#I LOVE UNHINGED LIL GIRLS WHO DO WHATEVER THE HELL THEY WANT THEY MEAN THE WORLD TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[woffolke]

my sweet, little, kinda deranged daughrters.... ilove yuo.....

[novoaa1writes]

candles

image source

pairing(s): dark!wanda maximoff x reader

summary:

you’ve been feeling strange for the past month, particularly when it comes to dating. 

you do your best to ignore it, thinking it’ll resolve itself on its own—given time, that is.

it doesn’t. 

(and it’s got everything to do with wanda.)

[also available on ao3]

word count: ~5,300

rating: mature

warnings: dark!wanda, NON-CON spanking (with a belt), NON-CON BDSM play, mental manipulation, partial mind control, emotional manipulation, mental coercion, trauma bonding, toxic dynamics, drinking, possessive!wanda, non-con mind-reading, vandalism, adultery (not in reference to you or wanda), brief instances of slut-shaming

notes: [requested by anon] reader’s sexuality isn’t explicitly stated, but ex-partners of different genders are referenced/mentioned

— —

wanda uses a couple bulgarian terms of endearment for reader here, so below is a lil’ list in the order of which they appear.

принцеса | printsesa | princess [feminine term of endearment] мила | mila | honey [feminine term of endearment] любима | lubima | sweetheart [feminine term of endearment]

*note: all of these are exactly one letter away from being precise matches to synonymous terms in russian. HOWEVER, the bulgarian alphabet and the russian alphabet are different—granted, in fairly minor ways. for one, while both are comprised of cyrillic lettering, russian has 33 while bulgarian only has 30.  

— —

You have no fucking clue what’d gotten into you. 

One moment, things were fine—good, even. And the next… well. 

You’ll explain. 

It was something like 11:30 on a Saturday night, and you were drunk. 

Well, not drunk. More like buzzed. 

But whatever, right? Considering the week you’d had, you deserved to let loose, even if only for a night. 

Monday night saw a very angry and decidedly unhinged soccer mom banging on your door, screeching vehemently about the ‘two-faced slut’ who ruined her marriage and demanding to be let in so that she could ‘make her sorry.’ Turns out, the older guy your roommate had been sleeping with as of late was married—not that he’d bothered to share that particular bit of information with her, obviously. 

The two of you spent the better part of the evening barricaded inside, passing a bottle of cheap wine back and forth while trying to explain to the 911 operator that you weren’t messing around, that there really was an angry soccer mom on your doorstep and you were actively fearing for your safety. 

She eventually left around 10:00pm—no thanks to the police, since the 911 operator hadn’t even bothered to give them a call. It wasn’t until the next morning when you left for work that you saw the woman’s parting gift to the pair of you: the word ‘HOMEWRECKER’ spray-painted across the front door in obnoxious red lettering. 

Bye-bye, security deposit. 

That same night, you made your roommate promise to start dating people in a similar age range—because really, the both of you were stressed enough as it was without worrying about coming in between yet another middle-aged couple’s dying marriage. 

The rest of the week wasn’t much better. 

On Thursday, your balding creep of a boss had made yet another blatant pass at you in the workplace, making you seriously consider (and not for the first time) the prospect of just quitting and being done with it. 

Then, at shit o’clock on a Friday morning, you awoke to an urgent phone call informing you that an ex of yours (one you were actually on semi-decent terms with) had gotten into a fairly serious car accident, and still had you marked down as her emergency contact. 

30 minutes later found you showing up at the hospital just moments after your ex’s current girlfriend had arrived, which then prompted the whole ‘you still being your ex’s emergency contact’ revelation when the current girlfriend demanded to know what you were doing there, which ended up being… well, you’ll just say it wasn’t pretty, and leave it at that. 

And your ex was going to be completely fine, anyways. She just had some minor cuts and abrasions, and would need to undergo a fairly minor (read: minimally invasive) surgery over the next couple days. 

Before leaving, you instigated a quick check-in with the doctors to ensure they had everything they needed—which then turned into you providing a list of allergies, as your ex wouldn’t likely be conscious for another couple of hours, and apparently the current girlfriend didn’t know of her sensitivities to penicillin and phenobarbital… which the current girlfriend was less than happy about, if the daggers she glared at you were any indication. 

Whatever. You were just trying to help. 

You thanked the doctors, told them to feel free to call you if anything went awry, then asked if they might tell your ex to call you when she awoke. You thought about offering some words of comfort to the current girlfriend as she sat vigil at your ex’s bedside, but the murderous glower she shot you the moment you got within ten feet of her was more than enough to make you think better of it. 

With that, you left. 

So… yeah. It’d been a shitty week. 

And now, here you were: a girls’ night out at the lively nightclub you and your roommate had scoped out just last weekend, tossing back $12 cocktails and letting the trashy EDM beat blaring over the speakers drown out the rest of your thoughts. 

You’d been feeling a little weird all week—all month, really. 

As far as you were concerned, this was exactly what the doctor had ordered.

 So, when a cute guy wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt that was at least a couple sizes too big yet did well to compliment his well-muscled torso came up to you and started chatting you up at the bar, you didn’t blow him off.

The exact opposite, in fact.

He was nice, and funny, and had a gorgeous smile that made your chest feel warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. When he flirted with you, you flirted right back. 

You felt a little guilty for doing so, though you couldn’t exactly put a finger on why that was. Either way, you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it for very long. 

After all, you’d been feeling hints of that for the past month, if not longer. It seemed to happen whenever you flirted with a cute guy, or went out on another Tinder date with a pretty girl, or even hugged one of your close friends. 

You’d get this painful tightening sensation in your gut, nausea roiling in your abdomen… a distant, lofty voice in your head telling you that this was wrong, that you already belonged to someone else. 

Which was pointless, really. Stupid. 

You were single. 

Your last serious relationship (barring the one with your now-hospitalized ex-girlfriend) had been over seven months ago with an eccentric guy named Lukas. He was kind, well-meaning… a bit of a dork at his very core, but you always found that more endearing than anything else. You’d dated him for four and a half months before deciding to break it off; because as much as you cared for him and enjoyed being around him, you didn’t love him, and you knew by then that you never would. 

You thought about him, from time to time—even missed him now and again.

And yet, the strangest thing about the shameful feeling you’d get whenever your roommate so much as brushed a friendly kiss up against your cheek—it had absolutely nothing to do with Lukas. 

You didn’t know how you knew that, but you did. 

Whatever.

This guy was not Lukas. 

His name was Des—short for Desmond, you learned over your fourth sugary-sweet cocktail of the night. He was charming and slightly foul-mouthed, but conscientious and passably polite where it mattered. He didn’t grope your ass or stare at your tits, nor did he make any lewd commentary about your body in any capacity. 

He also smelled… really good, like Old Spice and spearmint gum and the barest hint of cigarette smoke. 

That was more than enough for you. 

(Whatever, alright? Decent guys were in short supply these days.)

You smiled and let him buy you another drink, even after you’d insisted that he really, really didn’t have to. And when an obnoxious pop song with a beat that was far more catchy than you’d have liked to admit came over the speakers, you let him coax you out to the dance floor with minimal resistance. 

It was… fun. You liked the way his hands rested on either of your hips—gentle, almost careful; holding you like he understood he didn’t have a right to your body, like he was more than content that you allowed him this to even think of demanding any more.

Despite the twinges of guilt flaring in your gut, you let yourself get a little more comfortable… dancing closer and closer to him amidst a packed crowd of writhing bodies, letting your breasts graze up against his chest. 

It was teasing—provocative, even. A test, of sorts���one that Des passed with flying colors. 

He didn’t do a thing to rush you, just kept dancing across from you with his hands on your hips and his darkened gaze on yours—seeming fully content to let you set the pace for the moment. And God, but the way he was looking at you… patient but eager, like he wanted nothing more than to crush your body against his own and grind himself into you like an animal—and yet, still, he held himself back. 

You couldn’t help but find that attractive as hell. 

Looping your arms around his neck, you let your body to press flush against his as you swayed to the beat of the song, not shying away from the slight stiffness you could feel growing against your hip. 

That guilty, nauseous feeling in your gut pulled tighter. 

You ignored it, and, when he leaned a little closer to shout over the deafening music, “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”... well. 

