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almostfoxglove · 4 months ago

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I'LL CARRY IT

written for my angst challenge

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Javier x f!Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

you can read on ao3 too, if you like!

SUMMARY: Your childhood best friend returns to Laredo a celebrated hero. When he shows up at your bar shackled by grief, you drag him home for the night. CW: Heavy alcohol consumption and brief reference to the death of a parent. A fair bit of yearning.

Takes place somewhere in S3E1 after the wedding but before Javier returns to Colombia.

part II | series masterlist | masterlist

12:00 A.M.

At first you mistake it for a good thing. Last shift before your weekend, two hours to go, and the long-gone local hero back in his hometown smoking a cigarette at your bar. Your break over, you slink from the backroom into the riotous din of The Last Man Standing—one of Laredo’s many dives—to reclaim your post behind the bar. Place is a hellhole as often as it is crowded and tonight’s no different, and yet you’re halfway to a smirk. Pleased to see an old friend.

He hasn’t looked up, hasn’t seen you yet, so you busy yourself with the guy who flags you down to order the second he spots you. Fine by you, the guy tips well the later it gets and it’s already after midnight, and regardless, you don’t mind having an excuse to observe The Javier Peña, DEA agent extraordinaire, at a distance. Top button undone, cigarette vanishing in his hand, eyes glued to the ring-stained bartop as smoke shivers out between his lips. Quite the celebrity now. Been home three weeks if the rumors are true but you’ve yet to see him. You figured he’d call, but he didn’t—not that you’re surprised.

Eight years feels like nothing now. Maybe he’s a hero to everyone else, but to you Javier looks exactly the same as he has his whole life—all that’s changed is the depth of his misery. How he doesn’t look up for anything or anyone, except to shrug off the occasional shoulder clap from some drunk stranger.

When you’ve served the guy his drink and collected your tip—30%, thank you sir—you shake the nerves loose from your shoulders and slide up, glass in hand.

“Well shit,” you say when you’re in front of him, and Javier slowly lifts his eyes. You smile, all rogue. No shake to your voice at all as you pour a whiskey blind. “This the part when I ask for an autograph?”

Javier’s dark brow dips in the middle and you might as well be twenty-eight again. Twenty-one. Eighteen. Eleven. All the ages you’ve been with him in all the years you’ve known him. Because this, right here—that little furrow that looks like a frown if you’re not looking close enough—is exactly how he’s always been. How he’s always looked at you after time spent away.

Sure, there’s never been this much away . This much radio silence. The kind of parting that comes with getting older, getting further—something you once would’ve sworn only happens to everyone else. You’ve made your peace with it. Wished him well from the wrong side of the hemisphere. You’ve had lives of your own.

Seems he can still cut a tiny hole in your chest when he withholds a smile.

Javier spears smoke from the corner of his mouth as you slip his empty glass behind the bar and replace it with the fresh pour, watching as he nods in a tired, humorless way. “Not signing shit for you,” he gruffs, and snubs his filter into the crystal ashtray beside his glass.

One-two-three-four-five others sit beside it, ashed in their grave.

So he feels about as bad as he looks.

“Awful snappy for a man hoggin’ a barstool,” you reply.

The corner of his mouth flinches but doesn’t pull. He picks up his glass, eyes sagging away from you. “Nice to see you too,” Javier concedes.

1:00 A.M.

Friday means it’s crazy, means the rest of your shift slingshots by, and most of the night someone else is working Javier’s side of the bar so you lose track of his drinks. The windows of the bar have fogged, giving the world beyond a kind of eerie glow.

You do your best to watch him, holding in your stomach a knot of newborn worry, but there’s always someone shouting for another drink. Now and then you catch some guy in a cap lumbering up to him to boast loudly of his pride, and though it’s microscopic—invisible maybe to everyone else—you see the way Javier shrinks in on himself. Folds.

The smoking, too, goes on. You sweep past him on your way to a booth in the corner, tray of shots balanced in hand, and accidentally inhale a sour cloud as he blows it out. You try to stifle your cough as you reach the table, doling out the silver glasses slick with tequila. On your way back to the bar, Javier catches your eye and snuffs the spent cigarette with an apologetic look. Pendant lights sway in his eyes like fireflies. You shake your head like he’s being silly, squeeze his shoulder briefly as you pass, and the roar of his body beneath your palm blazes like a campfire. The kind of heat that blackens everything to char.

You think he’s had four drinks, maybe five, but not for sure.

2:00 A.M.

Only the drunks remain to kick out into the bog of late-summer, all that humidity that ruins your hair. You like most of ‘em. Most swagger out with a slurred night, sweetheart as you usher them safely into their cabs. Then all that’s left is your childhood sweetheart slumped over at the bar. Dated for two weeks in sixth grade—broke up over god knows what, probably him stealing your favorite gel pens—and were inseparable ever after. The second that kid sloped into your classroom, all gangly limbs attached loose as rubber bands and dark curls drifting vagrantly into his eyes, you just knew. Didn’t know how, didn’t know why—but you knew that boy would be home, and he was for years.

Look at him now. Passed out drunk, lips parted, cheek squished flat beside his empty glass. His cigarette flares from his limp hand beside his face. You shoo off your coworker with a friendly gnight before slipping the cigarette from Javier’s fingers to crush in the crystal tray with its brothers.

You go about cleaning up around him. He doesn’t wake for anything—not even when you have to count all the coins in the till for the night—which also, is new. Javier’s always slept like shit, even when you were kids and there wasn’t much to sweat over. Woke up if someone in the other room dared to breathe too deeply.

Guess a bathtub’s worth of whiskey will take anybody out.

When it’s time to go, you slip your hand up his spine to rest between his shoulder blades. “Alright, cariño,” you say softly. “Time to go home.”

Javier stirs, but only barely. A grunt, a shallow breath, a flutter in his lashes. You pat his back firmly, not harshly, but enough that he sniffs and grunts again, awake.

“Blue’s still up there,” he mumbles with his eyes closed.

