#*emotional manipulation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

here-but-forgotten · 9 months ago

Text

you lost me. / valeria/wife!reader.

content notes — ex-wife!valeria. sweet alejandro. little shit rodolfo. mean valeria. plot heavy. el sin nombre foreshadowing. rudy weirdo rizz.

part one \ part two

A confident knock echos from the door through the walls, dancing around your ears as the noise registered, for you to finally walk to the door that had never been knocked before,

With a slender foggy window lending you a quick glimpse of the figure, you open the door, your eyes landing on a chest where you expected the eyes to be.

“Hello,” he starts, confident but still speaking volume, “Could I ask you some questions?”

You look up at him, blinking; not fully in a uniform but not in casual clothing. Lines around his eyes. Facial hair turning grey. Dark eyes. Intense eyes.

“Um,” You start, adverting your eyes from his, “Could I ask why first?”

He adjusts, halfway awkward, shifting his weight.

“That’s an understandable ask,” He answers, relaxing a little, “I’m Colonel Alejandro Vargas, I wanted to ask you some questions related to Valeria Garza.”

You pause, blinking.

“Your last name is what?”

“Vargas.”

You stifle an insecure giggle,

“I thought you said ‘Vergas’—“

“No—“ Alejandro cuts you off, letting a small smile escape from him, holding in a laugh, “no, God didn’t curse me with that.”

You let yourself giggle, covering your mouth and turning a bit away as he lets out the chuckle he held in, laughing with you.

“Sorry,” You laugh a little, finally taking a breath, “What are you asking about?”

He pulls his demeanor together, a bit more serious,

“If I have been told correctly, you are who she claimed to be her wife, yes?”

“At one time I was, yes,” You shift, “Not anymore.”

“Did she leave any sort of technology here?”

You tilt your head a bit, looking up at him.

“She did. Is that a problem?”

Alejandro sighs at your inquisition.

“I have some reason to believe she took something that could track her location with her when she has done work for me. If she did, there is a lot someone could gain from that if they did track it.”

You look aside, thinking about that damned dinged up phone.

“Would it be a threat to me?”

“I would say, without much other info, that yes it could be a threat to you.”

You don’t respond.

“I don’t know you, but I do know what has recently happened,” He starts, “If someone could track it, she could track it, and could track you.”

“Do you want me to give it to you?”

“If you are able, yes.”

You turn, leaving the door open,

“You.. You can come in, if you’d like.”

You move, his footsteps following you briefly and stopping as you walked further into the home, finding the half-held together phone that she left that you had kept in what used to be her bedside table. You stop, looking at the bed; the new sheets on it looked nice, it finally looked comfy, like somewhere safe. And theres a small pang in your chest, that the person who used to make it warm was gone, the person who was why the bed wasn’t just a humble full size, but,

it was for the best, and you told your chest that everyday.

You deserve someone who gives you the time of day, who makes time for you, even if they’re busy.

And you turn on your toes, walking back to the entrance way that the Colonel sat at—

Colonel Alejandro Vargas.

Col. A. Vargas

CAV.

“Do you think, by any chance, that you were contacting her with this phone?”

You look to him— his hip leaned against the counter with his arms casually crossed, his eyes gentle but alert, his expression once relaxed turned into his eyebrow raised.

“It is a possibility,” He murmurs, “It seems like the two of us learned a lot recently.”

“Valeria?”

“No, you and I.”

His stare is unwavering, not so assertive but ever confident, making you shift on your feet as he watched you.

“Yeah. It would seem like the two of us have.”

He lets out a small hum in response, eyeing the phone being held together by tape and faith.

“I’ve seen that one before,” He says, lowly, to himself more than you.

“She has a lot of phones.”

“Is that so?” he asks, watching you.

“Yeah, she probably had 5, at my guess now,” You shift, “But I know that you guys sometimes have a lot of phones—“

“2. We normally have 2.”

His gaze is a bit intense, not directed at you, yet it still sent a small shake through your body; there was a certain charm, yet that didn’t stop the intensity of his thoughts.

Silently, you offer the phone to him, looking up to him, soft blinks trying to pull him from his thoughts.

“Thank you,” Alejandro says after a moment in his thoughts, delicately taking the phone from your outstretched hand, fingers brushing yours softly; his touch is hot, like he was running on coals—

“Did she ever introduce you to any military personnel?”

“No.”

He raises his eyebrow at that.

“None?”

“No. I only found out about you from her accidentally saying something.”

Theres a type of pity in his gaze, maybe even guilt.

“Does she have any sort of surveillance on this property?”

“No. I don’t think she would come back for it anyway. Frankly, she hasn’t been back since she left.”

“When was that?”

“A week or so now.”

“Did she introduce you to.. anyone?”

“Not really.”

“Did that not concern you at all?”

His tone is gentle, lacking any judgement.

“It should have. But love makes you dumb sometimes.”

He tilts his head in an agreement, glancing down at the phone.

“Have you entered this phone or deleted anything off of it?”

“I’ve looked around it, but I haven’t deleted anything. It’s all as I found it.”

Alejandro nods, glancing off to the side for a moment, letting you watch his face; his hair isn’t really “done”, only combed back with fingers, some curls breaking free from pomade, curling around his ear.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that,” he says after a moment.

“I’m sure you’ve gone through worse.”

“I chose to go through worse. But you didn’t.”

You watch him, his words full of soft mercy.

“I suppose I didn’t, but I made it.”

He nods again, looking back to you.

“I’m going to leave you a number. You call it if you ever need something. Especially if she comes back to give you a hard time,” He explains, back to his colonel voice— you assume— not leaving much room for discussion.

You watch him, his movements are confident, leaving a small writing pad with the top sheet scribbled on, a phone number, a title— “los vaqueros”

“The cowboys?” You ask tentatively, looking up at him.

God he’s big.

Shush.

“I don’t have time to explain all of that,” He says, a bit affectionately, a little smile, “But if you need something, you call this without hesitation, okay?”

“What if it’s stupid?”

His eyes are a bit soft.

“It won’t be.”

His eyes leave you, looking at the counter, noticing the little shine on the countertop— still where Valeria left it.

“Did she really walk out and just leave her ring?”

You don’t look at it.

“Yeah.”

He rolls his eyes.

“She’s a walking headache.”

“She’s a charming walking headache.”

“I’m aware,” he grumbles shortly, not irritated at you.

“I,” you start, grabbing his attention immediately, “I don’t know what happened with you, really, but I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“She’s not your problem to apologize for anymore.”

“I know, but it still sucks to go through something like that, no matter who did it.”

His gaze is soft.

“You’re a very sweet woman.”

His eyes glance away from you, a bit awkwardly,

“I have one… thing to tell you, but it’s not fun.”

You pull a deep breath through your chest, crossing your arms over your chest,

“Rip the bandage off.”

Alejandro shifts, leaning against the counter, mimicking your crossed arms,

“She had that marriage license nullified, somehow, a while ago now. Maybe half a year.”

The news should rock you, pull through your bones, crush your soul a bit— but it’s hard to be disappointed by something you have no faith in.

You stand for a moment, letting the words set in, waiting for your stomach to fall, to crumble your very being up into a useless little paper ball, but it doesn’t come. Your head isn’t light. Your feet are grounded. Nothing sways your balance.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” You finally say, not looking at him.

Alejandro is quiet for a moment, tense.

“You’ve already told me to not apologize, but,” He pauses, shifting his weight to one of his feet, “That’s why I didn’t fight back, when she approached me. She told me it was long done.”

“You can’t control her bullshit.”

That pulls a laugh out of him, from deep in his chest, releasing the tension he held.

“Yeah, I guess I can’t.”

He shifts again.

“What’s more frustrating is there is other— falsified— paperwork that now says you’re dead.”

You shift, uncomfortably.

“So now there are documents that don’t line up. On one, you two have divorced— in the United States— and on another you’ve been dead.”

“What would she gain from lying about all of that?”

He sighs.

“I have no clue. I cannot, within my position, just assume things based out of interpersonal actions; however, I don’t think anything innocent would come out of that.”

“She didn’t falsify a death certificate, did she?”

“No. That’s what tipped all of this off.”

You finally move a bit, letting your body relax.

“Something is up with her. I have no idea what.”

Alejandro is lost in thought for a moment, staring at the opposite wall; you watch him, the gears turning in his head with a focused but somewhat serene expression, eyes slightly moving as the follows his thoughts—

“I should be going now. Please, use that number. There are dangers she could have exposed you to without you knowing,” Alejandro murmurs, walking to the door, you silently following him. You grasp the door knob as he enters the door way, your hand gently touching his back— the touch making him jump a little.

“Thank you,” You murmur, your touch leaving him resting your hand on the door, meeting your eyes over his shoulder.

“Of course.”

You close the door, watching his figure walk to a jeep— confident stride, nice body hidden under military clothes, gentle eyes—

Don’t you dare.

You breathe deep, moving back into the home, the sunlight twinkling in through the curtains, warm sunset light dancing like little figures, warming up the light in the room. His voice— his words— rattle around your head, her antics annoying you more than they were able to hurt you—

This has been long dead. It has been dead, since she seems to have officially killed it, but now the dead weight had been removed, like matted hair that couldn’t be saved. It’s been shaved off; it wasn’t fun, but now it’s better. You are better. You are growing back. You are lighter. You are able to breathe.

You turn on your toes, walking back to the counter to look at the pad with the number written on it; his handwriting, or whoever wrote this, isn’t bad but it’s not pretty. A bit slanted. Legible. You take the pad in your hand, feeling over the writing— written with a ballpoint pen— before pulling out your own phone, entering it under a quick little new contact, marking it LV.

