Pope. This was probably a bad fucking idea.”

Of course it was.

You should know better than to think you can take a piece of him without wanting to devour the whole. After all, you could never see him in fragments – only all at once.

Had that always been your mistake, thinking that he could ever give himself over to you completely? He’s far too afraid of getting lost, even if he does hold the map to your heart in the palm of his hand. Strange then, because the palm of his hand is also where he has become so accustomed to yielding a weapon. Maybe for him, love and pain were always destined to feel the same.

You push past him, and you feel a pit open up in your middle.

“Goodnight, buddy,” you say, your tone surprisingly sour so soon after that. “Thanks a bunch for the fingerfuck.”

You guess the mindfuck came along for free.

You don’t want to hurt him. Don’t want to be bitter and to deepen this gulf between you all over again. But, apparently, you just can’t help yourself.

You don’t know what’s good for you.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #santiago pope garcia #oscar isaac #ride or die series

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nerdieforpedro · 2 months

Text

Notes with Dieter

Dieter Bravo/husband x female reader/wife

My blog overall is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 1.1k

Summary: You're leaving for another work trip and Dieter is sad once again. This time, he decides to show you how much he cares in full Bravo style.

Warnings: Dieter is the softest boi 😭, side-eyeing a suitcase, illusions to smut?, kisses, doodles, just all the fluff, bad jokes

Notes: So this is a follow up to The Day before was always difficult. @angelofsmalldeath-codeine and @mysterious-moonstruck-musings are always asking more for more soft Dieter. So naturally, I took it as a request even though they didn't really ask? FYI Dieter is a koala 🐨 in this one, but he'll always be our lovable messy trash panda. 🦝 I think I used all the colors Hemmy. 😆

Main Masterlist / Dieter Bravo Masterlist

Dieter used to love suitcases. It meant he was on the move to a new job or some new fun, sometimes both. Now he was more ambivalent about them. Coming home and seeing the hard shell gray suitcase meant that tomorrow morning you’d be gone again for a time.

It’s not like he didn’t know it in advance, you’d always let him know ahead of time. Especially if he was going to be at home alone. It didn’t make it hurt any less. Some might say that he should get over it, just relax and wait for your return, but Dieter isn’t that type of man. The tea kettle screeches with steam and he knows where you are: the kitchen. Instead of alerting you to his presence, he waits until you’ve poured your tea and is covering it to let it steep.

His chest gently presses against your back before his arms ensnare you just under your breasts, propping them up as you’ve showered and in your black cotton nightgown. You’ve decided on an early evening for yourself but Bravo has other plans as his lips to the nape of your neck tell you. A chuckle leaves your chest while you fix the rest of your tea, not intent on giving him a quarter into the game he’s trying to play.

But the two of you sit on the couch. Chatting about current events, he hasn’t made any more moves. Just watching you, listening to you, with an enamored grin. Another chuckle from you for how cute he looks, he’ll do this from time to time when you’re going to leave town again. Like he’s trying to paint a picture of you in his mind. You always remind him that he’s your reason to come home. Dieter always tells you he’s grateful for that.

After tea, it’s bedtime and there are kisses goodnight. He wraps his arm around your waist. You kiss his neck and begin the nightly activities. Apparently Dieter’s learned to just give you a nibble and you’ll do the rest. In the glow of the short hours of the dark, you pinch his cheek, figuring out his game before dozing off on his chest. Sticking to him, not wanting to let go.

Dieter steals out of the bed when you’re asleep and uses a notebook he keeps in his nightstand. He sketches your various expressions you made while on the couch and then how you look in bed right now, sheets half-covering you, your glory exposed for him to see. He has to capture it now else he could miss his moment.

Another idea pops into his head so he grabs his phone and steps out into the living room to record it for you. He plans to send it tomorrow morning while you’re at the airport so you can listen to it on the plane.

A handwritten note slid into your suitcase is for when you unpack. Carefully he slides back into bed, his thumb running down your back with a kiss to your shoulder.

The sun has barely broken the horizon when the alarm sounds, groans fill the room as you both stir. Washing up and getting dressed is your focus so Dieter makes a light breakfast for you with coffee. His eyes cut to your suitcase before he picks it up to carry it to the car his ordered for you, thankfully he was able to zip it back properly.

A text from Dieter says to listen to the message on the plane and to download it just in case. Your headphones are in after greeting your coworkers and the plane is at cruising altitude.

“Hey pretty lady, you know I never want you to leave. I know it’s selfish but I know I always feel better and do better when you’re here. You’re my person you know? Plus who else is going to tell me that many patterns don’t go together, everyone always tells me yes.

Anyway, have a safe flight and kick those old dudes asses. I hope your project goes well. I know you were trying to explain it to be but once you got into Access and databases I was gone. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna try googling it later. You can’t wear that navy blue dress because they’ll think they have a chance and you’re already with an Oscar Winner. They’re too late and I love you Ms. Smarty Pants. Hmm… You should wear pants. Bye.”

The two people sitting next to you thought that you needed some oxygen based on how hard you were wheezing trying to hold in your laughter. You told them that you were fine and it was just a message from your sweet husband, he has quite a way with words.

Thankfully when you landed, everyone was given time to rest in their rooms before the initial group dinner. Opening your suitcase, a piece of notebook paper fell out and you picked it up off the floor. Sitting on the bed you read it, shaking your head.

Sometimes I really do wonder why you’re with me at all, why you come home to me. Hell, why you call me home. I can be a complete and utter mess, irresponsible at times and I’m sure annoying. My one redeeming quality I thought was in creating art through film, painting and drawings. You helped me see that I’m more than that though. So much more. I can be faithful, I can be loyal, I can put someone above myself and I can do all these things without needing an escape.

I often wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t run over my foot with your suitcase and I didn’t sucker you into having lunch with me. You look as beautiful then as you do now, actually more so because we enjoy nighttime KitKats a few times a week. We dance it off part way so it’s fine.

I love you my brave, clever, gracious muse.

Your koala bear who runs hot,

Dieter Bravo

P.S. - You should frame this FYI

Falling back on the bed, you question when Dieter would have slipped this into your suitcase let alone written it. It’s completely in character for him and at the same time, seems so unusual. Trying to hold your tears back only makes them fall harder, you’ll need to re-do your makeup for the dinner but it doesn’t matter to you if you’re late. Dieter will never fail to make himself memorable.

Life as Dieter Bravo’s wife is always full of the unexpected and something to hold onto.

Trash Panda Posse 🦝: @katw474 @readingiskeepingmegoing @megamindsecretlair @pamasaur @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sp00kymulderr @titlee78 @magpiepills @soft-girl-musings @morallyinept @rhoorl @wannab-urs @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @yorksgirl @fhatbhabie @tinytinymenace @yourcoolauntie

Special fluff guests: @grogusmum @maggiemayhemnj and @frenchiereading

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #trash panda posse #Nerdie fic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you

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chelleztjs18 · 1 year

Text

Biggest Fans (E.O)

Fem!Writer!Reader x Elizabeth Olsen

Summary: It was a casual lunch day out for you and Lizzie until the unexpected thing happens.

Warning: None. I'm just feeding you with fluff story. :D

A/n: Hello! It's me with another fluff fic! Thank you for your patience. I'm trying my best to write more and give you more contents. Also, this might be the last time I will post with the taglist. I'm planning on making a library side blog. I will update you once It's ready. Anyways, happy reading!

P.S: The italic prints means texting convo in this fic. The bold print means their thoughts.

Main Masterlist

“Hello. I really love your writing.” was how it all started. A friendly message you got but you never knew that it will lead to something unexplainable with such all good feelings you can’t describe. A message that led to other more messages between you and this girl. Before you know it, you talk to her 24/7 for almost a year. Flirtatious messages with various sweet pet names exchanges happen a lot between you two. Is it a friendship? It sure did start from that point. Is it more than that? You don’t know. All you know, you can’t hold back a smile every time you get a message from her through your writing blog apps. You always wait for her messages. The second you wake up, you will go to the apps to text her good morning and sometimes you would find that she beat you and left the morning text before you.

Liz, that’s her name. As much as you want to see her pictures or hear her voice through a phone call, you respect her request to wait until she feels comfortable to do so. You both agreed to not talk or ask anything personal just yet. Despite all that, both of you never run out of things to talk about which is what you love about her.

You hear your text notification from your phone and your heartbeat doubling in speed instantly. You knew who it was and as usual, you are smiling reading anything she texts you.