You wasted absolutely no time in lunging up on the tips of your toes to capture his lips in a messy open-mouthed kiss, the strobe lights of the club fading into obscurity around you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours—tentative, at first, until you pressed a little harder and traced the seam of his lips with your tongue… and, yeah; that did the trick. 

A moment later, his lips parted to let out a quiet groan directly into your mouth as he began to reciprocate in earnest, setting every nerve ending on your body alight with electrifying want. 

And that’s when it happened. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a twisted sort of clarity hit you square in the chest—slowly, and then all at once. 

The next bits were something of a blur. 

You tore yourself away from Des, turned to forcibly elbow your way through a floor of grinding bodies. You thought you heard him call out your name, and more than a couple people on the dancefloor turned to glare at you as you rudely brushed past them without care—but, whatever. 

You texted… someone, telling them you were headed back to the apartment, so they shouldn’t bother waiting up. The group chat, maybe? 

And now… Now. 

Before you can blink, the past crashes into the present, and you find yourself back outside in the pitch-black night. 

It’s dark… chilly. A brisk wind catches you the moment you stumble out onto the sidewalk, assaulting every inch of your exposed skin like scores of needles piercing your flesh. You whimper, shudder, and hug your arms around your body—trying to warm yourself back up like a scared little kid who forgot their jacket. 

For the first time that night, you regret the tiny black babydoll dress you’d chosen to wear for the evening—and that’s not even to mention the four-inch heels. 

It’s miserable, to be sure, but you can hardly focus on it for very long. 

No, you have to go somewhere. You feel sick, and cold, and wrong in a way you’re loath to even begin explaining to anyone else. 

And your head… you’re positively aching for something—someone to make this better.

You need… Wanda. 

Yes, Wanda is the person you’re looking for. She can make all of this better. 

You don’t know why, but you’re sure of it. You just need to find her. Hopefully she’s spending the night in her apartment on that super cozy sofa of hers, drinking hot chocolate and binge-watching something on Netflix like the two of you did a couple weeks back. 

A fond grin curves your lips at the recollection as you stumble off down the sidewalk, headed for the nearest subway station. 

Another wintry gust of wind hits you square in the chest, and you pinch your forearm hard, silently willing yourself to focus. 

The station should be less than a block down, if you’re remembering correctly. 

At the next street corner, you manage to brandish your pepper spray in one hand while you rummage around in your purse for your MetroCard with the other. 

It’s cold as hell, and you’re probably a little too drunk to be walking through the City streets alone right now, but you don’t much care. 

All you gotta do is find Wanda. That’s all. 

She’ll make everything better again. 

— —

Where everything else is confusing, there’s one part that seems to make sense—Wanda. 

You nearly pick a fight with the card reader at the subway entrance when it makes you swipe your card three times to let you through, and even the stairs leading down to the lower tracks are more of a challenge than they probably should be… and yet, somehow, the rest of it is blessedly simple. A no-brainer, really.  

You know which train you need to take… the blue one that arrives in four minutes. You know you need to stay on it for five stops before getting off. 

Once you’re up at ground level, you’ll have a short walk ahead of you—one that you know like the back of your hand despite only ever having been to Wanda’s a couple of times. 

You’ll enter Wanda’s apartment building, take the elevator right up to floor four, and boom! Home free. 

You do exactly that.

It takes a short time (thankfully) and there’s not an ounce of uncertainty within you all the while, like you’ve done this 100 times before.  

In seemingly no time at all, you’re there—standing on Wanda’s doorstep, knocking a couple times just beneath the burnished bronze ‘4A’ nailed into her door. 

Your head feels all light and dizzy; you’re still shuddering from the time you spent out in the cold; but—

“One sec!” Wanda’s muffled voice comes from inside, the mere sound of it washing over you like a soothing balm—promising relief. 

You’re safe now. 

You made it.  

— —

The moment the door swings open to reveal a bleary-eyed Wanda Maximoff dressed in tiny grey pajama shorts, an oversized Star Trek T-shirt, and nothing else, it’s like everything falls back into place. 

It’s like… like you can breathe again.

You’re still drunk, and shivering, and more than a bit confused; but now that Wanda’s awake and here and smirking like she knows exactly what’s happening even if you don’t, you feel… better, somehow. Not nearly so lost as you were before. 

“Y/N,” Wanda greets, stepping aside and offering out a hand to help you inside. You’re quick to take it. “I was not expecting you,” she drawls, though everything about her demeanor is saying the opposite as she shuts and locks the door behind you. 

You pay it little mind. “Yeah, I... ” you trail off, turning to face her even as an embarrassed flush warms your cheeks. All of a sudden, you can’t help but feel rather ridiculous for knocking on her door and barging in so late—especially without calling first. “I’m so sorry, I...  I don’t know why I’m here.”

Wanda just tilts her head, appraising you curiously even as the ghost of a knowing smile curves her lips. “Are you sure about that?”

The heat in your cheeks seems to intensify tenfold at that. “I… I need to tell you something,” you hear yourself say, and the moment it’s registered, you realize that it’s true. 

You feel… guilty, all of a sudden. Nauseous, too. Scared. 

You danced with that guy—Des. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… You kissed him. Why would you do that?

In the present moment, Wanda nods, like that makes perfect sense. Like all of this makes perfect sense. 

“Okay,” she acquiesces lightly, flares of crimson flitting through her measured gaze. “Is it something I’ll have to punish you for?”

‘Punish’ me? What—?

You feel Wanda’s presence in your head… inconspicuous tendrils sifting through your thoughts, worming their way through your scattered memories. 

No point in lying. 

“Y-Yes,��� you hear yourself say. Much like earlier, it isn’t until the moment you’ve confirmed it aloud that you know it to be true. You danced with someone else. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… kiss you. “I… I’m so sorry, Wanda; I-I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You see the moment Wanda finds it—your memories of the nightclub. Meeting Des at the bar. Flirting with him… Kissing him. 

The look on her pretty features goes from bemused to disbelieving to absolutely murderous in zero seconds flat, and the realization hits like a freight train that you’re really in for it now. 

Fuck. 

“Go to the bedroom,” she snarls, her typically blue-green eyes burning with scarlet light. “Then take off that slutty dress. I want you on the bed, face down, naked. Do you understand?”

Your head is spinning; confusion rears its ugly head in your gut even as every ounce of your being screams at you to just obey—‘cause if you can just do that, the rest of it will start to make sense. (Maybe.) “O-Okay.”

— — 

You don’t know how you know the way to Wanda’s bedroom, but you do. 

You slip inside a room shrouded in darkness, and no matter how it strains your eyes to look around, you don’t dare turn on the light. 

It’s a modestly-sized bedroom with hardwood flooring, fairy lights along one wall, and an adjoining bathroom just opposite the entrance. There’s a tall, wooden dresser pressed up against the wall directly across from a large, king-sized bed. That’s pretty much all the detail you can manage to make out in the darkness.

Well, either way, you suppose it isn’t really your business. 

Wanda gave you specific instructions, and you intend to follow them. 

Not for the first time tonight, you’re quite happy about the babydoll dress you’re wearing—particularly for how easy it is to pull it up over your head and off, leaving you in panties and a strapless bra in a matter of moments. 

You fold the dress neatly in your hands, then leave it atop the dresser. Your panties and bra come next. In seconds, you’ve formed a small, tidy pile. 

As you step out of your heels and approach the neatly-made bed, you’re struck with the strangest sense of déjà vu… like you’ve done this before.

It lingers in the forefront of your mind as you crawl up onto the bed, biting back a groan at how easily the plush mattress gives way under your hands and knees. 

God, you’d kill to have a nice nap in this absolute cloud of a bed.

You shake the thought off, simultaneously willing the haze of intoxication fogging up your brain to abate.

You’re not here to nap. 

You settle face-down onto the bed, just like Wanda said. You’re careful not to rest your face on the pillows, though, since you have the distinct feeling that’s not something Wanda would want you doing without permission.

Instead, you fold your arms and rest your head atop your forearm, staring straight down into nothing. You scrunch up your features and let out a quiet huff as the black duvet tickles the tip of your nose. 

It smells like her—all of it does. Cinnamon, vanilla, and something indefinable; something that belongs to Wanda, and Wanda alone. 

You feel your body stiffen as a familiar set of footsteps draw near, approaching the room where you lie—naked and vulnerable atop Wanda’s bed.