If she gets to have cryptic contacts, I do too.

You place it back down, looking into the greater house, warmth flooding in the sunlight.

You think it should hurt more— something so momentous ending— yet it also makes sense. It died slowly. There is no cruel, fast pain in a slow death. There is slow pain, the type that slowly makes your joints go still, where your chests twists and breaks, piece by piece, like peeling off old paint. It wasn’t a quick death. There was no quick cut, no guillotine, no bullet, no knife. It was a slow poison. It was terminal. When you realize it’s dying, it hurts. You wonder what you did wrong. You blame every piece that you didn’t do on yourself, just to try to rationalize it. To try to make it make sense. But sometimes, death comes, and sometimes it is slow, and sometimes it is quick, but death has to happen. It has to. Death allows for rot. Rot allows for growth. Growth is new life. There is no new life without the rot that death provides. But there is still no less hopeless ending than death, if you are not looking for the new buds of flowers.

You breathe, escaping your thoughts for a moment, looking out the windows, sun pungent and powerful.

And it should hurt more, that instead of even growing up and coming to you to say she wanted it to end, that she decided to do it on her own, to cheat with two people, to just use you as a housekeeper until she came back, just to be a bedwarmer. But at this point, it wasn’t anything new. It was the first infidelity— that you knew of— and it was two cases of it, yet it wasn’t surprising. Disappointing, but not surprising. Disappointing as a situation, not disappointing for her. Theres a few sentences, a few conversations that haunt you, between you and her, still; when her attention was on you, she still spilled her rotten blood onto you, almost to temper you into it—

Things about her impatience with partner, things about how she really didn’t like talking about her feelings, how she found relationships as a distraction. How she never admitted her feelings, she just let them die. How she knew that work would always mean more to her than a relationship. And how she tried to shroud it in telling you how you were the exception— you were the one she would put work behind for, the one she’d admit her feelings for, the one she’d stay loyal for. Exceptions to a rule are delicate. And sometimes, they’re just a lie. And how she had no hand in picking out the house, she let you pick it out, like a dog picking their favorite kennel.

Your eyes leave the sun light, blinking the haze away as you notice movement outside, grabbing the notepad quickly— throwing it in a drawer quickly— and striding to the door, an all too familiar figure standing, not moving.

Moving away from the door, you tap the newly formed contact, moving to the bedroom as the phone rang against your ear.

“¿Hola?”

It wasn’t Alejandro.

“Um, hello,” You awkwardly start, the other person breathing a sharp breath, “Colonel Ve-Vargas gave me this number in case I needed something.”

There is a pause.

“Oh. You.”

Pause.

“Is something wrong?”

“Valeria Garza is back, and she has a man with her.”

Pause.

“Do not answer the door, and keep away from it. Hang tight. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you say in a softer voice, the other’s breath hitching at that.

“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“Then you’ll see me soon.”

Click.

Ominous.

His voice wasn’t Alejandro’s, something a bit more smooth about his delivery, ever slightly colder.

And so you moved to the bedroom door, silently closing and locking it, watching the covered windows for any movement. You sit on the floor beside the bed, as to not have your silhouette in the window, watching. Waiting. There is a soft distant noise of talking, Spanish, a bit rushed and irritated. Her Spanish. Romance languages can be many things, but she fully embraced the Roman cruelty in her words. Footsteps. Around the windows, tracing the house. Only two pairs of footsteps.

Until.

A bit of irritated shouting, from the door, following the footsteps around the house. You move along the floor, against the wall closest to the window, trying to listen—

“— do you think you’re doing?”

“do not lecture me—“

“go back to the cars. now.”

The same slightly grumpy voice, and hers.

You follow the trail, standing in the kitchen, keeping an ear out.

“I own this property—“

“Valeria, I cannot tell you how little of a shit I give. You directly disobeyed an order.”

“It was an overreach!”

“Don’t care.”

“Rodolfo—“

“That’s Sergeant Major to you.”

“I am going to stab you.”

“You won’t.”

Pause.

“I just want to talk to her.”

“Leave your gun then.”

“But—“

“I’m impressed you got someone who wanted to spend the rest of their life dealing with you.”

Pause.

“Leave the gun and I’ll let you speak to her.”

“What are you, my father?”

“If I was your father, you wouldn’t act like a fucking brat.”

Pause.

“I really want to kill you sometimes.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Knock knock.

You move to the door, peering to see a male figure standing outside of the door. You slowly open the door.

“hello?”

“Neña—“

“Shut up. I’m the one who spoke to you on the phone,” He cuts her off, “Do you want to speak to her or do you want her gone?”

“I can speak to her. I would appreciate if you stayed though,” You respond calmly, sweetly, looking up at him, his gaze gentle on you.

“I wanted to speak to you alone,” Valeria starts, her voice scarily gentle, keeping her tone even.

“I don’t want that.” You say firmly, the man standing between you and her. Another man hangs behind, looking like a dog with his tail between his legs.

The man nods, staying where he was, but moving a bit to let you see Valeria.

“Do you not trust me anymore?” Valeria asks softly, her gaze soft. A trap.

“Do you think I’m that stupid?”

He snorts.

“I know I’ve messed up, but I miss you.”

“Okay.”

He cracks a small smirk, turning his gaze away from the two of you.

“I didn’t mean to leave you behind.”

“You can accidentally hit someone with your car and it’s still manslaughter.”

She rolls her eyes, her façade dropping for a moment, only to recompose herself.

“Can I come inside?”

You look at the man, his gaze both interested and bored, his eyes meeting yours for a moment. You move, pulling his forearm inside the house, his body moving stiffly at the movement, following you. Valeria shoots you a glare, following. The other man stands outside.

“Lovely, I really never noticed how bad we had gotten,” Valeria says, reaching for you as you move back, the man standing beside you, becoming a silent comforting presence, “But I don’t want it to be over.”

“I gave you as much as I could, and that wasn’t enough. So how would now be any different?”

“I can change.”

“Just between you and me,” He interjects, leaning towards you, inches from your ear, “She’s been a bitch since she was 8 and couldn’t find the tooth she had lost.”

You giggle.

“This has nothing to do with you,” She sneers, glaring up at him. He only shrugs with a slight smile.

“This is exhausting, you know,” you say, pulled together, calm, “you can’t start caring about something once it’s dead.”

“It’s not dead, it just needs to be restarted.”

You blink.

“Valeria, we’ve been dead for months.”

“We haven’t—“

“What about that marriage certificate mess?”

She pauses.

“It was for your own good, I don’t want someone finding you because of me.”

The mans head tilts a bit in your peripheral vision.

“Aside from us not legally being one anymore, you barely gave me the time of day. I could be right in front of you and you would ignore me. I was here the entire time, like a fucking little kid, waiting on you, only for you to never give me anything in return.”

“Relationships aren’t transactional,” She says, bitter. Thick with bitter. Patience running thin.

“No, they aren’t. But they do take work on both sides to work. And I can’t carry the weight of two.”

Valeria is quiet.

“I wish you had left me wandering about you, it would have saved me a lot of heartache,” you pause, “You made me feel like I was your world, then you ripped it away the minute I accepted that.”

“You like accusing me of a lot,” She snaps, the sweet glaze finally washed away, “I gave you everything I could.”

“‘Everything I could’ is disingenuous if you had to divide it three ways.”

Valeria sighs, deep, angry,

“If you would just fucking shut up for once and let me talk you would act right!” Her voice booms, flinch taking your gaze away, your head light as your thoughts block themselves out. You stand spinning, feet still but disoriented, and all of a sudden, you were small again. You were just polishing dishes to make her happy. You were throwing out that perfume you loved and she hated. You were waiting up until you fell asleep on the couch, only to wake up alone with dirty dishes to clean. You are small again.

“Garza.”

His voice cuts through the haze, confident, unwavering. His touch rests on your shoulder blade, weighing you back down on the uncomfortable reality.

“This doesn’t fucking include you.”

He sighs, his fingers gently rubbing your back, warmth seeping through your clothes.

“Could you act grown for once?”

Valeria is quiet.

“Your picket-fence has been sharp as knives. You never loved me. You wanted to collect the hearts you took.”

“I hate how you make me out to be the bad guy.”

“Valeria, I am tired of you. I am so very tired. You owe me so much sleep.”

“Why do you want to give up on us?”

You sigh. The two of you would just talk in circles until one of you died from exhaustion.

“Valeria, I could give you my heart and you would forget you had it. I could tell you time and time again the extent of my love and you would find no worth in it. I could drop everything to make a little piece of your life easier and it isn’t enough for you.”

“You were enough.”

“You say that like a faithless prayer. If I ever was enough you wouldn’t run to other people. If I was enough you wouldn’t have attacked me over a simple question. You wouldn’t assume that I was the thing that always hurt you. You wouldn’t only think of me first when something went wrong. And it doesn’t matter what I tell you, because I know you won’t believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“You haven’t believed me before,” You hesitate, the mans presence beside you evident, vulnerable, “I held out every night for you. I thought you’d notice me— not my body, not my wit, not my helpfulness— but me. And that never happened. I told you I felt bad, and I ripped my heart apart to try to get you to care, and the only thing you did with it was turn it against me. You told me I could lean on you then guilted me when I was too heavy.”