_____

*Ding* Lizzie's phone informs her another message replies. She laughs a little and then smiles the whole time while she's typing her turn in the conversation.

Scarlet sees it from the corner of her eyes while she is checking out the restaurant's menu but she can't help herself to ask, "Is that from your writer girlfriend?” She teases Lizzie.

“Huh? What? No, she’s not my girlfriend.” The younger actress realizes Scar’s teasing question and denies it instantly. A blush shows up on her cheek obviously.

“Well, you both have been talking all this time. You have been all smiling every time you text with her. Wait, how long have you been talking with each other?”

“Well, you told me about this whole fanfiction writing blog stuff like around june last year i think?” The brunette answers.

“That’s almost a year! Wow and she still doesn’t know who you are? Or at least your voice? Does she know that you are from Los Angeles? She seems pretty patient about that."

"Uh yes. I gotta admit, she has been understanding about it very much. Sometimes I feel that it's unfair to her because I have heard her voice on the voice notes she left me. She sounds really cute. And, yes. She knows that I'm from here just like her." Lizzie expresses her thoughts and doesn't realize that another smile curves on her face.

"Aww. That's cute! You like her, don't you?" The blonde actress asks as she wiggles her eyebrows teasing her best friend once more.

Lizzie laughs and covers her face in embarrassment. "Who wouldn't like a nice sweet funny girl that you can talk to about everything 24/7?"

“Haha! I knew you like her!”

“Uh maybe we should order some food now, the waitress has been asking us twice, Scar.” Lizzie looks at the menu to avoid eye contact and to not let the topic go further.

“It wasn’t my fault, you were the one who kept forgetting to see what you want because you are busy texting with your girlfriend.” Scarlet teased and soft crimson shades slowly show up on Lizzie’s face.

“Oh look, Liz! She just posted a new fic. Ouh, I wonder what it is about now.” A mix of excitement and curiosity floats around her as she playfully makes a little dance move with her shoulders.

“Oh, she posted it earlier than she planned, that's good. It’s a Wanda story. She told me the idea, it’s about—-” before Lizzie can finish her words, Scarlet interrupts her.

“Nope. nope. Nope.. No spoilers please. I’m gonna read it later.” Scarlet raises her index fingers as her stop sign.

Lizzie laughs at her antics. “Okay, okay. All I’m gonna say is, it’s a really good plot. You’ll like it.”

The girls order their food and spend some time catching up.

_____

Liz:

“Have you eaten lunch yet, sweetie?

Y/n:

“Not yet. I was too lazy to get out of my apartment but since you keep reminding me to eat something, I am getting lunch now. 😁"

Liz:

"Are you going to cook something?"

Y/n:

"No. I'm just gonna go to this restaurant I love. I'll be right back, darling. I'll text you when I get there, love. 😘"

Liz:

"Okay, talk soon. 😘"

Even just the short conversation makes you and Lizzie feel like you are on cloud nine, drunk with happiness.

______

Some fans sometimes come to them for pictures or autographs but both Marvel actresses were enjoying their lunch and their leisure time together until one message from you popped up. Lizzie's eyes widened, her stomach turned and her heart dropped after she read what you sent her.

Y/n:

"Oh my god! Oh my god! Liz! You will not believe who I see right now! Elizabeth Olsen!! I see her at the restaurant I'm at now. She is so gorgeous. She's with Scarlet Johansson right now."

"Oh my god. Shit. Scar, she's here." Lizzie exclaimed in whispers, trying her best to keep calm and look around casually so it wouldn't look obvious.

"Huh? What happened? Who's here?" The Black Widow cast asks in surprise and confusion at the same time.

"Y/n. She's here!" She whispers.

"What? How did you know?" Scarlet pitched out another question as she kept her head straight looking at Lizzie.

"She sent me this." Lizzie lets Scarlet read your message.

Then another message popped up.

Y/n:

"I really want to come up to her and say hi."

"Gosh, now she's gonna come here and say hi." Panic starts to scream a little in Lizzie's tone and she shows her phone to Scar again.

"You don't know what she looks like, right?" Scarlet asks.

"No. I don't know that she is a huge fan of.. you know, me." Lizzie taps her fingers rapidly and nervously.

"Well, d'uh, Lizzie? She writes fics about you and Wanda." The blonde laughs a little and shakes her head.

"Oh yeah. Yeah. You are right. My brain just can't think—" Lizzie tries to respond but gets interrupted. "Straight?" Scar finishes her words in a teasing smirk.

Lizzie rolls her eyes and holds her smile knowing what Scarlet really meant. A fan comes and asks for a selfie with them.

As soon as the girl leaves, Lizzie asks Scarlet in a whisper, "Do you think it was her?"

"Well, I don't know, Liz. Oh text her and ask if she decides to come to Lizzie" Scarlet pitches the idea as she forms an air quote on Lizzie's name.

The now nervous younger Olsen sister follows the suggested idea and texts you.

Lizzie:

"So, did you decide to go say hi to her?"

A few minutes passed and she hasn't got any reply from you. Then another fan politely interrupts the silence.

Lizzie doesn't realize that she stares at the girl a little longer while her mind wonders if it's you until Scarlet nudges her elbow and she continues talking friendly then takes another selfie with their favorite MCU casts.

The more fans come to them, the more it drives her mind all over the place and keeps guessing which one was you. Her curiosity makes her ask each fan their name, just in case it was you. Anticipation is killing her by now and she decided to text you again.

Lizzie:

"Babe? Are you okay? How was it?"

Silence was still what she got. "Why hasn't she replied yet?" She asks herself with a little frustration as she keeps checking on her phone for your reply.

"Well, if she already came to you then what would you do?" Scarlet questioned the brunette.

“I don’t know.” Lizzie shows her thinking looks as she mindlessly bites her nails. Then her phone brings her back out of her daze. “Oh! That must be her.” She talks to herself as she undoubtedly checks her phone.

A Surprised facial expression appears as she sees your message with a picture of her that you took from afar earlier.

Y/n:

“Look how beautiful she is. I saw that she was very sweet to her fans. I think I'm not going to come up to her. I feel bad that she doesn't have her privacy to have her lunch, people keep coming to her. I’m just gonna finish my food and maybe go home after that.”

Lizzie tries to look as calm as she can as she wonders where you are sitting from the view of her picture you took then looks back to check the picture again and avert her eyes around. “Scar, don't look around, I don't want to look obvious that we are wondering which one is her but here, look what Y/n texted me.”

As soon as Scar saw the pictures and read the message, she almost couldn’t help herself to turn her head to where you possibly were but Lizzie stops her.

“Aw she’s so sweet and thoughtful.” The blonde comments. “So, if she’s not coming to see you, what are you going to do now Liz? She added.

“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking of asking her if she wants to meet up or at least have a video call. Should I try to come and have a spontaneous meet up with her here right now? She said she’s leaving soon.” Lizzie rants out her thoughts as she casually searches around that might give a clue which one is you.

A full minute of silence from Lizzie as Scar waits for the answer of her question. The brunette finally breaks her silence. “Uhm.. I don’t know. Uh, I… I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back, Scar.” but being friends with Lizzie since she joined Marvel makes Scarlet know her pretty well like the back of her own hand.

Scarlet gently grabs Lizzie’s arm to quickly stop her from getting up. “Wait, wait, wait Liz. I know you. You are not going to the bathroom, you are going to find her, aren’t you?” The blonde actress guessed in a teasing tone and smiled.

No words come out of her lips but a little smirk forms and that’s all Scarlet needs as an answer then she lets go her hand off Lizzie’s arm. “Well, good luck. Have fun on your first date with your girlfriend. Text me if you want me to wait or not.” Scarlet cheers her and wiggle her eyebrows.

With that, Lizzie walks away to find you.

_____

Unfortunately, today is a pretty busy day at the restaurant. After a few steps away from her table towards the direction she guessed where you are at, most tables are occupied. Her eyes look for a woman she thinks looks like your age and any other clue that can help her.

At first she looks for a woman who is on her phone but she realizes it won’t help. Most people are on their phone these days. Then she remembers that you posted a story earlier, her mind instantly thinks that you have your laptop with you on your table right now while having your lunch. It helps her narrow down her obstacles to find you after she sees some women has their laptop with them.

She tries to be as casual as she can. Some pairs of eyes recognize her and some don’t or perhaps they are just trying not to stare at her. She then texts you again, a subtle question that won’t be too obvious that she wants to know if you are still there or not.