The patter of Wanda’s gait becomes almost soundless as she enters, circling around the bed over towards the nightstand. You don’t dare to turn your head and watch as she pulls out one of the drawers, rummaging through it until she finds… well, whatever it is she’s looking for, you suppose. 

A moment later, there’s the telltale chk! of a match being struck, and a hiss as the phosphorous tip lights itself aflame. 

It’s quiet for a minute... then two. The only sounds you can hear are your breathing and the strike of a match every time Wanda lights another. 

Gradually, gentle flares of light grow in your periphery, bathing the room in a dim, yellow-y glow. She’s lighting candles—a lot of them. 

You’ve always loved candles. 

A couple minutes later, she’s finished, and she returns to tuck the matchbox safely back in the drawer. 

You lose track of her as she retreats once more, and your mounting curiosity is more than piqued when you hear her rummaging through the dresser near the foot of the bed; still, you don’t dare turn and look. 

Instead, you wait, fetid nausea churning low in your gut, pinpricks of apprehension dancing across every inch of exposed skin. Your heart thuds painfully against your ribcage as she takes something out from the dresser drawer, then shuts it with an audible thud!

You swallow the lump in your throat and urge yourself to focus on your breathing. 

In, out. 

In, out. 

In… out.

“I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” Wanda’s voice comes from somewhere behind you, genuine hurt coloring her hushed tone. 

You have to fight the urge to shudder as a chill runs down your spine. “I… I’m sorry, Wanda,” you say meekly, pathetically, cheeks hot with shame. 

And the worst part? You’re not lying. 

You listen carefully for the sounds of her bare feet padding across the floor as she circles the bed once more, crouching down right beside you in the very corner of your periphery. 

“Look at me,” she orders, gentle yet firm. 

You do. 

The moment you meet her gaze, you can’t help the errant thought entering your mind that she looks so pretty like this—face bare of makeup; long brown hair piled into a messy bun atop her head; dainty features cast into darkened shadows by the low, yellow light of burning candles clustered together atop the nightstand. 

The muted light seems to soften her anger, her pain… allowing her to really look her age for the very first time since you’ve known her. 

“You think too loudly, Y/N.” Wanda’s words are dry, almost teasing as they jolt you back into reality. “Focus on me, please.”

You do. 

“You belong to me,” she asserts after a beat of silence, an uncharacteristically intent and almost solemn look splayed across her dimly-lit features. “I thought you understood that.”

The words confuse you even as they seem to resonate poignantly with some fundamental part of you… a part of you that categorically refuses to be ignored. 

“Wanda…” you trail off, bewilderment and contrition warring violently within your chest until it aches to draw breath. “I’m confused, Wanda,” you whimper out finally, overwhelmed tears burning in your eyes. “I-I-I don’t understand what’s happening—” 

Wanda cuts you off with a derisive snort. “Yes, clearly,” she agrees, her tone ripe with sardonic ire. “You’ve forgotten yourself. You’ve forgotten who owns you.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, desperately trying to make sense of it all. “Is that why…” You search Wanda’s eyes intently. “... I-I felt sick, an-and… guilty about dancing with Des.”

Something like anger flares in her gaze, hot and bitter, and you have to resist the urge to shrivel beneath it. “That boy had no right to touch what’s rightfully mine.”

“B-But then… why didn’t I remember?” you ask, utterly forlorn. “I-I felt it last weekend, too, but I… I didn’t—” 

“Last weekend?” Wanda repeats, features hardening.

Oh, shit. You feel your cheeks get hot again. “I… I shouldn’t have brought it up, Wan’, I’m sorry—”

“What happened last weekend?” she interjects, her tone cold and hard like a double-edged blade. “You can tell me yourself, or I can start looking.”

You shiver. “I… I went on a-a… a date with a girl that I met online,” you admit, tears welling in your eyes even as Wanda’s jaw visibly tightens. “I-It was just the one time! A-And nothing happened; we didn’t even k-kiss! I just… I didn’t… I didn’t know—”

“Yes. You’re right; you didn’t know.” Wanda stands abruptly, then, and it’s at that moment that you see the folded belt in her hands—thick, worn leather with a sterling silver buckle. 

An icy sense of dread blossoms in your chest, chilling you from the inside out. 

Is she going to—? 

“I was indulgent before… I let you get away with far too much. I will not make the same mistake again.”

With that, she turns to circle back around the bed, the belt buckle audibly jangling in her hands with every step. 

“I have to punish you, принцеса,” she continues, her voice scarcely more than a whisper as she comes to stand near the foot of the bed—and somehow, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s no convincing her otherwise. 

She’s going to punish you, and it’s going to hurt. Bad. 

All at once, panic seizes you. You squirm, writhing in an effort to get up and off the bed—

Only to be stopped by tendrils of lurid crimson curling around either wrist, forcing them together just over your head like magic—glowing crimson cuffs holding both arms fast to the headboard. On a whim, you test your legs—tensing and pulling, only to be met with iron-clad resistance encircling either ankle in a tight, unrelenting grip. 

Well, fuck.

“W-Wanda,” you plead, hardly paying any mind to the way your voice trembles. “Please, I—I don’t want—”

“I do not enjoy punishing you, мила,” she laments, almost sounding genuinely apologetic. It tugs at your heartstrings in a curious way—something you really don’t have time to examine right now. “But you did something bad. And when you do bad things, there are consequences. You understand that, don’t you?”

A tear trickles down your cheek, warm and wet as you steel yourself for the first hit. “Y-Yes.”

“Good girl,” Wanda lauds, and you can’t help the surge of warmth that washes over you at the simple praise—the pride that blooms in your chest at knowing you’ve finally done something right. “Now—try and relax, принцеса, okay?”

It’s all the warning you get before the first blow comes down upon your bare arse with a resounding Crack!

White-hot pain flares across your bottom, racing up your spine like wildfire and tearing a strangled whimper from your throat. 

Jesus fucking Christ, that hurt—

Crack!

Crack!

Holy fuck. 

The impact of the leather against your naked cheeks leaves strips of fire burning in its wake, expelling all the air from your lungs in a choked-out rush. 

“P-Please, no, Wan’,” you beg breathlessly, struggling in vain even as coils of vibrant scarlet hold you fast, “it hurts, please—”

Crack!

“This is for your own good, baby,” Wanda coos, sounding for all the world as though she truly believes every word of it. 

Crack! This one lands directly across your sit spot, ripping a shriek from your lips as molten agony rocks you to your core. 

“Wan’—Fuck, please, no—”

Crack!

“G—God, fuck, pleasestop, please—”

Crack!

“P—Please, hurtssobad, I’m—”

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

“FUCK !”

Tears stream down your cheeks, wetting the black duvet beneath your face. You’re absolutely beside yourself with torment, your bare ass aflame with a pain unlike any you’ve ever known. 

Crack!

Crack!

… And the hits just keep coming—raining down stripes of blistering heat across your sore, bruised buttocks; pummeling your throbbing, exposed rear until it feels as though the entire area has just become one puffy, pulsating bruise. 

Crack!

All the fight has completely gone out of you; now, your body completely slack—devoid of any resistance even as every hit seems to sear itself into your impossibly tender bottom like a third-degree burn… The pain is absolutely incredible, unlike any else you’ve ever known.

You’ll do anything—and you really do mean anything—to make it stop. 

“P-P-Please, stop it, Wanda, PLEASE—”

Crack! Another hit directly across your burning sit spot rips a watery sob from your throat, followed by—  

Crack!

Crack!

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating until you pass out. 

Crack!

Agony blackens the edge of your vision, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks as you await another strike… 

But it doesn’t come. 

Wh—?

“Have you learned your lesson, мила?” Wanda asks, and this time, her voice comes from closer… like she’s right beside you. 

You don’t have it in you to be startled when a feather-light kiss lands itself between your shoulder blades, nor when one hand begins stroking up and down your heaving torso in soothing motions. 

“Y-Yes! I—please, God, yes,” you babble, overwhelmed by the sensation of unadulterated pain branding every inch of your battered arse. “I promise I’ll never, ever, ever do it again, Wan’—Won’t ever be with anyone else—jus-just please stop hurting me—I’ll be so good, please—”

“Shh,” Wanda shushes you tenderly. You feel yourself twitch as the mattress suddenly dips beside you. “It’s okay, любима,” she soothes, coming to rest beside you. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

‘Breathe’...