You shift, swallowing thick, trying to soothe your constraining throat,

“I remember when you acted like you loved me. You acted like I was your favorite toy, like I was the one you’d keep on your bed, the one you’d put in pretty dresses and kiss before bed. Then the minute— the fucking second— I thought you would be gentle with me, you ripped it all away. I sought after you day after day after day and I got nothing. And now I know, you had the chance to. I just wasn’t your priority.”

She stares. Your eyes tingle.

“I kept convincing myself the more attention and love I gave you, the more I’d receive. That when you didn’t reciprocate, you were just in a bad space. But it’s been years. There hasn’t been a day where I could just talk to you. And I’ve learned now you were spending them with other people. I’ve learned I’m the thing you keep in your back pocket when no one else will talk to you. I’ve learned that I’m the pretty toy you show off that you got just to throw me under your bed. I cannot imagine that you love me when I have never been what you wanted. Bad times come, but bad times don’t mean you run away from love. You go towards it. And you found it else where.”

You swollow again, choking on your own throat,

“I’ve been the stupid schoolgirl chasing someone who never looked me in the eye this entire time. And I feel stupid for it now, but I choose now to break out of it. You never claimed you love me so until we were dead and gone. You can’t dig up the corpse to hold it.”

There is silence. Your heartbeat. Your breathing. Valeria’s eyes burning into you.

“You kept me like a secret but I kept you like an oath.”

Valeria sighs.

Valeria is quiet.

Her eyes don’t meet yours.

“Go back to base, Garza. Before anymore actions are taken over this.”

“You don’t get to be in charge of me—“

“I am. Go back.”

He stands, she stands, finally moving from her place, shooting a glare over her shoulder as she slammed the door behind her, the same pots hitting the wall in her wake. A car door slamming in the same manner. Ignition. The sound leaving in the distance.

You stood, crossing your arms over yourself.

Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out.

The man beside you awkwardly shifts.

“I never got your name,” You say, a little croak in your voice.

“Rodolfo. Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra.”

You nod to yourself.

“Thank you.”

He hums a quiet response, relaxing his frame.

“I haven’t seen many to go toe to toe with her.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I would say so,” Rodolfo glances past you, “She’s always had an assertiveness to her, but it devolves into brattiness if pushed enough.”

Quiet.

“Did you two have fights like that before?”

“We’ve had a couple. I joked I would call them the Great Wars. But now I just feel maimed.”

“If I had known about you earlier, I would have warned you earlier,” his voice is soft.

“Have you known her for long?”

“Yeah, grew up in the same area. I vomited on her at her quinceañera.”

“That was you?” You ask with a soft giggle, the noise pulling a soft smile from him.

“Did she still complain about it?”

“Yeah, yeah she did. I thought it was a little silly to still be mad about.”

“I did her a favor. I got her to take off that god-awful dress without having to seduce her.”

“I take it she’s never been able to charm you?”

“No.”

You laugh at that dry response, a comfortable little smile resting on his face, looking down at you with a certain gentleness.

“I don’t handle brats very well.”

You shoot him a curious look.

“Not right now.”

You glance away.

Quiet.

“Thank you for.. all of that.”

He nods.

“I would suggest you try to leave this place. She knows the location too well.”

“I…” You start, his eyes heavy on you, “It’s embarrassing, I don’t really have a way to do that.”

“Did she emotionally trap you to believe that she would be your sole provider while using that to control you in the way she wanted so you were pushed out of any career or financial independence?”

You pause.

“Yeah I guess, sergeant therapist.”

He snickers.

He stops, thinking over your words.

“If you would like, I can set you up living accommodations. No obligation to pay me back in anyway. No obligation to stay. How does that sound?”

“If you weren’t a pretty sergeant I’d say you were trying to kidnap me.”

He shifts a bit at that, flushing a little—

Is that blush?

“Well, If I did that, I’d have Alejandro down my throat. And it’s Sergeant Major.”

“Oh, you two are like that?”

He shoots you a glare.

“You have a dirty mind.”

You giggle, his face having another little smile break out.

“no, we are not,” he says with a head shake like a disappointed father.

You think, not fully clear, but the thought of Valeria randomly popping back up evident. You wouldn’t have to hear the door slam again. The walls rattling because you didn’t win the word game, or because you did. You could do your own dishes. You could strip her from you finally, pulling out the turpentine and mineral spirits, wiping yourself clean with Ivory.

“I think we could work something out like that,” you say softly, sweetly, looking up at him properly. Two moles. Soft eyes. Longer nose than Alejandro.

“You can call me Rudy, if you’d like.”

#valeria garza #valeria call of duty #valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x you #angst #emotional manipulation #alejandro vargas #rodolfo rudy parra #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #tolerate it.#a kiss of weird rudy rizz

261 notes · View notes

alwaysbewoke · 8 months ago

Text

It's even scarier when they fake cry right in your face

#dating #manipulation #deception #relationship dynamics #emotional manipulation #toxic behavior #gender stereotypes #communication issues #trust issues

150 notes · View notes

family-trauma · 8 months ago

Text

There's nothing really subtle about it, atleast what I'm facing.

#absurd #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #mental wellbeing #toxic #toxic family #toxicity #toxic people #dysfunctional family #emotional trauma #emotional abuse #emotional harassment #emotional blackmail #emotional manipulation #family-trauma

163 notes · View notes

audreyrose7 · 1 month ago

Text

It's such a strange and unique way of fucking up your kid when you at the same time a) treat them like a personal therapist giving them problems that are decades away from anything that they could handle, and expecting the kid to actually fix your grown up problems and to listen to your trauma.

And b) at the same time never give them any real outside world responsibility, making sure that they know as little as possible about how to actually survive in the real world, like paying bills, etc.

Meanwhile making sure but all of your child's self-worth is tied to their actions, and not who they are as a person.

It's a weird little vicious circle, that is so incredibly hard to outgrow, because like I know I'm not worthless just because there might be a time when I'm not productive, and I know I don't have to fix everyone's problems, and I know that I'm a capable adult who can do all the things I need to do to survive and thrive, but my basic training for life goes against all that!

#healing #ex christian #deconstruction #atheist #thoughts #emotionally unavailable #emotional manipulation #emotionally immature parents #narcissistic father #parentification #i grew up too fast #toxic parents #toxic family #vent post #fuck you #i never got to be a kid

66 notes · View notes

furiousgoldfish · 10 months ago

Text

Living in an abusive family means constantly navigating an information warfare situation. These people will not share a shred of information unless it's beneficial to them, and will not communicate even the basic bits of information, to anyone.

Information is withheld and twisted at will. You can never know whether something you've been told has been embellished, changed, made up, or completely fake. You cannot tell whether two people behind your back have decided to give you this modified and manipulative info because they wanted something from you. You cannot tell whether someone is telling you something because it's the truth, or because they can benefit from it.

There is a mountain of information that is just withheld from you because people think it's 'better if you' don't know', or sometimes even just because it's 'bothersome to tell you' or they don't think you deserve the information. It can be as simple as, where a certain family member is, when is some event taking place, who is sick with what, who is working where, who is coming over, what has been gain or won or procured, what's for dinner, who is buying or giving something. It can even be withheld from you just to make you look stupid and embarrass you in front of others for not knowing. It can be withheld so you would be accused of 'not caring enough to ask'.

You end up playing the information war as well, because you have to conceal some of your interests, movement and actions just to protect yourself against further abuse, and to protect your privacy. You know what would be done with your private information in such environment. You sometimes have to keep completely normal things secret because your family is insane about normal things and don't think you should have any. Anything that can be used against you has to be withheld, and they know it, and will fight to pull it out from you, either by the pretense of care, or by withholding resources and threatening you to gain the information.

Living with people who use communication as a method of gaining power is stressful and the opposite of a safe and nurturing environment. If simple information about each of your family member is continuously concealed and hidden and only revealed when it can be used as an advantage, you're constantly in a situation where you know only 5% of what's going on, and the rest is waiting to be used against you. Or hidden so you would be easier to guilt and trap in lack of knowledge. Your family could be hiding resources, money, advantages and privileges they have, and making you feel guilty for being a burden on them. They could be hiding just how much money they make to make you live in poverty. They could be hiding any kind of illegal activity, affairs, crimes and secret life they have and guilt you for wanting the tiniest semblance of your own privacy. And you wouldn't even know who you're talking to because they have it easier if you don't know who you are.

The worst is they will act like you should have known the entire time, and it's you who is stupid for not having the information that is purposely withheld from you. They can make you feel stupid for their own concealment of the truth from you.

#abusive family #information warfare #withholding information to gain advantage #emotional manipulation #psychological abuse #information abuse #manipulation #abusive parents #child abuse

159 notes · View notes

whispers-whump · 6 months ago

Text

manipulation dialogue prompts

“You know that’s not what I meant by that.”

“I don’t remember that, and my memory is a lot better than yours. Are you sure that’s what happened?”

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m just the worst.”

“Why are you still holding a grudge? It’s been so long since that happened.”

“I would never do something like that.”

“Well what do you expect me to do about it?”

“You’re taking that out of context on purpose to make me look bad.”

“Listen, I’ve always tried my best.”

“Why am I the one that always has to fix things?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Feel free to add on!!

#whump #whump dialogue #whump prompts #whump prompt #prompt list #sentence starters #dialogue #manipulation #gaslighting #emotional manipulation #whumper #whumpee

104 notes · View notes

navithescribe · 9 months ago

Text

Ignorance is Bliss?

Summary:

You’ve been having the same nightmare for over a week now. At the same time, you feel as though you have been missing something from your memories for a while. A new employee at your workplace, whom you have no memory of, is missing. A bracelet has suddenly appeared around your wrist, a gift you don’t remember receiving.