Lizzie:

“How’s your food babe? Are you still having your lunch?”

A few minutes of silence, none of your replies come to her inbox. “Dang it! She probably turns her phone on vibrate mode again.” she thought to herself, knowing your habit.

Meanwhile, you are trying to prevent yourself from staring at your idol from far away so you are focused on writing your new romantic fic, you can’t keep Liz out of your mind. All those sweet touchy ideas and stories you wrote were inspired by her or your conversations with her. It even sometimes makes you smile. You miss her today but you know her plan for today, spending time with her best friend so you try to let her “girls day out” time.

As you get distracted by your own feelings of missing her, you can’t help yourself and you grab your phone to text her only to find out you missed her text.

You quickly reply.

Y/n:

“Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t see your message. My phone was on vibrate. Yes, I’m still here, but I’m done with my lunch and just waiting for my check. I hope you are having a great time with your best friend. I can’t wait to chat with you again. I miss you.”

Just like that, your message definitely dropped a bomb of jumbled feelings on her. She reads it in awe, her heart feels light and she feels giddy when she reads that you miss her yet she is now alarmed that her time is running out and she needs to pick up her pace to find you. Like a cherry on top, the nervousness gradually grew over the other mixed up feelings.

She directs her eyes from one table to another table as she walks. She starts to feel more anxious that she would miss the chance to meet you, her mind rapidly thinks.

Her fingers start to get cold, her heart beats race but a final resort of thought jumps into her mind.

She takes a deep breath. “Fuck it.” She mumbles and she opens the apps on her phone then calls you and her eyes are ready to spot you whenever you pick up her calls. “Come on, y/n. Pick up the phone.” she mumbles once more with full of hope.

_____

The waiter drops off your bill. While you are checking on it, you notice that your phone vibrates.

Your stomach does somersaults and your heart cheers with such thrill, you swear you could hear it. Despite all that, you are nervous. You stare at your phone screen for a good few seconds, questions bouncing around in your head as you tap your finger on the table nervously.

Why is she calling me? Is this an accidental call? Should I answer it? What if I got speechless?

_____

Lizzie hears you answer the call on the other end of the line. Her eyes jump from one person to another and her heart skips a beat when she finally spots you. She knows it was you as soon as she sees you has the phone with your left hand.. “H–hello? Liz?” She can hear your highly strung voice and her feet lead her to your table slowly.

“H-hi y/n. Yes, it’s me Liz.” her timorous voice wrapped in excitement makes its way to be heard.

“Uh-it’s so nice to finally hear your voice. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you were gonna call. I wasn’t prepared.” you let out a nervous laugh.

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you first I was gonna call. I got your text. I miss you too. So, I decided to call you. So are you leaving soon?” Lizzie can’t stop smiling while she talks to you.

“Uh yeah, pretty soon. I just got my bill. Are you still having lunch with your best friend? Where are you now?” you ask curiously. You start to calm down from your sudden nervousness.

“Aaw, you are leaving? I think it would be a great idea if you stay a little longer.” She ignores your question yet pitches out an idea that caught you in confusion.

Of course you asked “And why is that?” followed by a little laugh. All you can think is how cute she sounds. You always think that she is cute but to think that her voice melts your heart this easily? No, you never thought of that. Or perhaps you fell for her, so hard.

“Because I’m right here.” She answers enthusiastically. Lizzie tries to take her exhilaration down a notch to avoid attention from people surroundings.

“Wait, what? You–you are here? What did you—” you stop your words as soon as you feel a presence in front of you. From the corner of your eyes, you can see someone standing and you quickly look up to see who it is. “---mean?” you finally finished the word you were gonna say in a very low voice. You felt like you just got struck by lightning. Your eyes refuse to blink, your mouth is slightly open. You are stunned, or you can even say that you are frozen like an ice sculpture. You are shocked and confused why in the world the most beautiful woman, the woman you idolized so much, is standing right in front of you, smiling and her green eyes sparkling in happiness looking at you.

“Uh–I–uh-W-wait–Liz..hold on..Lizzie Olsen is standing right in front of me and you just told me that you are here. So..does it mean–” you stupidly still hold your phone against your ear and talk on the phone.

Lizzie lets out a cute laugh and thinks how cute you look. “Hello, I really love your writing." She intentionally said the same exact words with her first message to you through the phone.

Her intention to prove to you that the Liz who you have been talking to this whole time and her are the same person worked. You swiftly connect the dots and are convinced by the truth. “Oh…OH!!! Oh my god! Liz? Lizzie? I have been talking to you this whole time?” You yell in a whisper, trying to suppress your popping elations. Your skin slowly turns red.

She laughs a little louder at your reaction but she tries to calm you down as she leans to you a little and whisper “Y/n, shusshh. We wouldn’t want to attract more attention than we already have right now.” She puts her index finger on her smiling lips.

“Oh, yeah yeah. Sorry.” you take a deep breath and exhale them out. “Okay, okay. I’m good.. I–I’m good. Uh–” you ramble.

“Can I join you?” she asks softly.

“Yes, of course. Please have a seat.”

"So this is the blind date we have been talking about?" The iconic laugh of hers follows right after her teasing question.

"Well, it's more surprising, unplanned and spontaneous than I thought it would be but y-yes of course! This is it.. this the blind date." You awkwardly yet subtly try to fix your look in front of her.

Oh that smile, those green eyes and even her perfume have successfully turn your brain into a mush.

You are hypnotized by the ethereal views in front of you and you are lost in your thoughts. You still can’t believe you have been talking to her this whole time, romantically to each other. The one and only gorgeous Elizabeth Olsen has been telling you that she loves everything you write and everything about you.

Both of you have been the biggest fans to each other this whole time and nothing can beat that.

A/n: Welp, that's it for today. Let me know what you think and I hope you like it. Reblog and comments are highly appreciated. Follow me for more. See you in next!

Cheerio!

Taglist: @madamevirgo @musicinourlips @unstable-sapphic-hoe @fanboy7794 @chloe7076 @b0mbdotc0m @trikruismybitch @ichala @californianwhiterabbit @honey-sweet-hiraeth @imfuckinggenius @sxfwap @chaekhan @daenerys713 @luvmcgrath @stupidsapphicsstuff @pattypavo @stonemags @frvny @franfineashell @heyyoweveryone @ygtft-chen @yaaskasey @sweeet-likeeee-cinnamonn @paumxmff @dopeyouth @beaniejennie @ineedafinghug @idkwhatimwriting @lucydiibi @mainly-rebloging-fics-i-like @gloriousfoxruins @grxvitye @mcubreakdown101 @aos22 @wandanatstan @paulawand @yeeterthekeeper @femalehomosexual666 @snowdrop1026 @modernmonalisa @nothingisrealanyway @idamaemann @sweeterlust @royalityofmultifandom @playboysaleen @peabrain112 @gwhaley127 @harleyswanda @bodhi-j @darth-rain @cristin-rjd

#elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x y/n #elizabeth olsen x you #lizzie olsen x reader #lizzie olsen x y/n #lizzie olsen x you #elizabeth olsen fanfic #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen fluff #lizzie olsen fanfic #lizzie olsen imagine #lizzie olsen fluff #mcu cast

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dhmis-autism · 17 days

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im new to dhmis tumblr do you have any dhmis blogs you recommend i check out?

OH HIIIII HI HI HI OKAY SO. I HAVE A LOT OF FRIENDS IN THE LIL. tumblr dhmis sphere and theyre all great and lovely and I'll introduce you to them all and YOU can decide who you want to follow okay? OKAY!!

First up is my lovely friend Lulu @lulu-draws-stuff who has a cute very crayony pastelly style! :] They also have a keen fashion sense and love drawing the guys in new and fun outfits! They also have some very cute funny comics in there that I very much reccomend -v- )b

Next is my good friend Sodie.. @mtsodie who also runs the account @dailydogdadduo and he has a very textured, experimental style with a lot of variety! Very fun! A lot of his pieces like, you could swear were by different people if you didnt know better, that's how good he is at it!

Also my friend @its-mayo0 draws a TONN of great DHMIS stuff, their style is very loose and colorful! It's extremely funny stuff and I love the way they mix cartoonish antics/proportions with sincerity, their stuff is SOOO FUN!!

theres also @carehounds which is run by my buddy Fio! Theyre most well known iirc for spurring off the little fandom thing of people making their own versions of the trios? Though if you're new you might not know that. Good stuff, esp if you want to see a new spin on the old guys!