Your pulse thunders in your ears; your ass is on fire with an anguish far beyond your years; and yet, there’s something undoubtedly soothing about her words as they wash over you in gentle waves… something that tells you you’re safe.  

Were you a little more lucid, you might’ve found that quite the nonsensical paradox—this feeling of safety and security with the woman who’d just beaten your arse raw without mercy no matter how you wailed and sobbed and begged for her to stop. 

But as it is, you’re not. 

Instead, you’re just broken and teary-eyed and in pain, and Wanda’s tenderness is a most welcome respite to alleviate that excruciating ache. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath, even if it burns your lungs something awful, and force yourself to let it out slowly. 

In, out. 

In, out.

In… out.

“That’s it, мила,” Wanda praises gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re doing so well… Just like that.” Her fingers come to rest beneath your chin, urging you to turn and face her…

And you do, far too exhausted to even think of doing anything other than what she tells you to. Your lungs burn; your nose runs; and the pain in your bottom hasn’t abated any—if anything, it’s intensified.

You’re more than happy to be given something else to focus on.  

When you look at her, her blue-green eyes are wet—glossy with tears.

“Wanda?” you manage weakly, feeling your brow crease with worry. “You ‘kay?”

Wanda sniffles, huffs out a watery-sounding laugh. “Yes, Y/N, I’m alright,” she whispers, then leans forth to plant a gentle kiss upon the tip of your nose. “I’m just so very, very proud of you.”

Despite yourself, you feel a pleased flush spread throughout your body at that. “Really?” you mumble, exhaustion drooping your eyelids until it’s a challenge just to keep them open. 

Wanda nods, a tear sliding out of her eye that you yearn to reach forth and catch with your thumb—but alas, you’re far too weak. “Really.” 

You hum, burrowing your face further into the duvet beneath your cheek—even if it is still damp with your tears. “‘M sorry I was bad, Wan’,” you murmur, feeling darkness near on every side. “Didn’t mean’ta make you upset.”

“I don’t like punishing you, принцеса,” she says once more, and this time, you have no reason to doubt that she means it. Honestly, you don’t know how you ever could. “It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

You hum again. Your eyelids feel too heavy to open. “‘M sorry,” you say. “Gonna do better… make you proud… I promise.”

Wanda chuckles. The sound of it makes your chest feel loose and warm and happy. “You already do, darling girl,” she murmurs. You don’t know if it’s because she’s whispering, or you’re fading into sleep, but you can barely hear her when she repeats it once more: “You already do.”

Sleep descends upon you, then, and you succumb to it willingly, feeling safer and more at peace than you have in a very long time. 

— —

tagging:

[marvel]: @normanijauregui​

— —

end notes: yeah i don’t know what this is either. i was only aiming for maybe 1,000 words or something, but things happened and...

look. i haven’t been to therapy in a hot minute, ok?

link to masterlist

[tellywoodtrash]

immj2 02.11.20 lb

this fucking episode my dudes. i just went through it like...

business maharani is doing some more bitchification of bhaabi, ki dekho phir nikal gayi aapke peeche. even used the same lameass mandir excuse, the idiot, instead of coming up with something new.  

hubs like riddhima is a major pain in the ass, but she's MY PAIN IN THE ASS, where isss sheeee, why isn't she back yet???????? is she ok????????????

ishani getting a call about someone in the hospital and......

bitch, it's her friend who's in the hospital. why the fuck would anyone call ISHANI of all people if riddhima was in the hospital????

lo aa gayi.

gujarat registration gaadi waale bhaiyya was a careful driver. unlike literally everyone else on tellywood. good for him.

concern!maxxxxxxxxxxx about her haalat.

asks about her bleeding hand and she's like i'll tell you if you tell me about how YOUR hand got hurt. noice.

again, rrahul's not putting on the vansh voice in this scene and it's 300% more watchable. for the love of god stop directing him in a way that impedes his performance!!!!!!! LET THE MAN MOVE HIS FACE AND TALK IN HIS NORMAL VOICE!!!!!!!!!!!

cliche dialogue about “shareer ke ghaav jaldi bhar jaate hain par dil ke ghaav..........”

this asshole is like yeah who would know that better than me???? BITCH WHAT IS THIS, THE TRAUMA OLYMPICS???

she's thinking ki yeah, i'm not gonna fall for your fakeass parwaah anymore. good. i like. she needed this stupidass illusion of her's broken longggggggggg back.

ohohohohoho ib waala mangalsutra breaking and slipping off trope idhar bhi hai.

“tooti hui cheezein kabhi kabhi dobara nahi judti.”

dialogue maarke chali gayi, lol.

but notice she's the one who caught it anyway. which makes me think she's gonna choose him/this relationship YET AGAIN. *deeeeeeeepest sigh in the world that sucks up all the oxygen in the atmosphere*

“jaise mera dil.”

OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH.

“lekin ab waqt aa gaya hai bohut se cheezon ko sahi karne ka.”

again, he looks menacing and all, but is probably just talking about making sure all the paperwork is up to date for upcoming end of year audits. he's a very rich accountant, remember???

ragini's medical reports have come.

lol being married to ishani is taking yearssssssss off angre's lifespan. roz naya tension, naya drama.

also, angre refers to vansh as "vansh bhai" when talking about him to ishani, but calls him "boss" when referring directly. interesting. veryyyyyyyyyyyyyyy interesting. you guys need to sort out that relationship, my dudes. it's the only stable, healthy one in this whole damn show.

ishani is like you're his right hand, what the hell are you doing about riddhima spying on him and getting all up in his business???????? dang, this might be the first conversation they're having about their only common interest: vansh's well being.

also i notice ki shivaay ke saare shirts angre ko diye gaye hain. huh, the shirts must have a kanji eyed wearer clause in their contract.

“mujhe shakti dijiye ke main apne emotions se upar uthke sahi ke saath khadi rahoon.”

damn, first time i've had a lil respect for riddhima. i mean, i know ultimately it's all gonna go to shit, but she's trying.

lmao a dhaarmik aarti version of the title track is playing. a version for every situation!

“main ragini ko bacha ke rahoongi. yeh mera aapse, ragini se, aur apne aap se vaada hai.”

YESSSSSSSSSSS BITCH, SISTERS OVER MURDEROUS MISTERS!!!!!!!!!!!

OMG WHY WON'T Y'ALL JUST DRESS HIM LIKE THIS, LIKE ARNAV, WITH THE SHIRT AND SWEATER COMBOOOOOOOOOOOOO. PLS GODDDDDDDDDDDD STOP DRESSING HIM WITH THAT STUPID SCARF WAALA BLAZERRRRRRRRRRRRR I BEG OF YOUUUUUUUUUU

he's talking to some shadow (def a woman) about how they're his humraaz about the whole ragini issue and nothing is hidden from them and how everything is going as they planned and the story will end soon.

it might be siya but omg i hope to goddddddddddddd it's ishani. i really really reallly want it to be ishani and see the hot demon siblings do some scheming and planning together. the sibs that conspire together, stay together!!!!!!!!!

menacing growling about riddhima and how he needs shadow chick's help in "handling" her, so that she doesn’t leave the house.

“chaahe VR mansion uske liye jail bann jaaye, i don't care.” cool, real healthy. also copied from this week's naagin 5. i'm telling you, these two shows be copying their homework off each other.

vansh leaning real hard on how he trusting shadow chick. hmmmm. reallyyyy hope it's ishani. though can’t say i wouldn’t be delighted if siya also turns out to be just as fucking twisted as him.

ofc ms. snoopy here has come to snoop. SIS TUM THAK NAHI JAATI KYA ISS SAB SE. MUJHE TOH DEKHTE HI THAKAAN HO GAYI HAI AND I NEEDS ME SOME GLUCON D.

“ragini riddhima se jeete-jee milna toh door, usse dekh bhi na sake.”

uh a little too late for that my man, lol. your girls already had a catchup session this afternoon. they're going for brunch and manis next weekend!

oh ho, she knows that angre's gone out. so this is def someone else in the house. DAMN, I'M REALLY INVESTED IN THIS SHADOW NOW.

yaaar, kya haalat bana rakhi hai shivaay ke room ki. best room hota tha iss set ka, aur isko bas ek random space banaa rakha hai.