Slowly, you also start suspecting your mutant boyfriend is hiding something from you…

Warnings: Yandere, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, implied murder

💜🐢💜

AO3

--------------------------------‐------------------

It was almost 1:00 in the morning. Donatello had spent all day working on a new circuit. He was close to finishing… but something was distracting him. A pair of eyes were on the back of his neck, they had been for several seconds now. 34,07 seconds to be exact.

He smiled to himself.

“How long are you planning on just standing there and just watch?” he spoke up.

He pushed up his goggles and turned around on his swivel chair to face the doorway.

There you stood, half hiding behind the door, looking at him.

You were in your pjs and held your pillow in your arms.

It was the third night in a row now, you came to him in the middle of the night.

While Donnie was working on something, which usually kept him up until the late hours of the night, you woke up and went to him because you knew he would still awake.

“Another nightmare?” he then asked right out.

You nodded.

“I’ll be right there.”

He put his tools away before getting up from his chair and walked with you to the living room area and plopped down on the couch.

You looked pale. You had dark circles under your eyes.

Donatello felt bad you had to suffer in through the nights, but it was the only way. It was for your own good…

“Tell me about it.” he commanded softly, as he reached a hand up to stroke your back your hair.

“It was the same as the others…” you muttered.

Your gaze was focused on your hands fidgeting, on your lap.

You were still wearing the beaded bracelet he had made you… Good.

“A dark figure… a man… or something else… at the end of a long hallway…” Your voice was so quiet, “it kept demanding I returned to him… that I could never escape…”

“It’s only a dream, darling.” Donnie kissed your head.

“I know but-“

“But what?”

“… It feels like more than just a dream.” You sighed.

Donnie felt a lump grow in his throat. Dear god, don’t let them realise…

“It feels like… like a memory.” You finally said it.

Donnie pulled you close, hugging you tightly.

“It was only a dream.” He murmured more slowly.

You went quiet.

There was no way you could remember.

You shouldn’t remember.

He made sure of that…

It had all started with an argument three weeks ago.

You had found out he had hacked your phone, spying on you through it.

He was only looking out for you.

There really had been no need for you to get so angry…

He thought you would get over it.

You did not get over it.

After three days of not answering his calls or texts, he decided to check on you… not through your phone, but for real.

He waited for you outside your apartment.

You were furious.

It was ridiculous! Why were you so upset? He had just tried to look out for you, it was no big deal really. He had just gone through your messages and listened in on your calls, maybe checked on you through your phone’s camera.

He did his best to explain this to you, but you just wouldn’t listen, even when he promised he wouldn’t do it again.

You threw him out of the building.

He tried again.

The next day, the turtle waited for you outside your workplace and approached you when you walked out of the building.

You wouldn’t talk to him and just walked away.

This was frustrating beyond belief!

If only you hadn’t found out about him hacking your phone…

Then an idea popped into the purple-clad genius’s head.

What if he could make you forget he had hacked your phone?

After a couple of days working tirelessly in his lab, he had done it. He had made you the perfect gift!

You had always loved his homemade gifts, so this was sure to work right?

He went straight for your apartment, knocking on your door.

You didn’t answer. Strange. You were usually home at this hour, it was past 5 pm.

He heard footsteps coming his way and he swiftly hid behind a corner to observe.

He saw you, and… someone else. Someone he didn’t know… and he knew of all your friends and family.

The stranger was male, tall, dark hair, wore a dark grey coat and blue jeans.

He was smiling at you.

You were holding hands.

The ninja felt his body tense. His hands curled into fists.

Just who did this stranger think he was, walking you home? Holding your hand? Were you planning on inviting him in?

“Thank you taking me out to lunch, I really needed a distraction.” You smiled to the stranger.

Donatello saw you reach down the pocket of your keys.

“It was the least I could do,” the stranger spoke with a chuckle, “you looked like you needed some cheering up. Besides, you’ve been kind enough to show me the ropes at work.”

“It’s always hard starting a new place, don’t think about it.” you now chuckled too.

Donatello’s face darkened.

Did this loser think he was good enough to get close to you? Did he think he could take advantage of your kindness?

No, he would not let this happen.

You were his!

He emerged from his hiding place, just as you were about to open the door to your apartment and pulled out his tech-bo.

You noticed him approach.

“Donnie?” Your voice sounded worried.

He would soon fix that.

He would fix all of it.

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

You woke up, finding yourself in your boyfriend’s arms just outside your apartment.

You felt dizzy and disoriented. Your head was pounding.

What had just happened?

Why were you outside your apartment and not inside?

“Hey, you okay darling?” the voice of your boyfriend sounded.

You looked up to meet the purple masked turtle’s eyes.

He looked worried. His hand reached your forehead, stroking a lock of your hair aside.

“What just happened?” you muttered, as you were helped to your feet.

You didn’t get an answer right away. Or maybe you did, but you didn’t hear it? You weren’t sure, everything felt muffled for some reason.

Donnie helped you back inside your apartment and placed you on your couch.

He went to your kitchen to make you tea.

You tried remembering what had just happened… You felt completely out of it, as if you had just woken up from a deep sleep.

You then noticed something on your wrist: A silver bracelet with a purple heart-shaped charm attached to it. Where had that come from?

“Do you like it?” You looked up to see Donatello come back with a cup of hot tea for you, “I made it just for you.”

“When did you give this to me?” you asked confused.

“Today.” He smirked.

You looked back at the bracelet. Why couldn’t you remember?

Or… maybe you did remember? You did feel like you could remember Donnie putting it on you.

Everything felt foggy and far away in your mind…

“You fainted,” the turtle spoke before you could even ask again what had happened, “in the hallway and you hit your head it seems. Do you feel dizzy? Nauseas maybe?”

“No, I- I’m fine.”

“You just need some rest.” He handed you the tea.

You took a sip and immediately felt better. The scent was soothing.

“You didn’t answer my question before,” Donnie sat down next to you, “Do you like the bracelet?” he held up your hand, looking at the bracelet around your wrist, as if he was inspecting it.

“Yes!” your quickly blurted and put down the mug of tea. “Sorry, I haven’t thanked you, right? Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

“Good.” He smiled softly and leaned in, kissing your forehead and holding you close against his chest. He was being very affectionate, more than usual that is, “I’m so glad we’re together again…”

What?

“Again?” you asked, confused.

“Uh- nothing.” He shook his head and gave you one last squeeze before letting you go.

Something felt off though…

You looked around your space in the living room, though you weren’t sure what exactly you were trying to find.

“We… we were alone just now, right?” you asked in an unsure voice.

“Of course we’re alone,” he chuckled, “why are you asking?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… wasn’t there someone else in the hallway with us a little while ago?”

Donatello didn’t answer.

Instead, he went on a ramble about some new project he was working on, something about a new charging station for Shelldon.

Why wouldn’t he answer your question?

That night, you woke up out of breath and drenched in sweat.

A nightmare.

You couldn’t remember much, but it had been bad enough to wake you. It was weird. You weren’t prone to nightmares usually. You were quite a heavy sleeper normally.

You remembered a shadowed figure, at the corner of a long hallway… but not much else…

You reached for your phone to check the time and noticed a text message from Donatello.

I love you <3

That was all it said.

You smiled softly and tried to go back to sleep, while stroking the charm of the bracelet around your wrist.

“Uh, Y/n, we already sent in these papers two weeks ago, why are you working on them again?” your colleague looked over your shoulder as you worked in your booth.

You looked back at her, confused.

“What do you mean? Didn’t we just start on it the other day?”

Your colleague gave you strange look.

It had been like this all day. It was like you had been away from work without even realising it. New projects were already being worked on, though you could’ve sworn you had yet to finish paperwork from the last project…

You had even gotten the date wrong. You were much further into the month than you thought. Had the days just gone by so fast and you just didn’t realise?

You also kept overhearing your colleagues talk about someone named Owen. Who was this Owen? You overheard conversations of others, who were wondering why he hadn’t shown up today and no one could get a hold of him.

Was this Owen a new client or something?

“You went out to lunch with Owen yesterday, right?” you then heard another colleague ask you, “Did he say something about not showing up today?”

What the hell was going on?

Once your day (your very weird day) was over, and you got back to your apartment building, you suddenly found yourself frozen in front of your door.

A sense of dread and panic came over you, as if someone had just dropped a bucket of cold water all over you.

Your heart was racing, your palms felt sweaty, and you felt nauseous out of nowhere.

You looked over your shoulder, as if you expected someone was behind you… or behind the corner?

You quickly unlocked your door and rushed inside to the safety of your small living space and immediately locked the door behind you.

“Y/n? Y/n!”

You were immediately snapped out of your thoughts, “What?”

“You weren’t listening to a word I said just now, were you?” Donatello frowned annoyed, crossing his arms.

It had been five days since you fainted in the hallway.

You were hanging out in the turtles’ lair with Donatello, in his lab.

“Sorry… I guess I was pretty far away just now.” You rubbed the back of your head and tried to smile.

But your boyfriend’s face shifted to a look of worry, seeing through your pathetic attempt of a smile.

“Are you feeling okay? You look tired.”

You glanced the other way, hesitating.

“I… haven’t been sleeping well lately,” You admitted, “I’ve been having nightmares this past week and… they’re only getting worse.”

Donnie put his hands on your shoulders, and you immediately looked back at him, and saw him stare closely at your face as if he were looking for something.

“… Why haven’t you said anything?” His voice was now serious.