Grinning, you lift your face to the ceiling fan overhead—one of two dozen in this place, none of which run and all of which droop with a rainbow of bras tossed into the rafters. Above you now sways the strap of a pale blue bra mildewed with dust. Would’ve been your twenty-first when you shot that up there, and it’s never fallen.

“I’m a decent shot,” you say.

Now he grins, just half his lips, but a real one all the same. “I remember.”

“Course you do, I was better than you.”

At your teasing, the grin snaps clean off his face and his real frown replaces it. “No’anymorre,” he slurs.

Your heart plummets. You can see, now, the bruised darkness beneath his closed eyes as you rub a small circle in the middle of his back. If you were already home you’d pull him into your arms, but he can’t rot on this stool all night. In your silence, Javier cracks one eye at you. “Can’t drive,” he groans.

“No shit,” you say, forcing a soft grin, and he mumbles some gibberish that sounds like it’s supposed to be Spanish. “Come on, work with me here.”

His eye shuts again as he grimaces, face still smushed against the bartop. His hair’s a mess so you comb it back, but the fucker still won’t budge. Rolling your eyes, you lift his arm and drape it over your shoulders to help him off the stool, his body warm and pliant. More solid than you remember him being before. Layers of slender muscle built up like the rings of a tree.

When he rises, gravity lurches and you stagger under his weight, catching yourself against the bar.

“Careful now,” you warn him playfully.

Javier turns his face towards yours, close enough in this awkward position that his nose presses against your cheek. He reeks of smoke and shitty whiskey. A little of sweat. You’d mock him for it if he were anywhere within a hundred miles of sober, but he’s a lost cause for now. Your arm fits snug around his waist. To his credit, he makes an effort to stay on his feet. Turns his head down to watch his boots as you walk him outside like he’s focusing intently on putting one foot in front of the other. You pinch his side and he hmphs at you.

“Could’a just called, you know,” you say as you walk him to your car. The street is all empty parking spots and shuddered windows and packs of thirsty mosquitos, cicada song chirping densely in the air. Your car sleeps down the block alone, black as the sky and in need of a wash, green-strung beads hanging in a loop from the rearview mirror inside.

“Wanted t’ seeyou,” Javier says.

You nudge your head against his cheek gently. “I missed you too,” you say.

As you drive, streetlamps stripe past the windows. Brick buildings sit squat and lightless, bodegas shackled for the night, and a wilful trash bag balloons with a passing breeze, blowing across the road with a quiet, swimming grace. In the passenger seat, Javier slumps against the door, temple pressed to the half-open window. You think he’s asleep until he licks his bottom lip.

“Saw Lorraine,” he mumbles, those dark eyes closed away, like he can hardly keep himself awake.

You turn back to watch the empty road. Stop at the stop signs just for show. No one’s out here but you at this hour—Laredo is a ghost town.

“Heard Danny was gettin’ married,” you reply.

Javier exhales profoundly: slow, labored, loud. He’s always been a pouty drunk, but this is something else. “You weren’t there,” he says.

“Had to work.”

“Liar.”

You roll your eyes even though he isn’t looking at you to see. He’ll feel it. Always does. Drumming your fingertips against the steering wheel, you fight back a smirk. “Fucked one of the groomsmen last year,” you admit. “Didn’t feel like havin’ a reunion.”

When you glance at him again, Javier has opened his eyes a sliver to smirk at you, the corner of his mouth pulled into his dimpled cheek. “Julien?”

You frown at the road. “Mateo.”

“Shit,” mumbles Javier, still smirking.

“Somethin’ like that,” you agree.

At the next red light his eyes are closed again and despite the fact that he’s, what, thirty six now? Javier looks like a child to you. Spine hunched, torso sunken. Shoulders broader than ever but curled in on themselves, like if he only had the room he’d be small as a seed. Fetal and miserable. A thousand years older on the inside than anyone should ever have to be.

“Starin’ a’me,” he scolds, his words slumping into each other.

You huff quietly, caught. “Shut up,” you say. “Just remindin’ myself what you look like. Think you got uglier.”

He growls darkly, unamused.

As you turn at the next light, the green-beaded rosary sways from the rearview mirror. If he had his eyes open Javier would recognize it. His mother’s—passed to you before she died. You aren’t one for praying but you’ll die with it in your hands, you think. That’s the kind of person she was to you. Eternal.

Beside you, Javier mutters something unintelligible, his breath fogging the window.

“Hm?”

“Seein’ anyone yet?” he repeats, and shifts to loll his head back against the seatrest.

You gasp softly, feigning offense. “Yet? Ouch, baby,” you tease.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he grumbles.

“I know,” you say, as you turn into the suburbs. Quiet starter homes lurk in the dark, kids’ bicycles lying like skeletons in their yellowing lawns. “I’m being mean.”

“I like y’mean,” Javier replies, and finally opens his eyes as if he can sense you’re getting close to home, even though he’s never seen this place. He stares through the windshield glazed and distant, and you try not to stare like you’re concerned. He looks destroyed, you think. Obliterated. Sure, you’ve kept up with the news. Devoured everything you could about the quest to tackle Escobar, terrified Javier’s name would appear in the black ink that stained your fingers, reporting he was dead. That he’d be another casualty, and you’d not have said goodbye.

You know you’ve got no clue what really happened down there. That you never will. But you can see it choking him, hanging from his neck like a noose that’s just biding its time before it pulls.

“Nah, it’s just me,” you say, dragging your eyes off him again. “Think the two weeks we dated was about the closest I ever came to love.”

You’re joking, all foxish grin, but Javier doesn’t laugh. He just stares into the middle distance looking like a ghost. “Sixteen,” he mumbles.

“What?” you say.

He sighs. “Was sixteen days,” he annunciates, and your heart sputters.

Then his face folds in on itself suddenly; he pales, then greens. “Gonna b’sick,” he says.

3:00 A.M.

“Christ, you got heavy,” you groan, hobbling slanted up your porch steps. Though more alert, Javier is no less useless in walking, and though he mumbles shame-riddled sorrys he can’t much help you here. You hold him tightly to you, fingers pinching into his hip as he leans, hot as a furnace against your side in the worst of summer. You don’t care.