ASLKFJSLDKJFLSDKJFLDKSF

this fucker crazyyyyy. like fulllll on flipping cray cray!!!!!!!!!!!!!

wow ok he's shaking from rage. more unhinged than i've ever seen him. which is really something. something scary as fuckkkkkkkk.

kudos to riddhima for just being like same old, same old, instead of being scared. i'm really liking i-give-no-fucks-riddhima.

DUDE. THIS FUCKER HAS COMPLETELY LOST IT.

also knife play copied from shivaay. this dude like a much much worse version of shivaay. never thought that would be possible, but never say never with ITV and the year 2020.

ok i don't like this angry version of him that's outta control, all shaking and growling and panting. not only is it really bad acting, it's hard to take seriously as menacing. ppl are always scarier when they're ice fucking cool with their anger.

blah blah blah some more growled warnings and riddhima and i are just here like............. “ok and????”

she's not even allowed to leave the room.

oooooh brave sis questioning him back and provokingggggggggg himmmmmmmmmm. got a death wish, this one, but i like her like this. i was sick of her just collapsing all over the place weeping. thaaaaaank god she found her longlost backbone.

“tum jaise haiwaan ki baat kabhi nahi maanungi.”

sarcastic slow clapping and slightly turned on by this show of dheentness.

“chalo aaj tumhari bahaaduri ko celebrate karte hain.”

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

“piyo, zeher nahi milaaya hai ismein.”

OK NOW THAT YOU SAID THAT I'M DEFINITELY THINKING THAT YOU HAVE.

omg ridhhimaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa you idiottttttt.

ok he's def put something in it. his face almost looking pitying as he takes the glass back.

“jaao. jahaan jaana hai jaao. nahi rokunga tumhe.”

ohhhhhhhhhh boy.

dslkfjsdlfkjdslkfjdslkjflkd her legs don't work no moreeeeeeeee.

THIS FUCKERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. JESUS CHRIST THIS CRAZY ASS FUCKING D;SLFKJ;SLDKFJ;LDSKJF;LDKJ

EVEN THE CHANNEL PUTTING BIG BOLD DISCLAIMER OVER THE SCENE LIKE THIS SHIT IS SERIOUSLY UNHINGED AND FICTIONAL THE CHANNEL ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT CONDONE THIS FUCKING MADNESSSSSSSSS

I CANNOT STOP SCREAMING THIS FUCKERRRRRRR IS OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK IS THIS THIS SHIT IS MAKING 4 LIONS MEN LOOK LIKE SOFT CUDDLY LIL SOFTBOIS I AM LITERALLY GOING OUTTA MY MIND WITH RAGE AND ANGUISH WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

i need a break. i seriously need a break to go cuddle my cat coz my god this deranged fucking showwwwwwwwwww.

ok cuddle break done. i’m not feeling any better but at least the tears of blood have stopped flowing from my eyes?

all i gots to say at this point is that CHEELANSHU SINGHANIA FROM NAAGIN 5 WOULD NEVER DO THIS. ONCE AGAIN SANKIIII CHEEL BOY >>>>>>>>>>>>>>> HUMAN MEN.

“haiwaan hoon main. rakshas hoon. aur rakshas kuch bhi kar sakta hai.”

electric chair for you, dude. ELECTRIC FUCKING CHAIR, GREEN MILE STYLE.

he literally gave her a paralytic.

“isse ek luxury relaxing spa treatment ki tarah enjoy karna.”

OMG I WISH I HAD SOMEONE MAKE ME SLIP INTO A PARALYTIC COMAAAAAAAAAA WHAT ELSE COULD A GIRL WANT FROM PRINCE CHARMING UWU TRUE WUVVVVVVVVV

omg inn paplu taplu ka chip waala naatak abhi bhi chal raha hai BIGGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED IN THE HOUSE YOU IDIOTS KEEP THE FUCK UP LITERALLY NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR SADAA HUA MEMORY CARD ANYMOREEEEEEEEEE

anyway they decide to put it in the bank locker. omg why though, under the mattress was suchhhhhhh a safe and secure spot!!! badal kyun rahe ho tum log?!?!?!!?!?

“good morning.”

sis, lower half is paralysed. haath abhi bhi kaam kar rahein haina??? PICK UP WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU CAN GET YOUR HANDS ON AND HURL IT AT HIS FUCKING HEADDDDDDDDDDD

“don't worry, bas kuch der ki baat hai. uske baad tum apne pairon pe khadi ho sakti ho. main tumhari help kar deta hoon.”

TELLL HIM SIS. TELL HIM TO STAY THE FUCK AWAY AND NEVER EVER COME WITHIN A 3 DISTRICT RADIUS OF YOU. 

“phir se zidd. tumhara naam riddhima nahi, ziddhima hona chahiye tha.”

ok can't deny i lol'd at that.

OK NO BACK TO HATING HIM. PUNS WILL GET YOU NOWHERE WITH ME, YOU BLOODY PSYCHOPATH.

“abhi toh bas ek chota dose diya hai jiska asar sirf 10 ghante rehta hai.”

oh how sweet. such a considerate husband. Star Parivaar Pati of The Year you are. haan behen, aur rakho aise pati ke liye karwachauth.

“agar baat nahi maaani, toh agla dose double hoga.”

seriously though, where can i get one of these? all i want is to be put in a coma so that i don't have to be conscious anymore. esp with the USA election today............ give me a 5x dose, daddy.

YEAH RIGHT LIKE SHE'S EVER GONNA CONSUME ANYTHING YOU OFFER HER EVER AGAIN LOL

“tum chaahe kitni bhi koshish karlo vansh, main tumhe ragini ko nuksaan pohunchaane nahi dungi.”

determination toh behen ka top classssssssssssss hai. where do ppl get such mental will from? i face the slightest inconvenience and i need a 6 hour nap to cope.

LMAO VANSH YOU DUMBASS YOU LEFT HER WITH HER PHONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. YOU KNOW SHE'S A SPY AND HAS SOMEONE ON THE OUTSIDE. YOU WANTED HER NOT TO GET TO RAGINI BUT NOW SHE CAN JUST CALL WHOEVER SHE’S WORKING WITH TO GET RAGINI THE HELP. GOD, BEWAKOOFON KI TOLI HAI YEH SHOWWWWWWWW.

ab yaad aayi kabir ki. my god, he seems like such a mellow weirdo now compared to vansh, just into some casual costume-changing and quasi fratricide. almost a tolerable level of deranged compared to this other fucking madman.

sent a voice note to him.

SHE HEARD SOMEONE COMING AND FLUNG THE PHONE ACROSS THE ROOM INTO A PILE OF CLOTHES. OH HO WHYYYYYYYYYYYY, YOU COULD HAVE LITERALLY JUST HID IT BACK UNDER THE PILLOWS WHERE YOU FOUND IT!?!?!??!?!?!?

“hi riddhima! tumhe iss haal mein dekh kar, dil ko bohut sukoon mil raha hai.”

asldkfsjflkjdslfkjdl i honestly love her the most. she's so fucking petty and hilarious.

ishani is like thank god bhai has seen fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinally seen your real face.

“sirf vansh ne hi nahi, inn sab mein maine bhi vansh ka asli chehra dekh liya hai.”

“kya matlab hai tumhara?!?!!”

ok, i'm thinking ishani is shadow girl. from day 1, she’s wanted riddhima to see vansh in a certain way; as someone dangerous, the way he projects himself. (as opposed to dadi and siya who want her to see his soft side.) this statement from riddhima makes her wary that did she get close to the actual truth. INTERESTING. VERYYYYYYYYY INTERESTINGGGGG.

she's now grumbling about how vansh treats her much better than she actually deserves. I REALLY WANT MORE INSIGHT INTO THIS BROTHER SISTER RELATIONSHIP THEY HAVE IT'S SO INTRIGUINGGGGGGGG

le, kapde chale gaye laundry. phone ke saath.

———————————————————————

precap: kabir listened to the voice note and now him and mummy are in panic about ragini disclosing the truth about 3 years ago. RE DEVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. OFC THESE TWO WERE INVOLVED IN THAT KAAND TOO. LITERALLY EVERY ONE IN THIS SHOW IS A DERANGED MENACE TO SOCIETY.

kabir coming to meet riddhima.

but ofc.

ugh she turned back saying “K.........” and he's like there's literally no one in this house whose name starts with K.