“I don’t know, I –“ you caught yourself short. Why hadn’t you told him? You told Donnie everything. For some reason, the thought of telling him about your nightmares gave you the same feeling of dread, like when you stood in front of the door to your apartment whenever you got home from work now. Was it paranoia, maybe? You honestly couldn’t tell. It was as if something was missing… like the days you had apparently forgotten had already passed at work… like you had apparently forgotten Owen, your supposed new colleague.

“It’s alright, darling.” You felt the purple-clad turtle take your hand, which was fidgeting with your bracelet, and he gently forced it away from your wrist as if he was afraid, you might accidently break it. His voice was softer now.

“Why don’t you stay here a couple of nights? We’ll get this sorted out.” He offered you a smile.

Was it just you… or did he sound kind guilty when he spoke?

You took him up on his offer.

Donnie did everything he could to distract you. You watched your favourite movies together, played video games, info-dumped you about his latest projects, even going on small walks before bedtime.

But it didn’t stop the nightmares…

You kept seeing that shadowed figure charging towards you, yelling at you… demanding you.

“I’m sure you’ve just been working too hard.”

“You’re stressed, obviously.”

“You just need more rest.”

“You’re thinking too much about it.”

“They’re only dreams.”

Donnie kept telling you this.

And yet… there was an eerie feeling about your dreams you just couldn’t shake off.

It was as if they became clearer.

A shadow in the corner of a hallway came charging towards you. A distorted voice demanding you to return to them.

Someone screaming…

The name Owen suddenly popped into your mind. That was the name of the supposed new employee at your workplace, right? You didn’t know why you suddenly started thinking about that name when remembering your nightmares…

On the third night of you staying in the lair, after you had been woken from your nightmares again, like clockwork now, you had gone to find Donnie just like the other two nights.

He sat with you on the couch, comforting you and cuddling you like he always did when you didn’t feel well.

He stroked your wrist where your bracelet was, constantly, as if he kept making sure you were wearing it.

He repeated again and again your nightmares were only dreams, nothing more… but he didn’t sound so convincing anymore. In fact, he sounded kind of… nervous?

When you tried telling him you were starting to believe the nightmares were memories, he dismissed it.

He led you back to his bedroom and got into bed with you.

He fell asleep after a while, holding you close to him, being the big spoon. You could feel his chest rising and falling against your back.

You, however, couldn’t sleep…

You felt uneasy.

A somewhat unsettling thought had entered your mind:

Donnie wouldn’t lie if he thought something was actually wrong with me… right?

Surely, he wouldn’t hide anything from you…

You thought about his voice, how it sounded… uncertain, when you spoke about your nightmares.

You thought about how he had seemed to be extra affectionate as of late.

“I’m so glad we’re together again…”

You couldn’t seem to get that sentence out of your head. What had he meant by that?

You looked down at the bracelet around your wrist and ran your fingers against the purple heart-charm. It was nice and smooth to touch.

You hadn’t taken it off since Donnie gave it to you.

In fact… it had felt like he kept checking, to make sure you always wore it…

No, that was silly… you were being paranoid…

It was a lovely gift, and he had probably spent a lot of time and effort to make it just for you, of course he’d want you to wear it.

You weren’t sure why, but you suddenly felt the urge to take it off. It was as if something inside you told you the answer to all your questions of late would be answered, if you took it off. It was stupid… but still…

Ever so slowly, you started slipping it off your wrist.

But before you managed to take it off completely, your hand was suddenly stopped by Donnie’s, who grabbed your hand.

Startled, you felt your heart skip a beat. His grip was tight, it almost hurt. You hadn’t realised at all he had woken up.

“Don’t take it off, darling…” he murmured.

Your whole body tensed. The way he said that made your heart race. You palms started sweating and a sense of panic washed over you… but you weren’t sure why…

“Please…” you then heard his voice whisper, almost pleading as his other hand slipped your bracelet back in place on your wrist, “I need you to trust me… Everything will be okay… just don’t take it off…”

‐------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed the story. 😊

It has been a rough start to the new year for me, not only because I was sick, but because I'm still dealing with a lot of hard things in my life right now. For a while, I had a lot of good days, where I could write and be creative, but the last couple of months have been tough, and I find myself not really having the energy to do anything, so I'm really happy I managed to write this story.

310 notes · View notes

fleur-a-whump · 4 months ago

Text

Overloaded (#2)

late night sparks

guys guess what!! little villain guy has a name!! it’s Jasper and we love him dearly. also team leader’s got a name too, it’s Miguel, but we don’t really care about him because he’s a bitch. plus new character reveal: Chase, a teammate. he is also, unsurprisingly, a bitch.

Content: ex-villain whumpee, hero/leader whumper, manipulative whumper, collars, electrocution (for realsies this time), implied referenced abuse of a minor, referenced bullying, bad team dynamics, adult language

in which Miguel gets worse. takes place probably a few months after "preventative measures"

previous | masterlist | next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jasper's back was sore. And his arms. And his everything.

He sat kneeling on the kitchen floor, determinately ignoring the pins and needles that pricked at his calves. He couldn't stop, couldn't take a break till the floor was spotless. Chase had once again threatened some mixture of violence and telling on him to Miguel for insubordination if he didn't do the man's chores.

Big man-child, Jasper thought bitterly.

So, here he was, scrubbing well past midnight, after having spent the day straining his powers in the lab and doing his own chores.

Jasper sat back to indulge a long, dramatic yawn. He nearly jumps out of his skin when an impatient ahem cuts through the previously dead silent kitchen. His bleary eyes take several long moments to focus on Miguel, leaning against the doorway. The hero would look casual if it weren’t for the peeved look on his face. Jasper’s stomach does a somersault.

Sheepish, Jasper drawls, “Heyyy, Miguel…”

Miguel is not amused. “What the fuck are you doing out here,” he snaps.

Jasper squeezes his hands into fists to quell the tremors. He stutters, “J-just cleaning.”

The villain can hardly finish the statement before the unsettling and painful electricity of the collar arcs through him. His muscles seize and ache and burn and it feels like death and he can't breathe—

Just as quickly as it began, the electricity stops. He gasps and collapses to the side, just barely able to catch himself on his forearm. Small, choked-off whimpers escape him as he tries to catch his breath and keep his volume to a minimum. His father never liked to hear him whine.

Jasper continues to shudder as his powers go haywire. The typically comforting restless skittering of his own electricity under his skin now burns as it travels across the newly fried neurons. More than that, it feels wrong for such a core part of his being to cause him pain. The feeling is everywhere, from the tip of his nose to his toes, and it is everything. Little sparks and crackles of energy fly from his shaking hands as it becomes too painful to completely contain his powers. Simply existing—not to mention actually using his powers—will be painful while his body tries to recover from the unnaturally strong current, engineered just for him.

As his body gradually backs down from its state of panic, ire at the punishment surges within him. The hero didn’t even let him explain. It was Chase who ordered him to do his chores; ordered him to not leave this room until it was spotless.

“I was just following orders!” he bursts.

Oh shit.

A quick glance at Miguel and his quirked eyebrow lets him know just how badly he just fucked up. And even if it didn't, the second burst of electricity from the collar definitely spells it out for him.

A guttural groan escapes his clenched teeth as he feels the current worm its way through his neurons, igniting them. The burning, all-encompassing pain is all he knows. Spots cloud his vision. Seconds feel like minutes, feel like hours, feel like eternity, until he wonders if that's all he'll ever feel. Nothing but the gut-wrenching pain of his greatest gift, so deeply intertwined with his being, turned against him and ripping him apart from the inside out.

And then, it stops.

Jasper’s body fully gives out this time, his chin bouncing off the tile and teeth clacking painfully. He's a pitiful mess of useless limbs. His muscles feel like jelly and yet are still forced to endure the waves of aftershock, twitching and spasming irregularly. Each movement is agony.

He gulps oxygen, having still been out of breath from the first shock. He can hardly hear his own moans and whimpers bouncing around the kitchen with each breath over the ringing in his ears, and he has zero energy to control them this time.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he can't help the delayed but violent flinch that ripples through him. But the hand is soft, gentle, as it pulls him to lie on his back. It guides his hand to rest on someone's chest, to follow as it rises and falls rhythmically. He latches onto it, using it as a guide to breathe and bring himself back to reality. Another hand gently cards through his loose curls as he works to steady his breathing and his vision clears. If he eagerly leans into the gentle touch, well, he can blame it on his delirious state.

When Miguel's face finally comes into focus above him, a shiver runs through him, and he averts his gaze. He'll blame that on his still-spasming muscles.

Miguel’s soft voice calls for his attention again. He focuses back on his leader’s face, haloed above him by the bright kitchen lights.

“There you are. You're alright, it's okay,” he soothes.

The hero lets Jasper relish the contact a moment longer before gently returning his hand to his own chest.

Jasper swallows the whimper at the loss.

Miguel lets out a long-suffering sigh. It gives Jasper whiplash how suddenly the familiar weight of anxiety settles back in his chest.

“I don't like doing that, man. You know better than to be in the common areas after your curfew, and you definitely know better than to talk back, bud. I don't wanna have to punish you, but the rules are rules for a reason. Yeah, they're to protect the team, but they're also to protect you. What if you'd had another episode with your powers?”

He decidedly doesn’t think about the ‘episodes’ Miguel is referring to. Still, the disappointment in his savior's voice hurt almost as much as the electricity. His eyes flood with tears as guilt settles like a rock in his stomach. The hero was right. He knew the rules, and he agreed to them. Anything to stay. Anything to be good.