It doesn’t matter that it’s been eight years. It could be forty, and if Javier showed up on your doorstep ready to fall, your response would only ever be give it to me. I’ll carry it.

He grunts as you prop him against the side of your house to fish out your keys. “All muscle,” he teases, voice deep and coarse.

“Glad you haven’t shed your ego,” you snark.

You give the door a shove as the lock turns. Javier tips his face up to look at the sliver of moon left out to wink from the sky as if he’s saying a prayer. He reeks of sick—his shirt stained in one spot on his chest where he failed to aim away from himself—and while he stares up at the dark rash of night you work open the buttons of his shirt to take it off. Despite puking in your car, he’s still too lost to the world to notice your hands until you’re halfway down. Maybe in another life you’d be staring at his chest as you uncover it. The broad slopes of muscle, his stomach, the dark path of hair trailing towards his jeans. But in this life, you aren’t that to each other. You don’t get to be.

“Cariño,” Javier says, and one of his hands covers yours as you pinch the last button. Looking down at you now, concerned through hazy eyes. Summer hangs wetly in the air; his curls lay damp against his skin, licking his temples, the nape of his neck.

You shrug his hand off yours, offering a small grin. “Gotta get this in the wash, Javi,” you tell him. “Not allowed to get in my bed smelling like puke.”

Cicadas sing from their trees. Your house, small as it may be, is a welcoming place. All red bricks and white shutters. The swing on the porch sways behind Javier, giving the occasional squeak. You shuck his button-up off his shoulders and ball it in your hands before catching his eye. “Can I trust you to stay upright while I put this in the wash?” you ask, one eyebrow arched.

He scowls, all pouty bottom lip—trying to make you laugh, even now. You huff as if exhausted, sarcastic and a little pleased. He’s in there, the person you’ve loved. Somewhere buried.

When the laundry is running you find him on your porch swing, horizontal. One bare arm dangling off the seat, his eyes closed again. Skin that’s usually golden washed silver by moonlight. In this heat there’s no reason for you to cover him but still you feel the nagging urge. Even with you here with him, you hate the thought of anyone coming out onto their porches or lawns to see him like this—out of control. You rouse him just enough to lift his head so you can sit at the end of the swing, then lay his head in your lap. He hums. A low, gravelly sound of pleasure. Glad to feel you beneath him in this small way.

“M’sorry, baby,” Javier murmurs groggily, nuzzling his cheek against your leg as you stroke the hair away from his face again. He’s flushed, damp and sweaty, and even with the shirt gone could use a shower but you’d never say so. At this point, you’ve seen him in every state—sunny and terrible and everything in between—and don’t fear any of them. Don’t hate any of them. Never could, because all of them are him, so how could you.

“Cleaned up your puke before,” you reply. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen.”

He sighs, and with no small effort rolls himself onto his back with a grunt—the swing sways with the movement, rocking you both. Then once more, this time to his other side to face you. You chuckle softly as he settles, one of his arms reaching behind you to wrap around your hips, and for a while you drift back and forth with the porch light off and the moon’s claw cutting through the dark.

It’d be something close to heaven if it weren’t for his pain.

“Wanted to call you,” Javier sighs, after a long while of cricketing quiet. “After—”

Nothing.

You wait.

The rest of whatever he was going to say dissolves, never follows. Never becomes something for you to hold, to know, to carry. He keeps all the weight.

“Could’ve,” you say, hand in his hair again, how he always used to like. Even when you were kids he always wanted to be touched. His head in your lap, your hand in his hair to scare off his bad dreams. You could never tell a soul without destroying him—and you never wanted to. The way you were for each other was just that: for each other. Everyone knew you were close, inseparable at school. But the depth of that bond was a secret no one had to know. How his body needed to be close to yours to settle, to breathe, sometimes to sleep.

Javier’s nose scrunches as he fights off some stabbing thought. You stroke your thumb across his temple, trying to get him to look at you, but he won’t.

“Tell me,” you whisper.

Two words you never say. A question you never ask. He’s so far past drunk he’s practically a child—maybe it’s wrong to ask him like this—but you’d do anything to relieve even one ounce of this suffering.

Eventually, he exhales deeply, breath warm against your hip. Behind you, you feel his hand stroke your back, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “Thought you’d hate me,” he mumbles.

Your heart splinters. Every cell in your body wants to pull him against you, pull him into you, swallow the ache. “Should know better than that by now,” you say.

The shoulder he isn’t laying on bobs with what must be a shrug. “Been a while.”

“Been a long time,” you agree. Not angry, not bitter, not blaming—it’s been a long time. It’s nothing to you now but a fact. Seeing him again has erased the nag of your neglected longing.

With a gruff, Javier’s arm tightens around your back and he pulls himself closer, his forehead nuzzling your hip bone. “Feels like a’undred years,” he says, his voice hoarse and broken.

There isn’t anything you can do but card your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with featherlight nails. You let your head fall back against the brick of your house. Exhausted, but you won’t sleep. You’ll stay awake with him all night if he needs it, if he asks you. Even if he doesn’t.

4:00 A.M.

“No more water,” he begs. “Please.”

In your kitchen, just the stove light on, he’s sobering. Not sober —but he can stand up on his own. Leaning back against your counter, both hands outstretched to rest upon the laminate. Cool light splits his face in half—one bright and weary, one lost to shadow. You roll your eyes and hold one hand out to accept his water glass which he passes you with a grateful sigh.

You listen to the harsh rush of water draining into the kitchen sink—a stark disruption to the eerie quiet of the middle of the night in which it feels like you and Javier are the only people left on earth.

Behind you, Javier groans, watching the glass fill again.

“It’s for the nightstand, baby,” you assure him as you pass it back.