*facepalms for allllll eternity till my godforsaken face itself falls off.*

i think i’ll go watch s2 of mirzapur now. i need something ~~~light and fluffffffffffy~~~ to take my mind off whatever the FUCK this was.

[misplaczd]

ELIZABETH COLE INTRO

{ emilia clarke, 38, cis female, she/her } hey, ELIZABETH COLE? good to see you, with all the insanity going on! still working at BLUE VALLEY BAR as an OWNER? that’s good. i mean, you’ve been around THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS, what do you make of this insanity? hey, i heard that people have been saying that you’re into HAVING THREE GLASSES OF CABERNET SAUVIGNON WHILE WATCHING A HORROR MOVIE, WRITING A NOVEL THAT YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO FINISH, and PRETENDING TO READ IN PUBLIC WHILE ACTUALLY PEOPLE WATCHING. you also remind people of THE QUICK DISAPPEARANCE OF CIGARETTE SMOKE OUT OF A CAR WINDOW, THE MANIC FEELING THAT COMES WITH LOSING EVERYTHING, BLINDINGLY BRIGHT LIGHTS AT THE CLUB, SITTING COMPLETELY STILL FOR HOURS ON END, and A LONG SILENCE THAT SOMEHOW ISN’T AWKWARD, which i like. well, stay safe out there and remember to listen to the fog warnings. { lauryn, 19, she/her, cst }

hello, all ! i’m lauryn, 19, my pronouns are she/her, and i currently reside within the cst timezone. here’s is my first muse, elizabeth ! as i mention on my other posts, i’m headed off to work but i will be on later to plot and also work on my stats for each muse ( i’m not sure why i insist on using the longest possible form that i can ) + link everything on my muse navs. for now, have this:

TRIGGER WARNING — child loss, depression, spousal death (assumed), drug use (only explicitly mentions alcohol), alcoholism, drunk driving

elizabeth was born in pine haven, maine, as an only child to david and martha cole. they were devoutly christian (two by twos religion, specifically) and had strict regulations for what ellie could and couldn’t do. due to this, elizabeth grew up fearing God and hell, developing generalized anxiety.

aside from this, however, ellie led a normal life; she was a scared, yet happy child. as she neared her teenage years, ellie grew restless and began to rebel against her restrictions. she held no resentment toward her parents or her faith; rather, ellie possessed a desire to explore what life had to offer. she began drinking by the age of 14. 

her parents found out and restricted her access to her friends. ellie felt isolated physically and also in relation to her own experiences compared to others. she found comfort in solitude, though she did develop a drinking problem which was concealed from her parents. she slipped into a depression and began experiencing panic attacks and emotional meltdowns.

she met her future husband, james, at religious meetings and felt less alone in the world. the two related to one another on their own spiritual and lifestyle conflicts. ellie’s panic attacks / tantrums became less frequent and her drinking problem improved. her attacks decreased in frequency as she began drinking less.

following graduation, ellie and james got engaged; james began attending school for finance while ellie set her sights on building a business plan for a local bar. desiring to experience new things, ellie experimented with partying and drug use; this didn’t last more than two years. 

it took 4 years after james graduated for the couple to save up and fund elizabeth’s project but it ended up being successful. people flocked to the new drinking spot; it was nothing special but it filled people’s bellies with beer and fried pickles which gave elizabeth a sense of fulfillment. james handled finances for the bar and the two spent some time traveling over the years, wanting to take in as much of life as they were able to. 

during their travels, ellie began writing a novel revolving around a girl who traveled the world looking for God and found a home in multiple religions; this book still remains unfinished. elizabeth still experienced tantrums, though the couple was fairly accustomed to them and learned that grounding techniques gave ellie comfort. 

eventually, at the age of 30, ellie and her husband eventually decided to try for a baby, and were successful. however, elizabeth went into labor three months before her due date, and the baby experienced respiratory failure due to apnea within three days. uterine prolapse was deemed the cause of the tragedy and elizabeth was forced to come to terms with the fact that she could not carry a child to term; a hysterectomy was performed in the interest of her health. 

the loss of their child made elizabeth spiral, but hope was restored when the couple later tried to adopt and got far into the process; however, the mother that they had arranged the adoption with pulled out of the agreement directly after the birth of the child. this deadened any hope the two had for children, as elizabeth decided that she couldn’t bear the thought of the same thing happening again. these events left ellie unhinged and she began drinking heavily again. one night, ellie jumped into a car while severely inebriated and in distress and crashed into a tree. 

this led her to seek out therapy. dialectical behavioral therapy helped her to develop healthy coping mechanisms, and she began attending her religious meetings again with her husband (which she hadn’t done in a year). 

the two focused on taking care of the bar and rescued two older alaskan malamutes, loki (female) and bobby (male). with the support of her husband, her therapist, and God, ellie began to reach a point of stability once more. 

this was preserved until james went missing in the fog six months ago. elizabeth has been falling back into old habits and feeling completely alone. local support groups for lost loved ones due to the fog and even spousal loss groups have given her some comfort in addition to her therapy, but she is nearing her breaking point; she now puts the majority of her efforts into her business and learning the financial side of bar owning. when she’s not doing this, she is typically drinking and sobbing into the fur of her dogs.

click here to learn more about ellie and her personality.

wcs ( there will be a page up for this later for connections that do not get taken up; i’m open to absolutely whatever ):

friends

enemies

acquaintances

people she’s met some her support groups that she attends

people she has maybe traveled with alongside her husband ?

fwb ?

people from her childhood / teenage years ?

drinking buddies

someone she goes to the local movie club with

maybe someone she has a lil book club with ?

someone that’ll explore with her !

polar opposites

maybe someone from the cult that could encourage her to join because i’d love to explore that dynamic !

neighbors

plots based off of a song/movie/show

[flippyspoon]

Your Guy

Note: Plotless fluff to rot your teeth. Eat your goddamn sugar.

The thing is Billy’s never known any other dudes who bone dudes. Which is not to say he didn’t fool around with a couple of guys before Steve but he can’t say he really knew them, it wasn’t like they had long intimate talks in between furious handjobs and anyway, those guys were pretty insistent about how they weren’t homos, so it’s not like they were going to say anything useful even if Billy had given them the chance. The point being, Billy doesn’t know what a relationship--like a real relationship between two dudes--looks like. He honestly never gave it much thought as there were too many other things to think about, like hiding shit from his dad and general fucked up dad related stuff and also what boning Harrington would be like and also some school shit, and eventually the idea of boning Harrington took up about 70% of his headspace give or take so relationship mechanics were really not his priority, not with the stupid feelings about everything that sometimes threatened to choke him if he didn’t find them an outlet.

Then suddenly he’s boning Steve Harrington and it isn’t long before Steve admits he, like...likes Billy? Billy has an urge to tell him he’s an idiot but mainly he just stares at Steve as he zips up his jeans and watches Steve chewing on his lips as he sits still naked on that big luxurious bed. The sex is really enough (a revelation in itself) and sure like internally Billy has cartoon puppies with cartoon hearts crying fat heart-shaped tears for Steve Harrington but like...that’s never been an option he’s seriously considered.

“Forget it,” Steve mumbles , because Billy leaves him hanging way too long. “I’m being stupid.”

“I like you too,” Billy blurts, flushing, and then: “I mean, ya know, you’re alright. I don’t not like you. Whatever. You’re fine. I like you fine. Not like...more than you like me. But not like less, I’m not an asshole but ya know, we can date if you want, if it’s a big deal or something then it’s...whatever sure-”

Steve interrupts him, shoving his tongue down Billy’s throat, having correctly read the fumbling red-faced speech as a passionate confession of love with all its attendant heart-eyed cartoon puppies. If he hadn’t, Billy thinks he might have kept talking, possibly into the 90’s.

So then they’re like...dating.

Parts of dating Steve are not surprising. They fuck with each other all the time, sometimes it’s foreplay or maybe it’s that Billy doesn’t know how to say stupid ridiculous things like “you make me feel special” so instead he gives Steve’s nipple a twist through his gym shirt and that night he’ll remember he did that and give that nipple particular appreciation with his tongue. Steve does that stuff too.