His voice breaks, small and shaky, as he says, “I-I'm really s-sorry, Mig-guel.”

The villain’s not one hundred percent sure what exactly he's sorry for, but, fuck, is he sorry.

“Okay, that's alright, don't cry. I think you've learned your lesson. You're fine.”

The words should be comforting. The edge to his tone, however, is not. Jasper blinks hard to clear the tears, not wanting to annoy him. That was another thing his father didn't like.

Miguel brings him back to the present, asking, “Why are you cleaning the floor anyways? That's not on your list for this week.”

Jasper swallows hard past the lump still in his throat. He’s afraid of what Chase will do to him if he tells Miguel and Miguel decides he doesn’t like that. However, he’s more “Chase s-said I should be busy all the t-time to k-keep me out of trouble…”

Miguel hums in thought, ever casual as Jasper trembles on the floor below of him.

“I actually like that idea. We wouldn't want you getting bored. You'd be helping the team out a lot too, taking some work off our plates so we can train more. I'll work on the new chore schedule in the morning.”

Jasper bit his lip. He could read between the lines.

“A-and, my training?”

“We can reduce it some,” Miguel says, thoughtful. “I know you've been struggling to keep up.”

He makes it sound like a kindness, voice full of sympathy. No matter how gentle the tone, Jasper has to blink the tears from his eyes again. He knew he wasn't the strongest or the most capable, but that was the point of training. He'd never be good enough to redeem himself without the chance to train.

Miguel sighs again and stands. He suddenly reaches towards him. Jasper has to carefully control the urge to flinch, not knowing what to expect from the movement. He never knows what to expect.

Miguel simply holds it out towards him, however, expectantly. It takes Jasper a moment to realize he's trying to help him up. He takes the hand after that moment's hesitation and wavers on unsteady feet as the blood finally rushes back into his legs. He blinks spots from his vision, gripping Miguel for dear life until he's sure he's not going to pass out.

The hero gives him an easy smile, clapping a hand on his shoulder just a bit too hard. He nudges him in the direction of the bedrooms.

“You look tired, man. I think it's time for bed,” he all but coos.

It sounds like a caring gesture, or at the very least a joke. Jasper knows it's an order.

He dutifully mumbles, “Goodnight,” before making his way to the door slowly. He knows he probably looks like a newborn fawn as his jittery body tries to carry him to his bed.

“And Jasper?”

A slight jolt of anxiety stops him as he turns back to his leader.

“If I catch you out past curfew again, we're going to have an issue worth more than a little jolt, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the villain says, too tired to bite back the honorific once totally engrained in him.

He doesn't notice the way Miguel preens at the submission.

“Attaboy, Jasper. Goodnight.”

The praise rings hollow after the night's events, but as he makes his way back to his room, dead on his feet, he allows the praise to warm him.

He'll take what he can get.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

jasper doesn't deserve this :( but he will get more >:)

tags!! lmk if you wanna be added (or removed, I added some extra people)!!

@whumpsday

@sergeant-jasper (yo i didn't even realize lol)

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@crystalrose141

@aloafofbreadwithanxiety

@paingoes

@elizaisnotokay

@quaggasus

#ex villain whumpee #villain whumpee #hero whumper #manipulative whumper #emotional manipulation #heroes and villains #shock collar #electrocution #team whump #bad team dynamics #whump #whump fic #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #god so many tags #guys im stressed this is scary #overloaded

118 notes · View notes

urstalkergf · 20 days ago

Text

46 notes · View notes

inevitablysomber-dark · 2 months ago

Text

Under The Radar 1

Started a new AU called Affectionate Obsession, with Steve Rogers as the first Character Story Series to be told I hope you all enjoy and don't be afraid to tell me what you think.

Dark! Steve Roger x Kiwi! Reader

Warnings:

This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, power imbalance, dubious consent, toxic relationships, and psychological control. It deals with difficult subjects such as forced dependency and mental/emotional abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Description: Kiwi thought she had her life under control—until a chance invitation to the Maldives from her former friend pulls her into a web of manipulation and control. What starts as a luxurious vacation turns into a slow descent into captivity as Steve, the wealthy man funding her escape from reality, begins to tighten his grip on her life. Now trapped in a toxic relationship where affection becomes control, Kiwi must navigate a world where every decision is made for her, every boundary crossed, and escape seems impossible.

Is it too late to reclaim her freedom, or will she succumb to the life Steve has crafted for her?

Story Masterlist

The low hum of the factory machinery buzzed in my ears as I sat in the breakroom, staring at the sad sandwich I’d slapped together this morning. How did I end up here? After years of hard work and late-night study sessions, my Finance degree didn’t seem to mean anything anymore. Instead of crunching numbers and living the life I’d dreamed of, I was here—packaging cardboard boxes and watching my future slip away.

I glanced down at my phone, a knot forming in my throat. Rent was coming up in two weeks, and I had no idea how I was going to scrape the money together. The thought of moving back in with my parents twisted my stomach in knots. No way could I go back to their judgmental looks, the snide remarks about my life choices, or their constant need to belittle everything I’ve done. I'd rather sleep on a park bench than deal with that.

My phone buzzed on the table, jolting me from my thoughts. I looked down at the screen and felt my heart sink a little deeper.

Sharon.

Of all the people who could be reaching out, she was the last person I expected—or wanted—to hear from. We hadn’t spoken since graduation, and that was by design. Things between us hadn’t ended well, and the fact that she was contacting me now couldn’t mean anything good.

With a sigh, I swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Wow, you actually picked up," Sharon's voice dripped with that same smugness that always made me grit my teeth. "I wasn’t sure if you were still alive."

I rolled my eyes, immediately regretting answering. "Yeah, still kicking. How are you?" I shot back, not even trying to hide my sarcasm.

"Fabulous, of course." Her voice was so sugary sweet it made my stomach churn. "Anyway, I’ll get to the point. A few of us are going on a trip—Maldives. One-month private villa. You should come."

I blinked, trying to process what she’d just said. A month-long vacation in the Maldives? Out of nowhere?

"Uh… I don’t think I can," I muttered, the discomfort rising up my spine. "I’m working right now, and I can’t afford a trip like that."

There was a brief silence, followed by Sharon’s familiar, annoyed huff. "Steve’s paying for everything, so don’t worry about that."

As if money was the only issue. I shook my head, feeling my frustration rise. "It’s not just about money. I can’t take off from work for two months."

"Why not?" she snapped, sounding genuinely confused, like the concept of having to work to survive was foreign to her. "Just quit."

I almost laughed at how ridiculous she sounded. "I can’t just quit, Sharon. I need this job. Some of us actually have bills to pay."

"Whatever," she sighed, clearly losing interest. "Look, if you change your mind, you’ve got three months to figure it out. We’re leaving in July."

I clenched my jaw, fighting back a smart remark. "I’ll let you know."

And with that, she hung up.

I stared at the phone, my mind spinning. Why now? Why was Sharon suddenly interested in inviting me on this extravagant trip after all this time? After everything that happened?

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I shook off the nagging feeling. Whatever she and her clique were up to, I wasn’t about to fall for it. Not this time.

I had more pressing things to worry about—like making it through the rest of my shift without falling apart.

***

Three weeks after Sharon’s call, I found myself standing in the manager’s office, trying to make sense of the words coming out of her mouth.

“Budget cuts,” Diane said flatly, as if that explained everything.

“But I’m the only one being fired,” I pointed out, confusion mixing with anger. “How does that make sense?”

Diane shrugged, clearly uninterested. “It’s just how things are.”

I knew better than to push back too much, but it still gnawed at me. Budget cuts? No way. This factory wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, but I’d seen plenty of new hires lately. So why me?

As I walked out of her office, I thought back to the time I’d corrected Diane on… well, something trivial. She’d been going on about a new process we had to follow, and I’d pointed out a mistake in her instructions. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. I remembered she’d gone all red in the face, tight-lipped, and I could tell she didn’t appreciate being corrected, but it seemed like she was over it.

Did she have something to do with this? It didn’t make sense. I was practically invisible at the factory. Why would she care?

Still, it stung. Whatever the real reason, I was out of a job.

A few weeks later, my luck hadn’t changed. I spent every waking moment job hunting, praying something would come through before the end of the month. But it didn’t.

When it became clear I couldn’t afford my rent anymore, I had to make a decision: drown in debt or swallow my pride and move back in with my parents.

I hated the idea. But bills were piling up, and the pressure was too much, so I chose my parents.

The moment I walked through the door with my boxes, my mom took it upon herself to help me unpack—which, of course, meant a nonstop commentary on all the poor decisions I’d made in life.

“I told you this would happen,” she said, folding one of my shirts with military precision. “You never listen. You should have stayed closer to home, gone into something practical. But no, you wanted to follow your dreams.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to snap. It was always the same speech: how I should’ve done this, should’ve done that. As if I didn’t feel bad enough already. But I stayed quiet, nodding along while she reminded me just how incapable I was.

I’d been living with my parents for a month and a half now, and I was at my breaking point. Their constant nagging, the tension, the way they hovered over me—it was driving me insane. I needed out.

One week before Sharon and the girls were set to leave for the Maldives, I caved. Desperation took over, and I found myself texting Sharon, asking if there was still space for me on the trip.

Honestly, I didn’t expect her to respond. But then, there it was: a yes. Along with a list of things to pack and an address of where to meet them.

I stared at my phone in disbelief for a second. I was actually going to do this. Anything to get away from my parents.