There's also all these great pieces from other friends of mine who aren't necessarily DHMIS centric blogs!

On the more written side of things, one of my friends Pere ( @marsupials-of-mars ) is actually writing a pretty good fanfic atm that's still currently updating- but they also do art as well if youre SOLELY looking for that.

Then there's Am @gnomeniche who I believe is mostly well known for their DHMIS analysis posts, they break down a lot of different aspects of the characters and the show (usually with a twinge of meta in the analysis) and, like Pere above, also make fanart on top of that! Though I will warn you a bit that their analysis is very… academicy? Lots of complex concepts and big words that you might not fully get on the first go round. But thats okay! Theyre lots of fun to reread! ^_^ )b

Also in the analysis sphere is my friend Gray @yellow-pig! They also do a pretty good job breaking things down and they talk often about theories and parallels and reoccurring elements in the show, some that I didn't even notice myself! Very fun. As with my other analysis friends, they ALSO draw some! Isn't that wonderful! How the love of this show supersedes mediums!

Also on the writing side but more on the funny side I would say is definitely Roswells' DHMIS blog @joepelling , lots of headcanons and jokes and fun info about the people BEHIND DHMIS. Their side blog, @dailythreeofthem is also really good if you want references for drawing the main three yourself!

I hope this was helpful and I hope it was a good start!! :D

#my dhmis postings #kind of #ANYWAYS CHECK OUT MY FRIENDS I LOVE MY FRIENDS

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gorgeouslypink · 1 year

Text

A lot of you are sabatoging yourselves in your void journey and it's time to take responsibility. I'm going to break it down into different ways you're sabatoging yourself and what you need to do to stop but the first step is to accept that. The truth is if you haven't entered the void, you sabatoged yourself into not entering it. It is your fault. You're sabatoging yourself.

Using void methods that are incompatible with you.

I had someone send me an ask about how they were using a subliminal to wake up in the void but they didn't really believe in subliminals. Sighs. Guys, if you don't even believe in subliminals, why are you sabatoging yourself by using a subliminal to enter the void? Obviously, it's not going to work.

Both the methods I shared in my post require a lot of patience and persistence. It's not going to be ideal/compatible for everyone. If you're sending me asks about how you fall asleep while trying my methods or your house is too loud for you to meditate, did it ever occur to you that maybe my methods just aren't compatible with you and you should try a different method? If you're using a method that is clearly not compatible with you, you're just sabatoging yourself and that's the truth.

There are so many methods to enter the void. Take some time to really think about yourself. These are the two main concerns: compatibility and belief. The only person who knows you the best is you. Which methods are acctually compatible with you? Do you believe that method acctually works?

Also guys, there are methods in theory that might work but aren't compatible with you in reality. I have been meditating since forever so I naturally chose methods that utilized meditating. In theory, meditating with alpha waves works for me but I never did enter with that, despite getting close. The thing that worked was using another method that utilized meditating. Why I'm mentioning this is if something hasn't been working for you, even if logically it makes sense that it should work, it might not be compatible for you and you might want to switch it up. But obviously I don't know the situation and this is something you have to decide on your own.

0% effort

The number of asks I get saying they believe in the void but just don't have the motivation to try and to give them motivation. If you're read my success story, you know I went through a period of time like this. It's time for the cold, hard truth. You're not lacking motivation, you're just a lazy bum.

You literally hold the method that can allow you to manifest instantly anything you desire. What do you mean "I need motivation"? If you really need motivation to get your desire, you don't really want it. Be real with yourself, stop wasting your time reading about the void, and get a new hobby.

But for real, how do you not see you're sabatoging yourself? Instead of asking blogs for motivation (which is never going to help because the 100+ other motivational posts on tumblr didn't work for you so why would this particular one) do this instead.

Think about how long you've known about the void. And how many times have you attempted? And what have you been doing in the meantime? Are you proud of yourself? Think about the desires that would have already came into fruition if you weren't so lazy. Think about the state of your desires because you decided to be lazy. For example, if you're manifesting your desired face, go stare in the mirror. That face you're seeing could have been your desired but it's not. And you know whose fault that is? It's yours. Do this with every single desire. Tell yourself the truth. You're sabatoging yourself and you have no one else to blame except for you.

50% effort.

This is for the type of asks that tell me "I affirmed for 20 minutes and felt symptoms but didn't get in. What am I doing wrong? " Love, you felt symptoms and stopped. You stopped halfway. This is like getting a double sided test, finishing the front and stopping, and then wondering why you failed the test. How do you not see the reason you didn't get in is because you sabatoged yourself by stopping halfway?

This doesn't just apply to meditating methods by the way. Any method. If you're only seeing it half way through, you're not going to enter. Stop sabatoging yourself and see the method through fully.

Letting failure define you.

If you let failure define you, you're going to be a failure forever. I get it. It sucks. You affirmed that the void was easy for a month, you did the 10k challenge, etc but you failed to enter and you feel like trash. But you can't let that define you. You need to move on.

Revise it. If you don't want to revise, assess what went wrong and what you can do next. Stop letting failure define you because you're just sabatoging yourself if you do so. Think about why you failed and how to stop failing. Don't scroll on tumblr waiting for a magical post to tell you. Sit down and think about it on your own. You either use your failed void attempt to help you enter the void or you stay a failure. Your choice.

Expecting your void experience to take exactly as long as someone else's.

Just because someone entered the void in 15 minutes doesn't mean you're going to too. You might enter it even less or it might take you 2 hours. But some of you refuse to accept that, affirm for the void for 15 minutes, give up, and complain.

I genuinely wish I hadn't written how long it took me to enter the void because of these type of people. There's a reason the youtube channel that released the video I used ended up releasing a 3 hour long version. Some people take even longer than an hour to enter sleep paralysis. It's different for every person. Stop sabatoging yourself by thinking it'll take you the same time someone else did!

Closing thoughts

Sorry this is so long 😭 and double sorry if you read this and this didn't even apply to you 😅. I know some of you are genuinely progressing along your void journey and this was not meant for you. However, if this does apply to you, please don't just like this and then continue sabatoging yourself. Take some time to really think about yourself and your void journey. The only person who's sabatoging you is you and the only person who can help you is you. I believe in you ❤

#void state

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part eight

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

hope is a dangerous thing.

a/n: it’s heeeeeeeeere. full disclosure - it might be a few days until part 9 goes up; as far as I know, tonight’s ep shows some flashbacks which means I might have to do a bit of revamping! plus I really don’t wanna burn myself out with this one, there’s still so much ground to cover!!

word count: 4.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, blood, yearning, nightmares, mentions/allusions to sex, if I missed something let me know.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨

The days bleed into months, and before you know it, the snow comes. Winter.

You haven’t left the mall. Or, haven’t been allowed to leave the mall. Every time you cross paths with Cowan, it’s the same conversation.

“Let me through the gate.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You’re nothing if not persistent, but you try your best to make yourself useful. You and Deanna have formed some kind of friendship, and you help her out as much as you can. At first, you don’t know much about treating injuries besides the bit you remember from an old first aid course, so you pay close attention to her movements, handing her supplies when she needs it, taking her orders in stride.

She was an army nurse, you learn, and lost her husband long before the outbreak. “Just as well,” she told you, a sad smile on her face. “He barely came back to me after Vietnam. I don’t think he could have survived this.”

They never had kids, but she tells you her niece and nephew may as well have been her own. “They live in Cape Cod, on the coast.” Her face went dark. “Lived.” Then she looked at you. “You remind me of my niece, you know. Fierce little thing.”

She teaches you how to dress wounds and clean them, when something needs stitches and when glue will do, how to stretch the materials you have left as far as possible. When injured soldiers show up after the first snow, she puts you to work.

Cowan’s among them, a ricochet bullet in his shoulder. Deanna hasn’t shown you anything like that yet, and you balk a little as he pulls off his gear, blood pouring down his arm. “Wait here.”

You sprint across the floor to where Deanna is literally elbow-deep in another soldier who clearly hadn’t been as lucky as Cowan. “What d’you need, kid?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, spying a pair of forceps on the table nearby and grabbing them. “Just these. I’ll come help you after—”

“You go take care of Nicky,” she orders, her voice almost stern. “You don’t leave his side until you know he’s all right, you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You sprint back to Cowan, finding him hunched over, hand pressed to his arm, blood staining his knuckles. You grab a pair of scissors from the tray beside you, hooking your arm under his shoulder and getting him upright. “Fuck!” he shouts, and you grit your teeth.