And other times Steve will actually says things like, “You make me feel special.” And the first couple times Billy spits something mean in response because it’s a reflex, because Steve has willingly made himself vulnerable, the dummy. But then he sees how hurt Steve is by it yet somehow it doesn’t even shut Steve up. Just a few days later, Steve says, “Laugh if you want, you do make me feel special. I want you to feel special too. So. Ya know. Fuck you, dude.”

Billy has a crack right on the tip of his tongue except that he knows it would sting Steve and it just won’t come out, it’s like he’s choking on the insult and he must look dumb because Steve grins at his expression and kissed him.

A lot of times Steve is just like a guy like as in kind of a ridiculous dickhead.

Sometimes Billy is surprised by it but maybe he shouldn’t be since Steve did reign as “King Steve” for a time. Like Steve can be crass as hell like it’s nothing, even seems to really enjoy not having to play Good Boy.

One time at lunch when Steve sees that nobody else is nearby he casually says to Billy, “I wonder what you’d look like with three dicks in your mouth.”

It’s weird because it’s the kind of thing that if any other guy at school said it, Billy would immediately sock them in the face but because it’s Steve it’s genuine flirting.

Billy snorts Mr. Pibb through his nose because he really wasn’t expecting that, he was talking about his asshole physics teacher for fuck’s sake.

Billy composes himself, wipes his nose. “Three regular dicks?” He says to Steve. “Or three of your monsters? I can’t unhinge my jaw, asshole.”

“Oooh!” Steve says. “What if I did have three dicks?”

“Guess I’d need another hole,” Billy mutters, and starts laughing so hard, he chokes on a Dorito before coughing it back up.

“Nah uh!” Steves whispers across the table. “I could fuck your mouth and your ears at the same time!”

Billy kicks him under the table. “You’re a fuckin’ dumbass.”

“Suck my jizz through a straw,” Steve cracks.

“Eat my ass,” Billy says.

“Sure yeah!” Steve nods, enthusiastic, as if rimming on school grounds is totally an option. “I could eat. I mean it is lunch time-”

“Dickhead!” But Billy is laughing, he’s laughing so hard. He has tears in his eyes. Joy, they call it. He’s pretty sure. He’s never felt like this before.

That stuff he sort of would have expected dating a dude. That and how half their shit is just crusted with jizz because they can’t keep their hands off each other and they’re not very precious about cleanliness. Steve complains about it yet never actually does the laundry. One afternoon Billy takes the time to do a wash of their stuff at Steve’s house because all their gym clothes can stand up by themselves.

But then there’s other stuff, stuff like that wide-eyed “you make me feel special” shit that Steve does that Billy would not have expected from a dude at all.

Which he supposes means maybe Steve is different. Or, ya know...special.

And, gun to his head? He doesn’t hate it…

Like when he comes over Steve puts on this little show at the door of being casual as if a buddy is coming over as Billy takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack but then the second the door is closed he’s throwing his arms around Billy and swinging him around, the momentum taking Billy off his feet as Steve laughs into his neck. It’s possibly that when Steve does that, Billy physically cannot stop smiling.

Like okay Steve said he liked him, but Billy can’t even get his head around how happy Steve is to see him whenever he’s around.

Like nobody has ever been particularly happy to see him at all. Maybe his mom when he was little?

And the little love notes Steve leaves in his locker. Some of them are filthy and some of them are sweet and he pretends they annoy him but he saves them in a box that he keeps at Steve’s place.

And there’s that time they park at the quarry when “I Want to Know What Love Is” comes on Billy’s car radio and Steve insists they slow dance and Billy makes a face.

“You’ll take my dick in your ass,” Steve says, “but what? Dancing is too gay?”

So somehow he ends up all wrapped up in Steve, slowly swaying to Foreigner.

It’s not the worst thing in the world.

Once, for a whole three days, Billy thinks Steve is about to break up with him.

It’s because when Steve kisses him, suddenly he’s frowning, almost wincing as he breaks away.

What the hell?

It sends an icy chill up Billy’s spine. But Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn't hint that anything is wrong. It’s only when he kisses Billy. Billy wonders if Steve has abruptly lost his taste for dick or something. Or for Billy’s kisses. He doesn’t ask about it, of course. He chain-smokes. For three night he can’t sleep.

Then on a Friday evening, they’re driving around in the Camaro, and Steve asks to stop at the pharmacy by Melvalds.

“Be right back,” Steve says.

Billy waits, smoking as he leans against the car, parked around the corner. Steve only takes about two minutes. He reappears without a bag, but he’s holding something in his hand as he walks up to Billy who’s standing there on the deserted sidewalk, kicking the ground because what if Steve doesn’t want him anymore? He wants to scream.

“You know what the worst part of dating a guy is?” Steve says.

Billy braces himself. So it’s the gay thing in general, he thinks. It’s too hard having to keep things quiet, having to be a little careful-

“It’s like you’ve never heard of chapstick,” Steve says, holding up a little white plastic tub of Blistex.

Billy says, “Huh?”

Steve steps up close to him, chuckling. “All the little things girls do, that guys don’t bother with, ya know? Like when you do your own laundry you always forget the fabric softener so your jeans are always kinda stiff-”

“I didn’t know you knew what fabric softener was,” Billy says. “Fabric softener is crucial,” Steve says, narrowing his eyes. “As is chapstick.”

Steve approaches him with a finger dolloped with Blistex. Billy’s head is still spinning. He jerks back. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Chill,” Steve says. “Your lips are fucked up. I’m fixing them.”

Billy, bemused, allows Steve to go over his lips with the Blistex. He looks like he’s concentrating pretty hard as he slathers Billy’s parted mouth with the stuff. It does...feel nice. Hawkins has had a chilly dry spell lately and Billy has a habit of licking his lips a lot. He noticed they were kinda chapped, he supposes, but it didn’t occur to him to buy goddamn chapstick.

“Jesus,” Billy murmurs. “You kept making faces when you kissed me. Thought you were sick a’ me or somethin’.”

“Oh no!” Steve looks distraught at that. He shoves the Blistex in Billy’s front pocket and claps his hands to Billy’s cheeks. “God no. You’re my guy!”

Billy smirks a little at that. Steve’s hands are always so soft and his thumbs are stroking Billy’s skin. “I’m your guy, huh?”

“Yeah, you’re my guy,” Steve whispers, and his sentence trails off when he kisses Billy softly. “Mmm. Much better. Lil greasy but still better.”

Billy brings his hands up to cover Steve’s wrists but he holds them there as he purses his newly moisturized lips. “Okay, I’m gonna say something. I’m gonna hate myself for saying this.”

“Ooh what?” Steve says.

“You…” Billy rolls his eyes. “Fuck. You make me feel special. Okay? Ugh. Christ.”

Steve’s plush mouth splits into a grin, the big toothy one he wears when Billy’s done something particularly good. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Billy shrugs. “Whatever.”

Steve kisses the tip of Billy’s nose and his chin. “Glad you told me that, baby. That makes me happy.”

“Well…you are my guy,” Billy says, and Steve laughs and kisses him again.

[komowah-blog]

Tied | Borusara Fic~

ahhhh, nights out series will come out soon, tmr or today. just wanted to make this fic. ill use this as a prompt.

Summary: The girls capture Boruto Uzumaki, questioning him to see if he’s perfect for Sarada Uchiha. Sarada doesn’t know about this... Oh boy, how will this end?

Genre: Fluff and a lil of angst.

Rating: T+ 

Word count: 1,599

Character count:9,101

Quick ad that you don’t have to read: My ask is open, and remember to like and follow if you like my fics! if you like this maybe you’ll like, Girl’s Night/The Nights series! ^^

Warnings: Language

I don’t do beta-reads so please reply if I made any mistakes!~

It was a new day, Sarada Uchiha, the heir of the Uchiha clan. She was hanging out with the girls; Sumire Kakei, Namida Suzumeno, Wasabi Izuno, and  ChouChou Akimichi. They all were close to the Uchiha. And there was also, Boruto Uzumaki’s group. Shikadai Nara, Inojin Yamanaka, Mitsuki, Iwabe Yuino, Denki Kaminarimon. Both of these groups had mostly someone who lead it, and inspired everyone of them. For the boys, it was the Uzumaki. For the girls, it was the Uchiha. They all just had.. like a quirk. Everyone around them just felt almost connected to them, y’know? 

“ ‘And then, he grabbed my hand..’ Sumire, what the hell is this?“ ChouChou furrowed her eyebrows to her with a glare. 