When I told them about the trip, their reaction was immediate approval. Of course, the second they heard Sharon and Steve would be there, they were practically pushing me out the door.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” my mom beamed. “Sharon’s such a successful young woman. You should really try to get back on her good side.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course they loved Sharon. She was everything they wanted me to be—successful, put together, and always in the right circles. And Steve? They practically worshiped the guy. The heir to a tech empire. Who wouldn’t?

“Just make sure there’s no more falling outs this time,” my dad added, like I’d ever intentionally ruined things with Sharon.

I remembered the first time I told them about our fallout. They acted like I’d told them I was addicted to drugs, and they never really forgave me for it.

Now, it seemed I was being given a second chance to make everything “right.”

And honestly? I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but at this point, I’d do anything to get away from here.

***

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole trip might be some elaborate prank. I half-expected to show up and find a hidden camera crew waiting to embarrass me. But here I was, standing in front of a private jet, struggling with my heavy luggage.

“Need a hand?” a man’s voice cut through my thoughts. Before I could even respond, he was already taking my bags, prying them from my grip with an ease that felt almost dismissive.

"Uh, thanks," I muttered, watching him haul the luggage up the steps of the jet. Was this even real?

Inside, Sharon was waiting, her bright smile as fake as I remembered. “Kiwi! Oh my God, look at you!” Her eyes swept over me, lingering on all the wrong places. “Still… you,” she added, her tone too sharp to be anything close to nice.

“Yeah,” I replied, biting back the instinct to roll my eyes. Same old Sharon. Still poking at me for being shorter and curvier than the rest of them. “Still me.”

I looked to Natasha, Jane and Pepper and waved before following them into the Private Jet.

Sharon smirked, gesturing toward the jet's sleek interior. “Welcome aboard. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve ridden in anything like this?”

I didn’t bother with a response. There were a million reasons why I didn’t fly on private jets, one being that I couldn’t afford too, but it wasn’t worth the energy. I followed Sharon inside, catching sight of the group lounging around like they belonged there.

Steve was the first to greet me, his golden hair practically glowing in the soft light as he flashed that easy smile. “Hey, Kiwi,” he said, patting the seat beside him. His tone was friendly—maybe a little too friendly—but I hesitated. Before I could move, Natasha grabbed my arm and steered me toward a different seat.

“We saved you a spot over here!” Natasha chimed, squeezing my arm with just a bit too much excitement. She shot a quick glance at Steve, then back at me, like there was something I wasn’t picking up on.

Peter was already seated across from me, leaning back with a casual confidence that made me uncomfortable. His dark eyes met mine for a split second, and he gave a small nod. There was nothing awkward or out of place about him—if anything, he looked like he belonged here. Like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Glad you could make it,” Peter said, his voice smooth and low. There was something about the way he said it, something that felt off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

The conversations around me were light, but every now and then, I’d catch something—a quick glance between Steve and Peter, a soft chuckle from one of the boys, or Sharon’s eyes sparkling with something that wasn’t amusement. It felt like they were all in on something, like the air was thick with an inside joke I wasn’t a part of.

I tried to brush it off, joining in on the small talk and ignoring the strange tension. But with every shared look between the boys, every lingering gaze from Sharon, that unease just kept creeping back.

It was like they were waiting for something.

Something I wasn’t in on.

***

I stirred awake to the gentle shake of my shoulder and a soft voice calling my name. “Hey, Kiwi, we’ve landed,” Natasha said, with a small grin, wiping her own hands on her lap. “You’ve got a little drool there.”

Still groggy, I wiped at the side of my mouth, feeling my face flush as I tried to erase the evidence of my nap. I sat up, blinking a few times, trying to get my bearings. When I looked around, I noticed the plane was emptier than before.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.

Natasha stretched, her arms raising above her head. “They already headed to the villa. I guess they didn’t want to disturb you.”

I glanced over at Peter, still slouched in his seat, eyes closed, completely knocked out. The soft rise and fall of his chest made him look so peaceful, like the weight of the world wasn’t even a concern. He hadn’t noticed anything either.

Natasha smirked, shrugging. “I felt bad leaving you two alone, so I stayed back.”

I looked between Natasha and Peter, my stomach twisting. “Oh… right,” I muttered, feeling a familiar awkwardness settle over me. My head dropped slightly. It wasn’t the first time I felt like an outsider with these people, but moments like this seemed to make it worse.

Natasha didn’t say anything, but she gave me a look, one that spoke volumes without needing words. Then she moved toward Peter, giving him a nudge. He jolted awake, eyes wide as if he had no idea where he was. “Where is everyone?” he asked, his voice a little too casual.

Natasha repeated the same thing she told me, though this time, there was a teasing edge to her tone. “They left for the villa, but I didn’t want to leave you two sleeping on the plane.”

Peter ran a hand through his messy hair, giving a lazy stretch before standing up. I wondered if I was overthinking things, but Natasha’s earlier look stayed in the back of my mind.

“Alright, let’s catch up,” Peter said, flashing that easygoing smile of his.

As soon as I stepped off the plane, the warm, salty air hit me, carrying the scent of the ocean and sun. Waiting outside was a sleek black car, ready to take us to the villa. Peter led the way, while Natasha shot me an encouraging smile, like she knew exactly what I was thinking but wouldn’t say it out loud.

But once we got in the car, the excitement that had been bubbling inside me during the plane ride started to fizzle. Reality was sinking in, fast. I stared out the window as the scenery blurred by, and that familiar, sinking feeling crept in.

What am I even doing here?

Every part of me was screaming that this was a mistake. I didn’t belong here. These people had made me feel out of place back then—why would now be any different? I had spent so much time trying to distance myself from them, so why was I here now, in the same circle that made me feel like I wasn’t enough?

Was it going to be like this the entire trip? A constant feeling of not fitting in? The idea of spending two months like this, constantly questioning why I came, made my chest tighten.

I imagined stopping the car right there, getting out, and figuring out a way to go home. But how? I came here with them, and I was stuck until they decided to leave. There wasn’t exactly an easy way out.

I sighed, feeling a knot form in my throat as the tears threatened to well up. But I fought them back, forcing myself to take a deep breath. ‘Hold it together,’ I told myself. There was no way I was going to fall apart in front of Peter, Natasha, or anyone else.

I stared out at the horizon, the villa still nowhere in sight, trying to clear the anxious storm swirling inside me. I would just have to figure this out somehow. I always did.

***

When Natasha, Peter, and I finally arrived at the villa, the others had already claimed their rooms. The place was breathtaking—open spaces, stunning ocean views, and a luxurious atmosphere that screamed money. I was almost tempted to be impressed until Sharon appeared, smug as ever, pointing to the far side of the villa.

"Natasha, Peter, your rooms are down the hall," she said with a wave of her hand before turning to me. Without a word or explanation, she just motioned to the other side of the villa, not even bothering to look me in the eye.

I stood there for a second, waiting for...something. Maybe an explanation, a reason for the sudden isolation, but nothing. No one said anything. Natasha gave me a quick, apologetic glance, but even she stayed quiet.

“Guess I'm on my own then.”

I walked in the direction Sharon had pointed, my suitcase bumping against my heels as I made my way down the corridor. The villa was massive, sprawling in all directions, but as I got closer to my room, I noticed how much plainer and utilitarian the space became. The opulence of the rest of the villa seemed to vanish the farther I went.

And then I found it—a small, one-off room that looked like it had been tacked on as an afterthought. My stomach twisted as I stepped inside. It didn’t have the same elegance as the other rooms I’d seen. The furniture was basic, the decor minimal, and there was no sign of the luxury that was displayed on the other side of the villa.

It looked like a remodeled servant’s quarter. I knew the vibe all too well. Being around people like Sharon, I had seen enough servant quarters to know what one looked like, no matter how much they tried to pretty it up.

I stood there for a moment, soaking it all in. There had to be at least one or two other rooms left over in this massive villa, but I wasn’t given one of those. No, this room was chosen specifically for me. The message was loud and clear: *Know your place. *

I set my suitcase down with a sigh, biting back the frustration swelling in my chest. I should have expected this. I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the invite.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my half-unpacked suitcase, trying to figure out a game plan for the next two months. The thought of spending all that time with these people—people who barely knew me, or worse, remembered me only for what I wasn’t—made my stomach twist. I didn’t want to be ignored the entire trip, but becoming a complete recluse would probably just make things worse. What if they just... left me behind?

The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I got. The walls seemed to inch closer, squeezing the air out of the room. My anxiety gnawed at me from the inside. Was this really worth getting away from my parents?

Before I could spiral any further, a light knock on the doorframe jolted me from my thoughts. I turned to see Natasha standing there with a soft smile and a casual “Hey.”

I forced a smile in return. "Hey," I said, trying to sound less flustered than I felt.

Natasha stepped inside, looking around the room before glancing back at me. “Nice room,” she commented.

I glanced at her, trying to figure out if she was joking. Was she being serious? Because this room—my room—was anything but nice. It was clearly the smallest, most tucked-away space in the entire villa. My little corner of the world, far from everyone else.

“Yeah,” I muttered, not sure what else to say.

“They’re about to get ready for lunch in like two minutes,” Natasha added, a little too breezily, as if she hadn’t noticed how awkward this all felt.

"Okay," I said, figuring that was her cue to leave. But instead of leaving, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her gaze still fixed on me, like she was waiting for something.

I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do next. “Was there… something else?” I asked, hesitantly, trying to figure out what this impromptu visit was really about.

Natasha took a deep breath, still staring me down before stating “Sharon invited you to keep Peter busy.”

I froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief as Natasha’s words settled in. "Wait… what do you mean I was invited to keep Peter busy?"