He pouts at it, arms drooping at his sides. Trying again. Digging for your laugh. With expectant eyes you pick up his hand and cup it around the glass, and when you let go and he doesn’t drop it you let a smile creep slowly across your face. Satisfied, he straightens a little, swaying slightly, and nods. He looks down at the floor, his bare feet, and his face blues. Darkens like he’s remembering.

You lay the palm of your hand over the center of his chest and beneath it Javier’s heart throbs steadily. His lungs expand. His blood moves. Alive—whether he feels it or not—and a comfort to you.

Though you’ve lived in this house only three years and Javier’s never once seen or stepped foot in it, he trails through the narrow halls to your bedroom like he knows it well. Sloppy footsteps, yes, and always with you behind him braced to catch any sudden fall, but he makes it in the end. Water sloshes over the lip of his glass as he sets it down. Then—still in his jeans, which hug his thighs so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t try to peel them off—he crawls into your bed, on top of the duvet. In the doorway you pause to watch him and get a vision of another life in which he does this every night, at ease in your home because it’s his home too.

It is a terrible thought, weak and troubling. It’ll burrow if you let it, so you kick it away. While you strip free of your work clothes, you watch him in the small mirror above your dresser; his head flops into your pillows, cheek smushed, eyes sliding closed. Those dark lashes, those parted lips. Always exactly the same. He doesn’t even glance in your direction—he doesn’t need to peek at your body. He’s seen you before. You him.

“Was Mateo worse than me,” he asks from the bed, like he’s read your mind. No surprise. For years, you would’ve sworn he could.

You blush, though he’s not looking. “Javi,” you say softly.

“Sorry,” he sighs.

In a t-shirt, you pad around the other side of the bed to crawl over the covers and curl onto your side to face him, one hand beneath your cheek. “Sex in college is supposed to be bad,” you tell him, grinning.

His brows pinch together, bracketing his forehead. “Shouldn’t've been with you,” he mumbles.

Yes, he’s how you remember. Ever chasing some rabbit hole to plummet down to avoid the cavern to which he’ll give no name. He’s got one hand buried under his pillow—how easy it is to think of your things as his—and the other lies between you, limp. You take it in your own, pull it to your lips, and press them to his knuckles. “We were kids,” you say, sure to smile against the back of his hand so he’ll feel it.

He huffs. “Drunk.”

“That too.”

“Better now, I swear.”

You laugh. Can’t help it. Silver light from the moon puddles over you, illuminating half his face, the curve of his shoulder, the slope of his arm. Even miserable, probably in a blackout, one foot hanging sadly off the edge of the mattress, Javier is someone who draws laughter out of you with ease, same as when you were kids. You kiss the back of his hand again, still grinning, and watch the frown dissolve from his face. He’s always been beautiful in a way that never seemed fair, but you think it might be getting worse with age. No one should look so good in this state, but there he is.

“Sure hope so, baby,” you tease.

Now he cracks one dark eye to squint at you, the corner of his mouth loosening, curling into his cheek. Then there’s that dimple. Your heart patters. You’ve missed him. “Could show you,” Javier smirks.

You roll your eyes. “You aren’t showin’ me shit right now.”

His bottom pink pops again, pouting as he broods, yanking another chuckle from you while he murmurs something you miss. Something that ends with good though.

“Hm?” you say.

“You smell good though,” Javier murmurs, and though soft you hear it this time. That almost whine.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, and like magic, he laughs. Smile lines crinkle beside his eyes, nose scrunching. Beautiful. It is, you think, the best of him—how he looks when he actually laughs. It takes over his face.

As you both settle, he scooches closer on the bed, squeaking the mattress. You feel the warm plume of his breath whisper over your face as he sighs. He has, it seems, only a match of levity at a time. It sparkles, flares, and smokes out too quickly.

It isn’t a frown that replaces it, but despair. “Gonna feel like shit tomorrow,” he mutters, no louder than a whisper. No need to speak any louder when you’re lying this close. Your lips press to his knuckles again and this time he squeezes your hand, the muscles in his forearm briefly tensing. Freckles dot his bicep like stars.

“You feel like shit right now,” you whisper in reply.

Javier nods, face folding like he wants to cry. But he almost never does, not even in front of you.

5:00 A.M.

You drift into brief tides of sleep with the warmth of him around you, his face in the crook of your neck. For most of your life, you’ve chalked up the ease with which you touch each other to an echo of your childhoods—a time in which touch is given often and without judgment. There has never been hesitation between you, not in this way. Even now, eight years since the last time you saw him, Javier slots against you in a way that just feels right—new, broader shoulders and all.

His slow, deep breaths warm your neck, your collarbone. You couldn’t wiggle out of his arms if you tried, and though it’s warm even with the window open, even with both of you on top of the covers, you don’t want to. Eight years is a long time to go without this.

When he stirs with a tortured groan, you nudge your lips against his forehead. “S’okay,” you mumble, and the whine that snakes out of him rattles your chest and slices clean through your heart. Wrapping a hand around the back of his head, fingers threading through curls, you pull him closer, and his arms tighten around your waist.

Maybe it should feel wrong when Javier nuzzles into your neck to kiss you softly beneath the jaw, but it doesn’t.

“Baby—” he croaks, and you hush him, petting his hair.

You don’t want him to say it. You never say it. If he says it now, it’ll ruin you.

“I know, Javi,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes closed so tight you see a rain of stars. “I know.”

“Y’ never let me say it,” he mumbles against your throat, his breath fogging your skin.

“You don’t need to,” you say.

“Wanted to, you know,” he replies, his voice so gentle you feel it pass from his chest to yours in a shallow tremor.

You chuckle softly from the darkness behind your eyes, like opening them will break the spell. “Oh yeah? When?”

He shrugs, his body loose and boneless. The heat of him is making you sweat.

“The whole time,” Javier mumbles, and you wish suddenly that he weren’t so close because he must hear the sudden racing of your heart. “Pensé que me casaría contigo.”

If he didn’t hear its racing, you think, there’s no way he misses when it stops. Your Spanish is mediocre at best but you catch fragments, piece it together. I thought I’d marry you.