“Sorry.” You cut away his t-shirt, pulling the fabric from where it’s wedged between his fingers, and his other hand curls into a fist on the table. “What happened?”

“Bunch of runners,” he breathes out, and you yank his hand away from the wound quickly, replacing it with a thick scrap of towel, pressing your hand into his shoulder. He winces, tipping his head back. “Came right up over the fence.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I told you that chain link wouldn’t hold forever.”

“Yeah, yeah, you should run the world.” He meets your gaze, holds it. “You ask me to let you through the gate again, and I swear to god—”

“I wasn’t going to,” you say quickly. It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not a lie either. “But I want to help, if I can.”

The towel has already soaked through with his blood, and it makes your gut twist. “Help?”

“Teach me to shoot,” you say. You’re trying to distract him, and grab his hand, pressing it against the towel. “Hold this.”

“Bat’s not enough for you?”

“No, but the rifle I found in the sporting goods shop upstairs will definitely help,” you reply, grabbing the forceps and wiping them down with a bit of antiseptic. “Especially once I get out of here.”

Cowan stares at you, that hard gaze he’s become famous for. “Why d’you wanna get out of here so bad? You’re—”

“If you tell me I’m safe here, Corporal, I’m leaving that bullet in your shoulder.”

He actually laughs. “God, you are something else, you know that?”

You freeze, for a moment. Suddenly, you’re standing in your kitchen, in Austin. Joel Miller is handing you a bouquet of daisies and telling you you’re beautiful and kissing your cheek. The memory catches you off-guard, and you only come back down to earth when Cowan squeezes your wrist, peering at you.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you reply instantly, shaking your head. “We need to get that bullet out.”

You hold up the forceps, bracing your hand on his collar. “This isn’t gonna feel great, is it?”

“Well, it sure as hell won’t tickle,” you admit. “Is this the first time you’ve taken a bullet?”

“No. Second.”

“Pull this away, when I say,” you instruct, tapping the back of his hand. “I gotta be quick.”

“Have you done this before?”

You lift a shoulder, a nervous little laugh falling out of your mouth. “I watched Deanna do it a couple weeks back. It was in the guy’s gut though, not his shoulder.”

“Did he live?”

You go quiet. “Move your hand.” He hesitates. “Now, Cowan.”

He moves his hand, pulling the towel away, and you push the forceps in. The air seems to go completely still as you fish for the bullet. Cowan’s face is screwed up in pain, both hands curled around the edge of the cot, white-knuckled. “Did the guy live?”

“No,” you admit finally, feeling the soft clink of metal hitting metal. Bingo. “But we found a bite on his leg after, so the internal bleeding was probably the better way to go.” You twist the forceps, and he hisses in pain. “Tell me about the first time you got shot.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?” you quip, and he actually smiles.

“It was basic training,” he starts, and you nod, focusing on his shoulder. The forceps pinch around the bullet, and you pull ever so slightly. “My buddy and I were just fucking around. He didn’t know the thing was loaded.”

“He shot you on purpose?” you ask, brows raised. You pull a little more, making sure the grip holds.

“Not on purpose,” Cowan replies, and you can feel his eyes on your face. “We were just kids, then. Just screwing around, trying to fill the time. And now…”

“He still around?” you ask, prompting him further. “Your buddy.”

“I hope so,” he replies. “He moved to California, after we finished basic. I really hope he—motherfucker!”

You pull the bullet all the way out with a flourish, dropping the forceps onto the tray and grabbing a fresh piece of gauze. He hisses again when you press the new gauze to his shoulder, and you scoff. “Baby.”

“You just pulled a bullet out of me.”

“I’m aware,” you throw back, pressing a little harder. “I still think you’re a baby.”

He gives you the signature Stare before glancing down at his shoulder, taking over the pressure you’re holding, and you step away to get an actual roll of gauze. “Meet me at the south entrance tomorrow, and I’ll teach you.” You turn back, your brows raised. “To shoot, I mean. Bring the rifle. You have ammo?”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Yeah, managed to find a few boxes.”

“Good.”

You nod, unable to hide the grin that pulls your lips. “Good.”

They’re somewhere near Nashville. He thinks; Tommy’s been navigating, Joel’s just been following his brother. The weather has held up mostly, but now they’re holed up in some shack Tommy found in the woods, hiding from the rain. It’s been constant, nearly three days now, and Joel can’t fucking sleep.

He hasn’t slept well since they left Austin, not that he expected to. The few beds they’ve found have been heaven, but every time he closes his eyes, the dreams come, and he’s reliving that night all over again. Doesn’t matter how many days go by, and he knows it doesn’t matter at all how much time passes. He’s never gonna forget.

He took first watch, told Tommy to get some shuteye and parked himself on the front porch, watching the rain slide of the metal roof, pooling in front of the shack, running downhill like a river. There’s mud caked on his boots, and he feels dirty down to his bones. It’s been a few days since they had real shelter, though, and he revels in the silence, being away from the main roads.

But the silence lets his mind wander, and when that happens, it lands on you, more often than not. Sarah is always there, in the back of his head, the sound of her voice forcing him further, but when he gets a moment alone — a rarity now — he lets himself remember you.

Your last conversation still haunts him. The fear in your voice, the way you’d sounded so out of it when you first picked up, and he’d brought you back down, focused you. Patch yourself up. Take what you can and go. Get the hell out of Boston.

I’ll find you, baby.

Sometimes, the hope invades his heart like a disease, branching through his limbs and making his chest ache with it. He has to hope that you made it out, that you’re alive somewhere, that your paths are leading straight towards each other. Every time they come over a hill or turn a corner, he feels that tug in his gut, a quiet promise that this time, you’ll be heading straight towards him, a big smile on your face.

But Joel knows that hope is a dangerous thing to let in, to nurture. As hard as he wishes you alive, he knows the opposite is more than likely. He sees it when he does manage to get some sleep, nightmares infiltrating his brain until he wakes up panting, the phantom feeling of his daughter’s blood on his skin melting away far too slowly.

Right now, he’s forcing himself to remember the good.

That last week, before you’d left for Boston. He took you to that open field every night, almost, held you in his arms, kept you close and never let your mouth get too far from his. He’d buried his face in your neck and memorized the smell of you, the feel of you, the taste.

You pulled on his hand, led him away from the truck and into the open field. You laid down in the grass side by side, the sound of crickets and the soft wind the only thing you could hear. He’d leaned over you, cupped your cheek in his palm, rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. You kissed his fingers, giggling when he rolled himself on top of you a moment later, his mouth chasing yours.

He planted his hands either side of your head and you reached for his belt, dragging your hands down his chest. He could feel your heartbeat, when he pressed himself against you, the twitch of your knees along his ribs as you held him closer. That’s how it always was between you two, who could get the other closer, how much could you pull until the space between no longer existed?

Joel still remembers the noise you made when he pushed into you, right there in the grass. The way you’d dug your nails into his back so fucking hard it made him moan louder, the sound echoing through the night. The blissful smile on your face as the pleasure ripped through you, and Joel felt it, the tightness of your body, the way he could taste it on your tongue.

God, he loved you so goddamned much.

A clap of thunder yanks him out of his head, and he flinches hard, the gun in his lap sliding onto the wooden porch. He’s on his feet in a moment, shoving both hands through his hair, and without another thought, he steps out from under the shelter of the roof. The rain pelts him instantly, soaking through his clothes, making goosebumps rise on his arms.

It feels good. He tilts his face towards the sky, feels the water drip down his arms.

He hears your voice, in his head. What you said that night, under the stars, laid out on his chest, your eyes glassy. “I won’t ever stop thinking about you, Joel Miller. Not for a million years.”

He never should have let you leave Austin. Not in a million years.

Cowan stays true to his word. He teaches you to shoot, not just the rifle you’d stolen from the mall, but other guns, too. Shows you some tricks with the hunting knife you’d found in Dean’s bag, even teaches you how to build a fire. You stop asking him to let you through the gate, and he stops giving you the Stare. After a few lessons, he starts bringing you along on patrols. You carry the rifle and the bat, the hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The temperature is dropping, the snow sticking consistently, and the UPS jacket you’d stolen months back comes in handy, keeping you warmer than you expect.

There’s not much conversation to be had between you two, and when you do talk, it’s light shit. You avoid the subject of families, partners and the like. You mostly talk about music, and you laugh the hardest you have in a long time when Cowan admits to you that he’s seen the Backstreet Boys in concert three separate times. You’re bent in half with laughter, tears in your eyes, and he starts laughing along with you.