Natasha’s shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze for a moment before facing me again "Look, it wasn’t meant to be a big deal. Sharon didn’t want things to be awkward, you know? If you didn’t come, there would've been an odd number, and Steve didn’t want to leave Peter behind."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So, I was invited to… what? Be Peter’s distraction?”

She shrugged, looking almost apologetic. "Well, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. You two are both nice people, right? It’s not like it was meant to offend you or anything"

I stared at her, still trying to process this. Peter? Then it hit me.

"What about Clementine?" I asked, my curiosity spiking. Last I heard, she and Peter were still together. Sure, she hadn’t been on the plane, but I figured maybe she was meeting up with us later. They were inseparable, after all.

Natasha shrugged again, but there was something uneasy in her eyes this time. "I don’t know. Sharon thinks they broke up, but…"

"But?" I pressed, sensing there was more to it.

She sighed, glancing away. "Clementine kind of just… disappeared. She stopped coming around, and Peter stopped talking about her. It’s weird, though. I don’t think anyone really knows what happened."

The room suddenly felt colder, and the walls seemed to close in again. Clementine disappeared? And now I was supposed to… what? Be Peter's distraction? None of this made sense, and yet, it felt like I was being pulled into something I wasn’t ready for.

I stared at Natasha, my mind spinning as she casually shrugged off the fact that Clementine had just disappeared. Clementine wasn’t the kind of girl to just vanish without a trace. She was... put together. Confident, smart, driven. The kind of girl who had her entire life mapped out from the moment she could walk.

Clementine had been a scholarship kid, just like me, but that’s where our similarities ended. She had that type of grace and poise that people like me only dreamed of. I remember seeing her around campus, always looking so polished, so in control, even though she came from a background as modest as mine. She had Peter wrapped around her finger—he adored her. At least, that’s what I’d always thought. They were practically inseparable.

The last time I heard anything about her, she was starting some fancy job after graduation, and Peter was supposedly gearing up to propose. That’s what people like Clementine did. She climbed the ladder, no matter where she came from, and she always seemed to have everything fall perfectly into place.

I couldn't wrap my head around this. How did she go from being Peter’s "forever" to just... disappearing? And now *I* was here? Supposed to "keep Peter busy" like some sort of replacement? None of this was making any sense.

Natasha’s voice brought me back to the moment. "Yeah, it was weird, right?" she continued, leaning back casually. "Peter just stopped mentioning her, like she never existed. He’s been pretty chill about the whole thing. But Sharon thinks they broke up, and... I don’t know, maybe she’s right. Maybe that’s why you’re here."

I shook my head, trying to process. "Clementine wouldn’t just disappear. She wasn’t like that. She had a plan, she was going to—"

Natasha cut me off. "Well, plans change, right? Maybe she wasn’t as perfect as you think. People always hide stuff. Maybe Peter saw something in her that no one else did."

The idea didn’t sit right with me. Clementine always seemed untouchable, like she had everything figured out. Now, she was just… gone. And here I was, caught in some ridiculous plan to "keep Peter busy."

I started gearing up to confront Sharon, but Natasha quickly stepped in front of me, stopping me before I could make it to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, her voice edged with concern.

"I just want to have a little chat with Sharon," I replied, trying to sidestep her. But Natasha moved again, blocking me. She lowered her voice, clearly not wanting to make a scene.

"You're being ridiculous. Just calm down and think about this." Her eyes darted around nervously. "This is supposed to be a vacation. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could still enjoy yourself, Kiwi."

I paused and turned to face her, frustration bubbling up. "That was always the plan, but why did you have to tell me about Sharon’s little setup with Peter?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was sharp.

"I was just giving you a heads up," Natasha said softly, her eyes pleading.

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. But I couldn’t just let it go. Without saying another word, I turned and marched toward Sharon and Steve’s room, Natasha trailing behind me, still begging me to think it through.

When I reached the door, I didn’t hesitate—I slammed it open. There, on top of Steve, was Sharon, practically tangled up with him. She scrambled off him the second she saw me, her face flushed. Steve, on the other hand, just stayed where he was, smirking like the whole thing was a joke to him.

"What the hell is your problem?" Sharon snapped, straightening out her clothes.

I didn’t flinch. "I want to go home."

I thought about calling her out right then and there, exposing the whole plan about setting me up with Peter. But I couldn’t do that—not without throwing Natasha under the bus. As much as I was irritated with her, I wasn’t ready to burn that bridge. So I kept it simple.

"This whole trip has been uncomfortable for me since I got on the plane. If it’s going to be like this for a whole months I don’t want to stay."

Sharon's expression shifted, her irritation melting into a smirk. "Sure, whatever."

Just as I was about to turn and leave, Steve’s deep voice cut through the air. "No."

I froze, watching as Steve got up from the bed, his frame towering over me. It was then that I realized how much bigger he was compared to me. He took a step closer, his eyes locked on mine.

"Why not?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Steve gave me a cold, calculated smile. "The itinerary is already set, Kiwi. We can’t just change everything around because one person is feeling a little uncomfortable."

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’ll pay you back," I offered, even though I knew it was a desperate move.

Steve laughed, a low, mocking sound. "You have over a hundred grand to pay back?"

My stomach dropped as he kept going. "I heard you were working at some factory for, what, twenty bucks an hour? I’m guessing since you suddenly had time for this trip, you lost that gig, huh?"

I could feel my face flushing as I tried to think of a way out. "I don’t need a private jet home," I said quietly. "Just a ride and an economy seat. I’ll figure it out."

Steve shook his head, stepping even closer. "You still owe me for your part of the trip," he said, his voice cold and final.

The reality of the situation hit me like a punch to the gut. I was trapped, and Steve was making damn sure I knew it.

Steve’s eyes softened as he stood in front of me, his posture relaxed, like he was trying to show he wasn’t a threat. He moved to block my way, but not in an intimidating way—it felt more like he was trying to keep me from making a mistake.

“You’re upset,” he said, his voice gentler now, almost coaxing. “I get it, Kiwi, I really do. But leaving right now? That’s not what you really want.”

I frowned, crossing my arms, my defenses already up. “I’m uncomfortable, Steve. Why would I stay?”

He sighed softly, brushing a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “Look, I get that things have been a little weird, but think about it. Going back home, what’s waiting for you there? Things weren’t exactly great, were they?”

I blinked, surprised by his words. It was vague, but it still struck a nerve. My chest tightened at the reminder of how suffocating life at home had been.

Steve stepped closer, but there was no malice in his movements. If anything, his presence felt like it was wrapping around me, enveloping me in something familiar yet foreign.

“Why rush back to all that?” he asked, his voice low, almost tender. “You’ve got a chance here to take a break, to really breathe.”

I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my composure. He wasn’t exactly wrong. I hadn’t been thrilled about the idea of going back to my parents’ house—being treated like I’d failed, like I was just in the way.

“That’s not the point,” I muttered, my voice not as strong as I wanted it to be. “I didn’t come here to feel like an outsider.”

Steve’s expression shifted, softening even more. He moved closer, but not threateningly—just enough to let me know he was serious. “You don’t have to. No one here is against you, Kiwi. You’ve got space here to be free, to enjoy yourself. You’re not stuck.”

His words, smooth and almost too perfect, started to chip away at my defenses. He wasn’t wrong. There was a kind of freedom here that I didn’t have back home. No hovering parents, no endless job hunt. Just sun, sand, and a chance to let go of the chaos.

“I just want you to give it a shot,” Steve continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “If, after a week, you still feel like this… I’ll make sure you get home. Personally. But for now, just relax. Let yourself enjoy it.”

I hesitated, my mind a tug-of-war between the stress and frustration that had been building and the calm that Steve was offering. He seemed so reasonable, so understanding. Was I just being paranoid? Maybe I needed to take a step back and see if things improved.

“Alright,” I said finally, my voice soft. “I’ll stay. But just for a week.”

A slow smile spread across Steve’s face, his satisfaction clear, though he tried to hide it behind his cool demeanor. “Good. I knew you’d see things my way.”

He stepped back, giving me space, and for a moment, I felt the weight lift just a little. Natasha, who had been quietly watching, caught my eye, but her expression was hard to read. Maybe I wasn’t seeing the full picture. Or maybe I was just overthinking everything.

Am I making the right call? ***

Steve moved me out of the servant’s quarters and into a small, luxury room. It wasn’t anywhere near the others, but it was closer to the pool in the back, so I figured I could make do. At least it didn’t feel like a forgotten corner of the house.

As I unpacked, Natasha stayed with me, folding clothes and organizing things like she was trying to smooth over the mess from earlier.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, not entirely sure if I believed her or if she was just trying to stay on good terms. The side-eye I gave her must’ve said enough because she added, “Seriously, Kiwi. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

I sighed, my shoulders relaxing a little. “It’s fine,” I muttered. "Just... don’t spring shit like that on me again."

Natasha nodded, her expression softening. “I promise. I just want you to enjoy the trip. We all do.”

Enjoy the trip. Right. That’s what I kept telling myself. I needed to enjoy myself, no matter what. To hell with everyone else. To hell with Sharon’s power plays and the thinly veiled insults. To hell with my parents, and their endless nagging about how I should’ve been more like Sharon. To hell with all of it.

I glanced around my new room, taking in the sleek design, the comfortable bed, and the view of the pool. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe I could actually breathe for a while. Just focus on enjoying the sun, the beach, the space.

Yeah. Fuck everyone. I was going to make this trip mine.

44 notes · View notes