Your forehead wrinkles as a sudden urge to cry slams into you, shattering your bones. At least you manage to pat his back teasingly, feigning coolness, steadiness. Pretending he hasn’t toppled you.

“Think you’re confusing me and Lorraine, cariño,” you tease quietly, hopeful that the wetness in your eyes doesn’t taint your voice.

Silence stretches like an elastic threatening a snap, a sting, a burn. But Javier exhales in a way that feels like he’s asleep again, like all of this is just nonsense cooked up in some drunken dream. Soon sleep is dragging at you sweetly, loosening your limbs again. You grow heavy, face slack, your limbs indistinguishable from his. When he whispers again you hardly hear it and the words don’t stick. You’ll forget them when you next wake for real. But he says them all the same.

“Not confusin’ you with anybody.”

Then you’re gone, sucked away. Asleep.

6:00 A.M.

The yellow morning leaks through your bedroom. You wake to a glint in your eyes: sunlight reflecting off a picture frame on your dresser. You and Javier twenty years ago dressed for junior prom, hidden now by the blinding. Squinting, you groan a soft mph sound as you wake, desperate to bury yourself in sleep again.

In your brief slumber the two of you have remained braided—two strands of clinging ivy. Against you, Javier groans, humming tiredly against your throat, and you feel his hand slip up the hem of your shirt again, his palm flat over your spine.

Half asleep, you let him.

Half asleep, you let yourself remember.

You’re twenty five again. Just a few years out of college, both of you home for the summer. Out in the long grass in Chucho’s yard, you stretch yourselves out to sunbathe in the Texas summer, watching bumblebees laze drowsily between blooming thistles. Beside you, Javier lies on his back with both hands cradled beneath his head while you read, those yellow aviators over his eyes.

“Could get a place together,” he says. So casual, so simply.

Looking up from your book, you see the pink collar of sunburn around his neck and grin to yourself. “We’d get sick of each other,” you lie.

Javier only shrugs, unaware, you think, that you spent all of college in love with him. In freshman year, you’d stumbled home together after a party and he’d kissed you against your front door, waking you from what you realized then had been a lifetime of slumber. You’d never considered kissing him before, but all of a sudden it was obvious. You thought this is what your lips should have been doing all this time.

But it never happened again. The sex was awkward, clumsy—you’d only done it once before—and you told yourself that’s why he never tried again. You never tried either. Now it’s a joke you tell each other, trying to make the other person blush.

The thought of sharing an apartment with him sends a river of panic through your veins. It would kill you to watch him bring girls home. To watch him date someone else. It was bad enough watching Lorraine, and he left her.

“If you say so,” he says, looking not one bit disappointed.

Half asleep, you let yourself dream you said yes.

7:00 A.M.

You don’t know who leans in—if you tilt your head down or if Javier tilts his up, if it starts in your sleep—only that when you next stir the morning is darkening to gold and orange. Panels of windowed sunlight crawl slowly across your legs, and you are kissing.

Javier’s lips melt against yours. It’s nothing like when you were kids. Eighteen and nervous wrecks, your teeth always getting in the way.

It’s different now. You know how to kiss each other like you’ve had the practice, like it hasn’t been almost two decades since last you tried. Pliant and sleepy, his tongue licking gently into your mouth. His mustache scratches sweetly against your skin. When a breathy sound whimpers from you, he cups your jaw, his other arm locking snug around your waist. There’s no rush to it, no progression. You don’t strip down and fuck—both of you content with only this: the soft murmurs you breathe into each other. The lifetime of wanting in every kiss.

Because you have wanted him, you realize. Not just in college, but before then and every day since. Maybe from the first day he walked into your sixth grade class and felt like home. Even these last eight years when you’d accepted that he was gone from your life for good, your friendship having reached the end of its life, you wanted him.

He grunts when you nibble gently at his bottom lip, and you smile. Then he moans. And it’s perfect, somehow, like he’s dug around in the cabinets of your mind to know exactly how you want to be kissed. Deeply, patiently. All tongue and breath and yielding lips, your hands in his hair, the fire of him enveloping you.

You say nothing; you talk with your touch.

He stripes his tongue along your bottom lip: I’m sorry.

You tug at his curls: I’m sorry.

He kisses the corners of your mouth: I’m sorry.

You lick the hinge of his jaw: I’m sorry.

His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek: I’m sorry. I’m falling asleep.

You tilt your head to better taste him: I don’t want to fall asleep.

But you do. The tide drags you out, your body molten, exhausted, hypnotized. Your lips still touching as you fall into a dream.

8:00 A.M.

When next you open your eyes, you’ve rolled towards the window and the weight and warmth of his arms is gone. You don’t bother turning over. Don’t bother reaching for him.

You know the bed will be empty on his side, cold.

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theminecraftbee · 1 year ago

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"This isn't fair!"

She's frustrated to realize there are tears in her eyes. She wipes them away angrily.

"Why does this keep happening to me, huh? I finally agree to come back, and, and, and it happens again! This isn't fair!"

FAIRNESS HAS ALWAYS BEEN A STRANGE HUMAN CONCEPT TO ME.

"You shut up," Lizzie says. "No, no, it's--this isn't fair!" she says, staring down at the battlefield. "I don't want this! This isn't fair!"

PEOPLE SAY THAT SO OFTEN. I HAVE NEVER UNDERSTOOD. I AM NOT FAIR. I AM NOT UNFAIR. I SIMPLY AM, AND AM UNCHANGING.

"Not dying, you idiot, although that's not fair either, it's just--it's just--what about me?"

WELL, YOU ARE DEAD.

"I know that! I know that!" Lizzie says, watching as Jimmy, delighted, crows about changing the signs on his grave. "I know! But what about those assholes, huh? This is the second time! The second time they've done this! I'm the one who's dead! I died! Me! It's me! What about me?"

I SEE. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT HAS TO DO WITH FAIRNESS.

Lizzie screams, wordless and frustrated and angry and so, so sad for reasons she doesn't know how to explain to an anthropomorphic concept, anyway. She's just--everything wells into tears in her eyes again, which is only more infuriating. She doesn't want to be crying. She doesn't want to be crying.