The laughter stops, however, when you circle back to the mall. There are four trucks outside, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up when you see Deanna step through the doors. Everyone else who’d been inside, faces you recognize, people you’ve met, they’re all coming out of the mall. Deanna has blood on her scrubs, a strange look in her eye.

“McCoy!” Cowan calls once you’re close enough, and a soldier turns. “What’s going on?”

Both the soldiers step to the side, and you make a bee-line for Deanna, swinging your rifle onto your back. “What happened?”

The older woman looks shaken, and she grabs you once you’re close enough, her hands digging into the sleeves of your coat. “T-Tim,” she stutters, and your brow hardens. You know who she’s talking about; Tim, his wife Marcy, their two kids. Their cots weren’t far from yours in the department store. You’d helped their youngest son, Henry, when he’d cracked his forehead on the tile, tripped on his own feet chasing his little sister, Emily, around the mall. Hell, you’d had dinner with them just the night prior, you and Tim had made the kids giggle slurping your noodles. “He just…” Deanna trails off, and fear twists your stomach in an iron vice.

“Are the kids okay?”

She nods furiously, still holding onto you tightly. “But…but Marcy, she…he just…” She looks back towards the mall, gestures for a moment before clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’d never seen one up close before.”

Deanna collapses into your arms, and you hug her tightly, half worried she’s passed out, but the worry passes when you feel her hands fist in the back of your jacket. Over her shoulder, you see a soldier leading Henry and Emily outside. Henry still has a bandaid on his forehead, and Emily is clutching his hand, tear tracks on her face. Your heart aches.

“I’m gonna go with them,” Deanna tells you, pulling away after a moment, and you just nod. She jogs after the kids, and you turn back to where Cowan and McCoy are still talking. Cowan has a hard look on his face, and his jaw tightens as you approach.

“What the hell is going on?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “We’re supposed to be safe in the mall, Corporal. That’s what you said. I could have been halfway to Texas by now. Hell, I could have been in Texas by now.”

“I know what I said,” he bites back before heaving a sigh. “We got an update, from FEDRA HQ.”

You lift a brow. “And?”

He glances at the stream of people still filing out of the mall. “The fungus, the thing that’s causing this, it’s in the food. We need to check everything that was in the mall, everything that was handed out. Production dates, expiry dates, it’ll give us an idea of what needs to be destroyed, but—”

“But there’s a chance everyone in there ate something contaminated,” you finish, swallowing back the bile that rises in your mouth. “There’s a chance we’re all already infected.”

Cowan’s throat bobs. “Yes.”

“What do we do now, then?” you ask, jutting your chin towards the people filling the street outside the mall. “Where do we go? Standing around here like this, it’s just gonna attract them.”

“There are buildings that have been deemed safe,” McCoy tells you, and Cowan just nods. “The quarantine zone has been marked off. We take everyone there, separate you for now, keep an eye out for anyone changing.”

Cowan nods. “Check everyone for bites, again.” He meets your eyes for a moment before calling for two other soldiers. He starts barking orders, and you turn to McCoy.

“I thought the city was the quarantine zone.”

He shakes his head. “Too much space. FEDRA gave us the borders, showed us where to go. The walls’ll go up soon, and we’ll be that much safer.”

You balk. “More chain link bullshit?”

McCoy shakes his head again. “No, ma’am. Bricks. Guard towers, barbed wire. The whole kit and caboodle.”

You swallow hard. Shit.

The chain link stays up. The walls of the quarantine zone press deeper into the city, and as promised, you’re shuffled into apartment buildings. There’s still blood everywhere you look, damaged ceilings, broken windows. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but the building itself is intact, and that’s apparently good enough for FEDRA.

They put you in separate units, the number of survivors taking up less than half the building. You stay with Deanna and the kids. Emily clings to your side, her arms wrapped around your leg more often than not. She hasn’t said a word since you left the mall.

The soldiers patrol the streets and the hallways, and after a week, six more people turn. They’re put down without a second thought, their bodies carried out of the building. The food supplies are carted from the mall to a warehouse within the new zone limits, and everything that was given to you is taken back for inspection. It’s a lot of waiting, of pacing the floor of your new home, of trying to come up with ways to distract the kids from what’s happening.

Shortly after you’d been evacuated from the mall, they’d brought out Tim and Marcy’s bodies, and your hands had started to shake violently when you saw the blood on Tim’s face, the deep gouge in his wife’s throat. Bullets in both their skulls. It had all happened so fast.

And you’d been eating the same things they had.

The worry gnaws at your stomach. You’d protested, at first, when Deanna insisted you come with them. You couldn’t explain it, couldn’t bear to see the pain on the older woman’s face deepen when you admitted you feared the worst. She still managed to pull it out of you, later that night, after you’d put the kids to sleep in the only bedroom, the pair of you sitting at the kitchen table.

“If it happens, it happens, kid,” she said, gripping your hand tightly. “And we deal with it. That’s all we can do.” You’d nodded, and she’d reached into her bad, producing a bottle of gin. “Something to take the edge off.” You nodded again.

A week passed, the six were put down, and you were safe. Your mind started to wander. Trucks filled with construction material arrived at the edges of the quarantine zone every day; you could see them from the apartment. More FEDRA soldiers, some venturing into the city to find usable materials. Soon enough, the wall was starting to take shape.

And if the wall went all the way up, that meant you were never getting out of Boston. Never getting the opportunity to find your family, or Joel.

But, the wall has only just begun, which means there are still holes in the boundary, and with more soldiers assigned to the quarantine zone itself, that means the chain link is left unguarded, for the most part.

They announce curfew hours and the consequences for breaking those hours, and you start planning. Collecting things, weapons and food that won’t spoil, refilling your first aid kit. You take what ammo you can find, nicking a few boxes from the FEDRA tents when no one’s paying attention. You still have the maps from the bookstore, your hastily-drawn path still marked on the pages.

You wait for nightfall, and you run.

You leave Deanna a note, tell her you’re sorry, tell her you’ll try to send a message that you’re safe, once you are. The kids are fast asleep, and you kiss their heads before you go.

Your path through the city leads you right past your apartment, and your heart nearly stops. The entire front of the building has been exploded inward, no doubt a result of the bombings. If you look hard, you can see the edge of your living room, behind the twisted rebar and broken bricks. You want to linger, but you don’t, the shout of an Infected pushing you forward, gripping the bat tightly.

The construction of the wall left a lot of tools laying around, and it was all too easy to find a pair of large wire cutters. You found a piece of chain link in an alley within the quarantine zone, and tested it out. Sure enough, a clean cut.

There are still patrols along the chain link, but they’re more sporadic. The guard posts have been dismantled, dragged further inwards, set up again along the new walls. You see a soldier pass by the spot you’re aiming for, and wait until he’s completely out of sight before bolting across the pavement to the fence, pulling out the wire cutters.

You have one foot through when you hear a familiar voice.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Cowan’s kept his distance, since you moved into the building. It bothers you and doesn’t at the same time. But in a way, you got what you wanted from him; you’re more confident that you could make it beyond the fence now. Especially with the rifle strapped to your back.

Your head drops, and you pull your leg back out, straightening and turning on your heel towards him. “You really thought I wouldn’t try it?”

“I really didn’t think you were this stupid,” he shoots back, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious. You will die out there, why don’t you get that?”

You grip the chain link, the metal rattling beneath your shaking fingers. “I can’t just sit around here for the rest of my life, Cowan.”

“So you’d rather waste it, out there?” He gestures towards the fence with his rifle, to what lays beyond. “What good will that do? You’re smart, you know there’s a good chance your family is dead.”

“But until I know—” you start, and your voice betrays you, cracking on the word. You swallow hard. “Why can’t you just let me go? What difference does it make?”

His strange dark eyes narrow at you. They’re blue, you’ve come to learn, but a dark shade that sometimes looks black. “Come with me. There’s something I want you to see.” You open your mouth to protest, and he lifts a hand. “Come with me first; if you still want to leave afterward, then I’ll take you through myself.”

You stare at him for a long moment before slinging your bag from your shoulders, pulling out a length of rope. You thread it through the split fence, yanking the metal back into place and tying it off. Once you’re done, you get back to your feet, and when Cowan turns to leave, you follow.

He takes you back to the quarantine zone. A few soldiers shoot you looks, since you’re out past curfew, but Cowan waves them all off. “She’s with me.”