“N-Nothing! It’s just...Imagine Kagura if he would do that to one of us! He’d glazed to us, with the sun behind us...! And then, lean one of us to a kiss, and then get a good grip, and hug him tig-” 

Namida scratched her back and throwed a comment at her,”Sumire... you’re obsessed with him.”

“Kya! I’m n-n-not!” Her face was totally wrong for what she said, it countered her statement physically. Poor Sumire. ChouChou noticed Sarada, she was lost in her own thoughts. She kept on looking at her, and poking at her.

“You keep on saying that Sumire!” Wasabi also joined the argument between those two. Her headband threw a shine before she looked at those two. The conversation kept on going on, and Sarada still no response of her saying to the rest that Sumire is fine. This usually happens, but not today? What’s going on with that little Uchiha? ChouChou couldn’t handle it anymore and kept on glaring at her. Her eyebrows changed into a irritated expression. She DESPISED when Sarada was like this. ChouChou then roared,”Sarada!” Sarada blinked twice and then looked at ChouChou. The others stood quiet, the scream that ChouChou frightened them. Sarada just looked at the sight of a furious Akimichi. And boy, when they were mad, they can one-shot you and destroy millions of buildings. Especially when someone said the f word... (fat)

“Uh...ChouChou? Is there a problem?” her glasses released a shine, one side going to another. It fogged up her glasses by how embarrased she was, releasing a tear of sweat. 

“I-Is there a problem?” Sarada was feeling sheepish, and ChouChou the opposite. She was unhinged and upset. 

“Bitch, what do you mean if there’s a problem? You’re supposed to tell us, what the hell was that expression you just had?” ChouChou was boiling, she was like a red pepper.

“ChouChou..! Calm down!” Wasabi had the courage to say something.She put her arm around ChouChou’s to signal that she’s overreacting. Sumire and Namida were in shock, they’ve never actually seen ChouChou this mad. They see her swear all the time, but not have an expression or tone of voice. 

“How the hell can I calm down when my friends are gloomy?” Namida was to say something, but her mouth closed immediately. Wasabi released her hand, and Sarada was petrified. She then fixed her glasses, and brushed her hair off the sides.

“So? What is it Sarada? Is there something you wanna tell us?” ChouChou leaned in closer, and cracked her knuckles. “Do you wanna pick a fight with her? Friends are supposed to comfort them, right?” a smile from the shadows appeared on a rooftop. ChouChou’s mouth opened, and her expression went into a frown. “No! I’m not trying to do that at all! But friends are supposed to tell them what’s going on right?” ChouChou then furrowed her eybrows,”Wait...Who the hell are you?” She crossed her arms and looked down. Sumire was worrying and shouting all over the place,”Uwawah! What’s going on..?!!!” because now, ChouChou isn’t acting like she’s crazy. “I think you know me, I’m pretty friendly. The name’s Boruto Uzumaki!” He finally walked out of the shadows, with a big smile. “You little motherfucker! You’re the reason Sarada’s acting like this, huh?!” ChouChou started to crack her neck. Sarada felt bad, and gave ChouChou a note, then flashed away. 

“Huh?” Boruto was confused, why didn’t she give him a note. He was a bit jealous.  “Bratty Sarada, only caring about girls..hmph.” Boruto looked away in disgust. 

“The reason why I was spaced out was because my father isn’t coming home for about a year. He says it’s just him protecting us...” ChouChou gasped, and so did the girls. “Some dad she has!” ChouChou was mad again, jesus. but not that mad, because this isn’t her family. So she understood. But she also saw a picture fall off of Sarada when she flashed. Boruto’s eyes widened when she read that. He went closer to the Akimichi, and telling her to see it. She passes it off to him, and he furrowed his eyebrows. ChouChou went closer to the photo and grasped it. It was a photo of team 7. She started laughing, and the rest were confused. Sumire ran off somewhere with Namida and Wasabi when they weren’t looking, so she can calm herself. 

“Look, Boruto! It’s a photo of you when you were younger!”, she had an evil grin on. “Huh? Lemme see!” He ran in closer and until ChouChou went even more closer, her hand went in a flash and hit Boruto’s head with some what big hands, not partial expansion jutsu. He collapsed and ChouChou was dragging him on the floor with his jacket. She released an evil laugh when they went to the forest of Konoha. She tied him up with a rope onto the tree. “Sarada would kill for a guy like you, huh?” She was talking to herself at that time. She reached in her pockets and grabbed her phone. She dialed class rep, Namida and Wasabi.

“Time for a mission, girls. It’s called Sarada Uzumaki.”

“Sarada Uzumaki?! Eh? isn’t that Boruto’s last name?! Kyah!” 

ChouChou released a sigh,”Yeah, she’ll be an Uzumaki soon.”

“Give us your location!” Namida said with excitement.

“On it.” ChouChou pressed home and texted all of them where she was located. 

“I’ll see you there in 2 minutes?” Wasabi informed them, then she hung up.

“Uwah!!! I’ll go there in a sec!” 

“Same.”

They all hung up. ChouChou opened a bag of her favorite, chips. The salted ones, just regular. Soon after, Sumire and all of them appeared. Boruto just started to open his eyes. 

“So what’s the details?” Wasabi then stretched her arms.

“Interrogate him. Let’s see if he’s perfect for her.”

“What? For who?” Boruto eavesdropped and closed one eye.

“Sarada Uchiha.” They all released giggles and it made them look super scary.

“Oh god..” Boruto released a sigh.

“You know ‘ttebassa, could you at least try to be nice?” he left a grin for them. 

“You’re still breathing, that’s me being fucking nice, asshole.” ChouChou then cracked her neck in a threatening way.

“Jeesh. If Sarada hears this, she’d just be in love with me after all, I need to deal with you guys.” 

“Shut it, Uzumaki!” the Akimichi was pointing to him.

“I’m sorry...!” Sumire whispered out to him.

Boruto left out a wink. And the rest were signaling that they can hear her...

“So, do you like Sarada Uchiha?” ChouChou sat down infront of him. Brushing her hair aside, in a diva mode.

“Hmm... I dunno. That’s tough. She nags me alot, though.” Boruto was actually cooperating? ChouChou and the rest widened their eyes. “Huh. You’re not that tough to talk. I envy you for that” Wasabi added. “If I had the chance, I would ask her out. Too bad she’s into Kawaki.” Boruto was blushing, and had a tone showing some sorrow. He looked away, and later added,”Just let me go ‘ttebassa..” ChouChou was suprised and giggling. “She’s not into Kawaki! Oh Kaguya, Wasabi is into Kawaki, not her. She actually likes you, but she also gets sad about you. Like when you get hurt, or sometimes when you make fun of her. She’s tough, but she has her weak spots, y’know?” ChouChou closed her eyes, and poked Boruto’s face who was super flustered. “Really? I have a chance?!” Boruto started to dance in the rope, like a little worm. His eyes brightened. “Just like a child... goddamn it Uzumaki.” Sumire, Namida and Wasabi flashed away in a second, just like usual... ChouChou released out a deep, she brought out a kunai and cut the rope. “Just go to her...” “She in her house, she’d be more than happy, Sakura isn’t home, either.” 

“Thanks, Chubbs.” 

“Uh-huh..whatever..” She was waving bye to him while facing the other way. he flashed away, and she left a smile. “Lady Uzumaki..”

Boruto randomly got flower, he probably stole them from the Yamanaka flower shop. Oh well, he’s friends with the owner, after all. He’ll pay sooner. He hid the flowers behind his back, and rang her doorbell. He could her the footsteps coming from upstairs to downstairs. His eyes brightened. The Uchiha opened the door, suprised that it was Boruto.

“B-Boruto?” She had her glasses off, she was resting. He looked away, and said,”Mrs.Uchiha... will you be my girlfriend?” He had the color of bright red all over his face. Sarada’s eyes widened, she then got embarrassed.. And grabbed his hand to pull him inside. He closed the door with his leg, and placed the flowers on the table. She then pulled him close, smashing their lips together. They were kissing for about 10 minutes, their mouths numb and on the couch now. 

“I’m guessing that’s a yes?” Boruto grinned.

Sarada sighed ,”Yeah..” 

In the window of all of that, Mitsuki and ChouChou were recording everything.

Thank you all for reading! Sorry if this didn’t have proper development.. It’s kinda late, but oh well!