"Everyone was sadder about Bdubs, last time," she says. "And, and everyone's going to be happier about Jimmy, this time. Why did it happen again? It's not fair. It's not fair! What about me? I died! I died, I'm dead, why don't you say something about me for once? Why do I have to, to keep being in the background of other people's--I died! I'M DEAD YOU GUYS! I'M DEAD! LISTEN TO ME, I'M DEAD!"

THEY CANNOT HEAR YOU.

"I know!" wails Lizzie. "I know! They aren't listening, anyway. I know."

I WOULD SAY THAT I AM SORRY, BUT I DO NOT FEEL THAT EMOTION.

"Of course you don't!"

I AM HERE FOR ONE THING ONLY.

"And it's not--"

FAIRNESS IS A HUMAN CONCEPT I HAVE NEVER UNDERSTOOD. THINGS ARE, OR THEY ARE NOT. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO CHANGE THAT, PERCEIVED JUSTICE OR OTHERWISE.

"I'm the one who's dead," mutters Lizzie. "It's me. I'm the one who's hurt. It's me."

YES. YOU ARE DEAD. AND IT'S MY JOB TO TAKE YOU TO THE END.

Lizzie is not sure how long she is silent, standing there, periodically wiping furious tears from her eyes, until Death takes her by the shoulders and leads her away. She would like to imagine someone looks up at her in that time. She's not sure anyone does.

#secret life smp #secret life spoilers #a bee fic #ldshadowlady #.......as companion to the other one.#because you know what. hey. let's not forget the other half of this equation huh #poor lizzie. if you think about it this isn't even the first time this has happened to her.

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dandelions4us · 2 months ago

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no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can’t walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell dissolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever.

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themilfsland · 2 months ago

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Fancy as matching eyes color & suit

#Elizabeth Olsen #Lizzie olsen #woman wearing suits is my religion #her green eyes #wlw #like those rich mommy Wanda fics #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff

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champion-of-love · 2 months ago

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omake from my fic (for the faint of hearts)

daring, annoyed and entering his and hopper's room after classes ended: why did you tell cupid and briar that i asked lizzie out because of the bet with sparrow?

hopper, whose self-preservation instincts have been sharply honed after hanging out with briar and cupid for the past few months: they knew i had gym with you and sparrow earlier that day and figured i'd know something. sorry dude but they'd waterboard it out of me if i didn't tell them

~flashback~

hopper, holding a tray of coffee in one hand and a box of cupcakes in another as he enters cupid's radio booth with cupid and briar already inside: oh my hex, you guys you will not believe what just happened at the hocus pocus cafe earlier

#ever after high #eah #hopper croakington ii #daring charming #c.a. cupid #briar beauty #sparrow hood #lizzie hearts #dizzie #pink squad #the pink squad #true hearts day trio #ca cupid #my fics #my writing

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wandanatsgf · 3 months ago

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Lovers, Vampires, Strangers Part 2

Pairing: Vampire!Wanda x Vampire!Reader

Word Count: 2886

Summary: This story starts in the year 1850. You and your girlfriend Wanda are happy together. You have everything you could ever want, until she secretly turns you into a vampire. After a horrible accident, you leave her and that life behind. Now 173 years later, she's come to ask you for a favor.

Part 1

Part 2: 2023, The Second Shittiest Year of my Life

“What do you want Wanda?” I ask the girl who was frantically banging on my door.

“I need a place to stay for a few days, please,” she begs. It makes me laugh. She really thinks I would help her after what she did? She’s insane.

“No way,” I tell her.

“Please Y/n,” she asks again.

“No,” I say. “I’m not letting you into my home or life again, Wanda.”

I go to shut the door when a small bullet sized wooden stake comes whizzing through the air. It flies through the small crack in my door from where I haven’t shut it all the way. I hear Wanda yell out some cuss words, while I barely manage to dodge the bullet. I should’ve just shut the door and let Wanda fend for herself, this is her problem after all. But I, being the idiot that I am, didn’t.

“Fine you can come in,” I say, pulling the brunette girl inside with me. I quickly shut and lock the door.

“What the hell was that Wanda?” I exclaim as I run through my house, grabbing the first bag I see. I put the guns and knives that II keep hidden throughout my home in there, in case whoever is outside tries to go after me, since I too am a vampire.

“That was Natasha,” she says like that explains everything.

“She’s a girl I…used to be with. She’s a little angry is all.”

“A little angry?!? She just tried to kill you Wanda.”

“Yes well vampire hunters tend to do that Y/n.”

“What the actual hell Wanda. You brought a vampire hunter to my front door?!?”

“Not on purpose. I didn't know she was a vampire hunter when I was sleeping with her. And I thought I had lost her back in Budapest. Clearly someone is determined to kill me.” Wanda rolls her eyes as she talks, as if this Natasha girl is a mere annoyance, like a gnat or a fly, and not a hunter trying to kill her.

I’m so mad at her I don’t even know what to say. I finish gathering my things, but I leave my phone in case someone tries to use it to find my location. I make sure I avoid all windows as I make my way to the secret exit of my house that will lead me to the other side of town, the exit I had installed in case of emergencies just like this. I go to the bookshelf door I had installed and open it.

“Are you coming or not?” I call out to Wanda, who was currently just standing there. Wanda quickly moves to where I am, not avoiding windows. Which leads to them being shot out by Natasha.

“Great another thing I have to deal with,” I mumble under my breath.

“What was that?” Wanda snarkily asks.

“I said great that’s another thing I have to deal with. Because of you,” I add on.

“Oh please don’t act like your life was all sunshine and rainbows before I got here,” she says as I lead her down a staircase. “We both know you were lonely without me.”

“Really? I’m the lonely one?” I say. “I can assure you, Wanda I have been anything but lonely since you left.”

“You really think Kate Bishop can fill my place that easily?”

“And how do you know about her?” Wanda says nothing, but it’s clear she had been keeping tabs on me.