You keep following him, heart hammering in your throat as he leads you into one of the buildings they’ve cleared out. Down a long hallway, a few more soldiers giving you looks, before Cowan ducks through a doorway, waving at you to follow.

“What is this?”

There are tables everywhere, cords spilling out of boxes, hooked along the walls. On the walls, all sorts of maps and notices, FEDRA orders staring back at you. A soldier sits in the middle of it all, headphones hooked over her ears, twisting the knobs on a gigantic radio, adjusting the antenna. When she sees you and Cowan standing there, she pulls off the headphones, a grin on her face. “Hey, Nick.”

“Melissa,” he nods, and juts his thumb towards you. “Can you set it for the Austin base? And give us a sec?”

She just nods, her face falling slightly, and twists more of the knobs. Her brow furrows a bit until she gets the right frequency, and then she gets up out of her chair, holds the headphones towards you. “Hit the red button to talk, and let go once you’re done, or else they can’t talk back.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the headset from her. You look at Cowan. “What is…?”

“It’ll connect you with the FEDRA base in Austin. You can give them the names, of the people you’re looking for. They’ll be able to tell you if they’re in the shelters there. If they’re not there, there’s no telling if they’re alive or dead, but at least you’ll know if they’re safe or not.”

Your brow furrows. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“I can’t reassure you,” Cowan says bluntly, and as you sink into the chair, he perches on the desk beside you. “No one can. The world is a fucking minefield, and while yes, I’ll admit you’re a good shot and you clearly know what you’re doing with that bat, you will die out there. If your family isn’t still in Austin, I can almost guarantee you, they are dead.”

You rip your eyes from his face, turning your gaze to the radio, the little flashing lights and the knobs. “You don’t know that.”

There’s a hand under your chin a second later, and Cowan turns your face towards him again, drags your eyes back to his. “I meant what I said. If you still want to leave, I will take you through the gate myself, no more bullshit. But talk to the base first. Find out if they’re still there before you throw your life away on hope.”

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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers

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missmonsters2 · 1 year

Text

—On Your Mind

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: You watch her across the room, eyes heavy-lidded and the edge of a red solo cup resting against your lips. It doesn't matter that a sea of bodies separates the two of you. It doesn't even matter that there's someone else in front of you right now, trying to get your attention. The sight of Wanda fighting with her boyfriend always caught your eye.

Warnings: Toxic Behaviour. Infidelity. Spicy but not explicit content. Toxic!Reader. Tony—should get therapy but throws a party instead. Natasha—trying to be a good person. Vision—is a loser.

Note: JLKSDFJSk I wish I could explain this but I can't. Inspired by the song #icanteven - the neighbourhood

Main Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

You do NOT have permission to repost or translate my work on any other platforms (even with credit)

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The music pumped so loudly that you could feel the bass thrumming along your skin. It was electric, and the only thing that soothed you right now was when the taste of the bourbon in your red solo cup slid down your throat with ease.

You found it kind of funny that Stark rented out an entire club, buying the most tasteful liquor but refused the glasses and shelled out money for red solo cups instead. You had teased him, saying he was looking to relive his youthful days, but Stark insisted it was because it would get more expensive when people got too drunk and broke the glasses one way or another.

You didn't blame him. Stark was a particularly stressed individual, even if he hid it behind his snarky remarks and flippant personality. But that was what you especially liked about him.

"Are you having fun?"

You hold your cup out to Natasha, letting her pour you another bourbon on ice.

"So much," you replied flatly, looking her in the eye as she smiled. "It's almost crazy how much I can't contain my excitement."

Natasha laughed, tipping her cup towards you, and you bumped yours against hers in cheers. Once the two of you took a generous sip of your drinks, Natasha sighed as she leaned against the counter.

"You didn't have to come tonight," Natasha drawled. "Stark throws one of these every year. He won't even know if you're missing one."

"Thanks for blatantly lying to my face." You smirked. "But with his neurotic personality? I'd be getting phone calls all night if I didn't show up."

Natasha only chuckles in response, and you know that she knows that you're correct. She turned to you, about to say something else, when she noticed a glint in your eye. Following your line of gaze, Natasha only sighed.

Across the room, past the many bodies of people dancing, was Wanda arguing tersely with her boyfriend.

"Stop," Natasha warned you, flicking the side of your head. You turned to look at her with a raised brow.

"Stop what?" You asked innocently.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You know exactly what." Her nose is scrunched up in mild displeasure. "Stop staring at Wanda and Vision fighting. They're really on the rocks lately, and your flirting with her has been making it worse."

You shrugged, uncaring. "Wanda hasn't told me to stop." You smirked again. "And from the looks of it over there, she might need someone hitting on her to lift her spirits."

Natasha bumped her shoulder against yours, shoving you slightly in reprimand. "Don't you feel bad at all?" She sighed. "Vision isn't...a terrible guy and everyone can tell you make him feel...small."

"I think it would take me having a second heart to feel remotely bad for him," you rolled your eyes and then scoffed. "He's not a terrible guy, but I wouldn't exactly say he's awesome either. He's so condescending to Wanda."

Natasha only fidgets uncomfortably at your words, unable to fight against them. It was hard when Natasha thought back to Wanda's muted behavior this last year. You wouldn't have known being new to the group, but Wanda used to be so full of laughter and mischief. Now, she was so serious and, well, drab.

"Still," Natasha bit her lip. "They're dating and Wanda doesn't seem like she's come to her senses about breaking up with him."

"Maybe she just needs a little push," you quipped with a shrug.

"If that were the case, the constant love confessions she gets would've woken her up already," Natasha pointed out dryly. "Wanda's not unaware that she's an incredibly attractive girl." Natasha left out the part that begs the question of why she stayed with a guy like Vision in the first place.

"Yes, but she's told all those dudes to fuck off," you grinned, swirling the bourbon in your cup. "So, maybe," you licked your lips, eyeing the two arguing across the room, "she needs a little push from someone whose interest she's entertaining."

Natasha sighed, grumbling obscenities under her breath before she looked at you with unimpressed eyes. "I want no part of whatever you're planning to do tonight." With that, Natasha gave you a look before she walked away.

You laughed as you began to walk off in the other direction.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I have no plan!"

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Wanda glanced at you. It was her 29th time since arriving at this stupid party. She hadn't wanted to come at all, not feeling social in the slightest lately.

But Vision had insisted since he's been friends with Tony since they were young. Vision never missed any outgoing Tony planned, and sometimes it drove Wanda mad. It was a point of contention how often Vision would choose Tony over her needs.

Wanda never blamed Tony since he was unaware it was a problem in the first place. Unless Vision told his childhood friend, and Tony was blatantly ignoring it and continuing on with the constant events and invites.

The dimmed lighting and pumping music gave Wanda a slight headache, and she was about to turn to Vision to tell him they could only stay for an hour because, despite trying to convince her boyfriend to not go, big events like this were impossible to not go to.

"Vis," Wanda kept her tone even. "I'm serious, I want to go home after an hour—two at the most."

"Wanda," Vision sighed as if she were being completely unreasonable. "You know these only happen once a year. Just—try to enjoy yourself, okay?"

Wanda didn't reply with anything in return, only tersely nodding her head. If she opened her mouth now, she would undoubtedly say something that would cause another spat between them, which has been happening a lot as of late. It just seemed like every little thing was a cause for an argument. Half the time, Wanda didn't even remember what they were fighting about by the time they had their next argument (which would be soon after).

Wanda pursed her lips. Well...that wouldn't be an exact truth.

Lately, the fights have been centering around a few focus topics. Vision's lack of attentiveness, Wanda's nagging, and you.

It was bad, Wanda knew. She really shouldn't be indulging your witty banter, lingering looks, and grazing touches. Honestly, it was probably already considering cheating how much your attention charmed her.

It was just the right amount of flirting. Friendly and obvious but not disrespectful.

"I'm going to go find Tony. Do you want to come along?"

"No." Wanda answered shortly and shook her head.

Vision sighed deeply through his nose, pinching the space between his brows. "Fine," he gritted, trying to avoid another argument. "Just stay here and enjoy yourself then. I'll come find you later."

"It's hard to enjoy myself when I have a headache, Vis," Wanda glared at him.

"Then you should've taken an Advil before you came—" Vision started to raise his voice but immediately cut himself short. He muttered to himself as if he were trying to calm himself down. "I don't know what you want me to do, Wanda. We're here, so let's just do our best, okay? I'll see if Tony has some Advil."