“I should’ve known you’d never leave me alone, Wanda. You were always the possessive type.” I turn down a corridor and open the door. I walk out and into open air. The passage leads to a road two streets over where my getaway car is stashed.

“I’m not possessive. I just don’t want anyone to have what’s mine,” she says. I chuckle under my breath, reading through her lie. I choose to ignore her and walk over to a car, praying that it’s unlocked. Of course it isn’t, but i guess when you have vampire strength it doesn’t really matter. I get into the car in no time and I make quick work of hot wiring it so I can get away, and hopefully leave Wanda here. I get the car on and I climb in, quickly locking the doors so Wanda can't.

"What do you think you're doing?" Wanda asks, clearly annoyed. She stomps her feet like a child and it makes me laugh.

"I'm leaving," I say through my laughter.

"Not without me you aren't."

"Yes I am. I got you away from Natasha, which you're welcome for by the way. Now I'm off to save my own skin. Now get out of my way or be roadkill Wanda. Your choice." Wanda refuses to move, much to my annoyance.

"Move Wanda," I scream out.

"No," she screams back. I can feel my annoyance rising with every passing second, and then Natasha runs around the corner, guns blazing. I unlock the car and allow Wanda to hop in before I floor it. I pull out of the parking space, driving away as fast as I can, leaving Natasha in the dust.

"Happy?" I finally ask once we have gotten a little further down the road.

"Yes, very." I can tell she is pleased with herself, something that I absolutely loathe. I choose to ignore her so I don’t blow up.

We drive for what feels like forever, and I being a vampire would know what forever feels like. So trust me when I say it felt like forever.

Wanda does her best to annoy me, but I ignore her every time, not in the mood for her games. Eventually I pull into a decent looking hotel on the side of the road. I’m not sure where we are, but we’ve driven for at least 16 hours straight and I’m tired. Well as tired as you can be when you’re undead.

“Here we are,” I say as I park the car.

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know. But we’re safe aren’t we? You could be a bit more thankful,”

“It would be safer if we knew where we are,” Wanda retorts.

“Well why don’t you work on that while I get us a room.”

“Fine,” Wanda says, for once not starting an argument.

I happily hop out of the car, grateful to be away from Wanda, and I enter the lobby.

“Hi I need two rooms,” I say to the front desk lady.

“I’m sorry we only have one room available.”

“Fine I guess that’ll work,” I grumble. It really doesn’t work for me but I’ll just have to suck it up…or sleep in my car. Honestly I’d do anything to not be near Wanda for longer than I have to.

“And how will you be paying?”

“I won’t be. The bill will be comped by the hotel,” I tell the girl. I look in her eyes and change the tone of my voice, activating my compulsion.

“Here you go,” the girl says cheerily, handing me my room key.

“Thanks.”

I walk back to the car where I had left Wanda to give her the bad news.

“Unfortunately they only had one room,” I grumble, throwing her a room key.

“Don’t sound so upset. It’ll be just like old times,” she says, sending me a wink. I let out a scoff at her words.

“I’d rather sleep on the cement than in a bed with you Wanda.”

“Fine have it your way,” she says. She gets out of the car and walks into the hotel and to our room. I try and make myself comfortable in the car, but it’s no use. It’s too small and too hot. I grab one of my guns that I had brought and tuck it into the waistband of my pants then I reluctantly go inside, bracing myself for the snarky comment I know Wanda is about to say.

“Aww I knew you’d change your mind. I’m just too irresistible.”

“God you’re so full of yourself. But no I’m in here because the car was uncomfortable. It has nothing to do with you Wanda.”

“Sure, whatever helps yourself sleep at night.”

God this woman is infuriating. I choose to ignore her last comment.

“So you’re not talking to me now?” I give her the silent treatment.

"Real mature y/n."

"Whatever Wanda. I'm going to go get us some essentials, try not to get into trouble while I'm gone," I say, just wanting to get out of here and away from Wanda.

"Aww sounds like someone cares about me," she teases.

"No I just don't want all of this hard work to go to waste," I say as I walk out the door. It's currently 10pm at night so luckily anywhere I go should be jut about empty. I drive to the nearest Walmart, leaving Wanda in the dust at the hotel. I get us some toiletries and snacks (because yes even though we are vampires and undead we still like human food). My next stop is a blood bank, where I steal as much blood as I can. I prefer it this way over drinking straight from the source. It's much cleaner and not so scarring to humans. After about two hours I make my way back to the hotel, carrying my shopping bags inside, only to find Wanda gorging herself on a member of the cleaning staff.

"Wanda," I yell out. She drops the maid and her face takes on a guilty look, like a child who knows they are doing something bad.

"Yes?" She tries to adopt a nonchalant tone but it isn't working.

"I literally told you not to get into trouble and the first thing you do is get into trouble."

"But I was hungry," she says, as if that justifies her actions.

"I don't give a damn if you're hungry Wanda. If I tell you to do something so do it."

"That's funny I don't remember ever taking orders from you, but you sure did take a lot from me," Wanda says, referencing the times when the two of us would sleep together, before I hated her guts.

“Well things have changed Wanda. I’m trying to keep us alive and away from your vampire hunter ex. So either listen to me or leave.”

“Fine,” is all she says. She goes off to the bathroom to shower while I heal the woman Wanda had just dropped. I compel her to forget anything had ever happened, and off she goes back to work.

I close the door behind her and I put my grocery bags down and put things away. After I’m done and had a snack and some blood, I tuck my gun out of my waistband and put it on the small side table. I jump into bed. The bed is rock hard. There’s absolutely no give or bounce in it whatsoever, but I guess an aching back is a small price to pay for safety.

“Move over,” Wanda says once I had finally gotten myself comfortable.

“No,” is all I say back.

“Yes. Move or I’ll make you move y/n.”

I refuse to move, ignoring the glares that Wanda throws at me.

“Fine have it your way.” She walks over to me and picks me up as if I weigh nothing. I try to resist, but it's pointless, and she moves me anyway.