"I want to go home, Vis," Wanda emphasized because she was sure Advil wasn't going to fix her mood. She had a tight feeling in her stomach that this party would be a mistake.

Wanda looked over her shoulder again and found your eyes on her. They were aloof as you stared, and you weren't even paying attention to the girl talking in front of you. A chill scratched down Wanda's arms, her skin rising to goosebumps.

That was probably why Wanda entertained it. You made her feel seen, and Wanda had never felt so seen by someone as much as she did when you looked at her.

"Jesus Christ, Wanda. I wouldn't have insisted on you coming if I knew you were going to be so miserable to be around," Vision grunted.

Wanda sharply turned back to Vision, her eyes flashing dangerously.

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The song changes. The calypso beat and reverse guitar sound ring in your ears compellingly.

You've been leaning against the back wall for a while now, nursing that bourbon drink Natasha poured for you earlier. The club is hazy with flashing blue lights, making it easier for you to be a wallflower.

Well, almost.

"I didn't think we'd get to see each other again. I thought about texting you, but I don't know. I felt weird since you haven't texted me. But I mean, what a coincidence, right? I would've never guessed you knew Tony too."

You hummed, barely paying attention to the brunette in front of you.

Wanda was still fighting with Vision, and honestly, you were quite impressed. They arrived almost half an hour ago, and they're still managing to fight in a club with deafening music.

Your index finger tapped against your red solo cup along with the beat of the music idly. Natasha's probably right, and you shouldn't look at Wanda anymore. You have a perfectly nice woman in front of you now, eager to talk with you and probably would go home with you without too much work.

But Wanda Maximoff was a vice, and she had you in an unyielding grip.

You watch her across the room, eyes heavy-lidded and the edge of a red solo cup resting against your lips. It doesn't matter that a sea of bodies separates the two of you. It doesn't even matter that there's someone else in front of you right now, trying to get your attention. The sight of Wanda fighting with her boyfriend always caught your eye.

Vision threw his arms up in frustration and defeat before he walked off. Wanda turned her head, eyes catching yours in a glint, and you smirked behind your cup.

And the sight of you staring at her fighting with her boyfriend had always caught Wanda's eye.

"That's lovely," you muttered half-heartedly to the girl in front of you, passing her your cup as you stood straight. "You like bourbon, right? You should enjoy yourself and I'll catch you later."

You heard the call of your name, but you're already navigating through the crowd of bodies.

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A warm hand slid into Wanda's, fingers tracing her palm before interlocking.

"Hey."

The husk voice and puff of air hit the shell of Wanda's ear, and she turned around as if she hadn't been waiting for you. The smell of bourbon and the citrus smell of Neroli Portofino hits her nose. She almost sighs contentedly but bites down her tongue instead.

"Hey," Wanda leaned in towards your ear to say back.

Your thumb traced the thenar of her palm while staring into her eyes, searching for something—and god, Wanda hoped you found the answer because she couldn't verbally give you one.

"Wanna dance?" You asked her, but you're already dragging her out onto the dance floor, between the sea of bodies, obscuring them from view.

You pulled Wanda into your body, all her parts pressed against you perfectly. Your hands on her waist, squeezing tightly once.

Headache?

Wanda felt like such a liar. She was feeling something else—something that traveled much lower. Something that Advil couldn't fix.

This was a terrible, terrible idea.

And Wanda blamed Vision for it. He really should've just taken her home.

Wanda turned around in your arms, her back pressed against you as she ground against you along with the beat. Her hips sway while your hand caresses her shoulder, trailing down her arm.

Your lips grazed the shell of her ear, ghosting down her neck, and suddenly the flirting didn't feel so friendly anymore.

Your hand enclosed Wanda's, and her head fell backward, eyes fluttering close as she leaned against you, moving with the music.

"You're so pretty," you muttered in her ear, and she almost couldn't hear it over the music. Wanda's hand tightened around yours, and she could feel the rumble of your chuckle. "Are you even thinking of him?"

Wanda's eyes snapped open as she looked at your piercing gaze and felt herself grow feverish.

Guilt filled her because, no, Vision hadn't crossed her mind once until you brought him up.

"I—" Wanda started to say, but nothing else would come out.

"Must've been a pretty bad fight." You kissed the junction of her neck and shoulder. "He's a shitty, shitty guy. Otherwise, he'd cross your mind even a little."

Wanda felt you grip her chin, tilting her head down to stare straight ahead, and her stomach dropped.

"But I guess you're pretty mean too, Wanda. I mean, you're probably the only thing on his mind right now and you're not even thinking of him a little," you chuckled, and Wanda shouldn't feel so flushed with how callous it sounded.

A couple of people have moved off the dance floor, giving Wanda the perfect line of sight to see Vision—or for Vision to see her, she supposed.

He stood there with a bottle of Advil; his face was grim.

But he didn't move, and neither did Wanda.

They stood there, staring at each other.

"Don't think that bottle of Advil is gonna help him," you mused. "He looks sick to his stomach."

You nudged her to stand straighter, causing her to look at you. "Wanna get some fresh air, or do you wanna go be miserable with him?" You gave her a choice, despite your taunting words. Your grip on her hand loosened, only giving Wanda a split second to decide.

Wanda tightens her hold on your hand. "No, it's pretty hot in here."

You gave her a lopsided smile as you began to tug her in the opposite direction of Vision, and Wanda followed, only turning her head back once to look at Vision's grim face as he gripped the Advil bottle.

Wanda leaves, and he doesn't follow.

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Wanda moaned against your mouth as you pressed her against the wall of the club in the alleyway. Her fingers slid against your jaw, pulling you closer as she consumed your lips over and over.

She hated the taste of bourbon, but it tasted so fucking good on your tongue. Wanda wanted to concentrate on only one thing, and that was just how good it felt to have your hands sliding up her waist, ruffling her shirt as your thumb pressed against her ribs.

But fuck, you were making it really hard for Wanda to feel the pleasure guiltless.

"So pretty," the words from your lips tumble into Wanda's mouth. "Think about you all the time. Can't believe you're with such a dickhead."

"Not right now I'm not," Wanda quipped, capturing your lips.

The words made you chuckle, and you squeezed her in your hands. "Not right now?" You mused. "Are you saying you're going to go back to him?" You peppered kisses along her jawline.

"Are you telling me Vision's gonna take you back after he looked like he was going to throw up?" You pulled back just slightly to look Wanda in the eyes. Her chest rose and fell in deep pants, lips plump and cheeks flushed.

You brush your lips against hers, pressing lightly as if to test the connection between the two of you. "He's probably standing there like a fucking moron thinking about how could you do this to him."

Wanda surged forward, deepening the kisses as she firmly pulled you closer. Her grip was possessive and intense, and she just wanted you to shut up.

"Natasha asked me earlier if I even feel bad," you pulled away, shifting your hands to thread through Wanda's hair, gripping her head to pull her into another lust-driven kiss.

Wanda moaned.

"I don't," you told her. "I don't even feel a little bad."

Your thumb stroked Wanda's swollen lips. Really, she was so fuckin' pretty.

Wanda raised her brow at you. "Are you gonna talk about him all night? If you keep making me think about him, I might just go running back right now."

You chuckled, pulling her into a rough kiss, teeth dragging at her lower lip, and Wanda whimpered. You soothed it over with your tongue, hearing her soft sigh.

"Let's not make empty threats. You and I both know who's always on your mind. Does that make you feel bad?"

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You woke up to an empty bed, but you weren't surprised.

You checked your phone to see a bunch of texts from Tony to see if you were awake and sighed deeply, sending a quick message back.

Another thing you hated about the yearly parties was the brunch date the next day.

You lingered in the shower, your fingers running over the dark hickeys that littered your neck and collarbones.

By the time you made it, you were the last person.

"There you are!" Tony dramatically scowled at you, pointing his fork threateningly at you to sit down.

You took the seat next to Natasha, getting a questioning look from her with her brow raised. You winked at her before looking ahead.

Wanda and Vision sat together cozily, her head on his shoulder while his arm was around her.

Vision was pointedly ignoring your existence, but Wanda looked at your amused gaze that trailed the matching hickeys on her neck poorly covered with concealer, raising her brow in challenge.

"Man," Tony groaned, rubbing his face. "I feel like shit today. Anyone else feel bad?"

There were mumbles here and there in response.

Wanda just stared at you before she soundly said, "No. I feel just fine."

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff angst #avengers imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #Elizabeth olsen x reader #mm: my fics

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