"I'm older than you and I'm stronger than you. Next time it would be wise to do as you're told," she whispers into my ear. Her words have me blushing. A fact that I try to hide form her, but of course she notices.

"Did my words make you needy baby?"

"Fuck off Wanda," I say, but it doesn't come out as strong as I want it to.

"No baby I think you want me to fuck you, isn't that right?"

Her dirty words send my thoughts racing back to the times when we had slept together and how good it felt. But that was before she hurt me, and this is now. And now I don't like her. Even if she's gorgeous and makes me feel good. She's still the woman who turned me against my will. She's still the woman who hurt me, the woman I hate. So I form my resolve.

"No goodnight Wanda," are the next words that come out of my mouth. Wanda's mouth opens and closes like a fish, she's shocked that I didn't give in. I get up and turn off the lights and the two of us lay there in silence. I'm sure Wanda is seething in silence at being told no, but it isn't my problem. I quickly fall asleep, and I only wake up when I hear a loud banging noise.

The door to our room is kicked in, making us jump out of bed. In comes a brunette woman I don't recognize.

“Oh great and who’s this? Another one of your exes?”

“Actually yes,” Wanda and the woman sat at the same time. The woman walks closer to the bed, while Wanda and I try to walk further away without blocking yourselves in.

“Of course it is,” I say rolling my eyes. “How’d you piss this one off?”

“She may or may not be a vampire hunter also. So y’know when she found out about me she wasn’t exactly my biggest fan,” Wanda whispers to you.

“Really Wanda? You sleep with two fucking vampire hunters when you’re a vampire yourself. Are you stupid?” I whisper back.

“Haven’t I already proven that yes I am stupid.”

“I guess you’ve got a point there,” I say.

"Are you two done arguing now?" The woman asks.

"Yes Maria, we're done." Ok so Maria is her name. "Can you just get this over with," Wanda says, her tone sounding exasperated.

"Oh come on Wanda, I wanna drag this out. Hurt you just like you hurt me." Maria pulls the sleeve of her black jacket off her shoulder, showing off the scars that mar it.

"What the fuck did you do?" I look at Wanda, but there's no emotions on her face.

"What I had to do to survive." Wanda glares at Maria, but it's not the playful one she has been giving you all day. This is a true glare. The kind that says I want you dead.

Maria lunges and Wanda deflects her punch while you try and grab your car keys, which are all the way across the room. You almost make it, but then Maria grabs you by your hair, pulling you back. You claw at her arm, digging your nails into her skin. She shrieks and lets you go, turning her attention back to Wanda.

"How'd you find me anyway?" Wanda asks as she ducks under Maria's fist.

"Your little pet led me right to you. She wasn't as inconspicuous as she thought at that blood bank. I was just going to kill her, but then I realized she was with you, and well, I didn't want to waste such a delicious opportunity." Wanda's eyes turn a dark black color, something that only happens when a vampire is truly emotional, and strikes Maria, making the woman stumble. While she's disoriented I run to the side table and grab my gun. I hate using these things on humans, but if it means I get to live I'll do it. I aim for her leg and pull the trigger.

"That should keep her occupied for a while, now let's go," I tell Wanda. We both run out of the room, car keys in my hand. We both jump in the car, leaving Maria behind in the hotel room.

"Looks like being attacked wasn't my fault this time," Wanda says once our adrenaline has finally gone down.

"Well you still dated this one too so I'm sure this is somehow also your fault."

"Ok whatever you say," Wanda says, although I know she doesn't agree with me. "So we've got Natasha and Maria on our tails now, so where do we go now? With the both of them following us, there aren't many places that would be safe."

"I might know a place," I say. "It's like a safehouse of sorts."

"Why didn't we go there in the first place?"

"it's complicated," I say, not wanting to answer her question.

"Like how Natasha and I are complicated? Or Maria and I?"

"Not exactly," is all I say, and thankfully Wanda drops the subject. We drive for a few more hours until I finally turn into a driveway. The house before us looks like any other house in the suburbs would. There's flowers and trees lining the driveway and a little picket white fence around the house. You would never suspect that a supernatural creature lives inside it.

We walk up to the door and all I feel is anxiety. I had taken us to the one place I hadn’t wanted to go to, but it’s out last option. It’s the only place I know that would be 100% safe. So reluctantly I knock on the door, praying the woman who lives on the other side of it answers, and that this won't be another decision that bites me in the butt.

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scarletlizzard · 10 months ago

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Part 1: Get Help

Sessions Series

Pairing: psychiatrist Wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: being stalked, paranoia, therapy, mentions of sex

Masterlist

Fall 2018

It was the same thing every day.

You wake up, make breakfast, and go for a run. You go to work, a normal 9-5 job downtown. After work, you would wind down by making dinner and sometimes taking a bath with a glass of wine. You go to bed around the same time every night, letting the sounds of I Love Lucy lull you to sleep.

Your routine was all but normal, though. You had a shadow.

Your daily jog was filled with turning your head, constantly aware of a presence behind you, one that you could never see. You thought it was over until one night when you were making dinner, you happened to look out the window and saw a person standing across the street. The glass of wine you were holding dropped from your hand onto the floor beneath your feet. You step back onto the glass and wince, tearing your eyes from the shapeless figure.

When you look up again, they've disappeared.

This happened for weeks until you finally gave in and told your friend one night over a bottle of wine.

"Look, this is them. They're back," you say, handing the phone to Natasha. She raises an eyebrow and looks at the blurry picture on the screen. Practically a black dot next to the bus stop a few houses down from yours.

"But why would they wait so long? It's been over a year, and.." she squints, staring at the picture. "That kind of just looks like a blob.." the woman says and sips her wine, a concerned look on her face at your frantic state.

"It's not. It's them! I-I swear I'm being followed, being watched... every where I go, it's like, I can feel them. The police won't do anything about it." You move your shaking hand away from her to gulp down the rest of your wine.

"Look, Y/N.." Natasha sighs and sets down her glass, turning her body to face yours. "I know you've been through a lot, everything that.. happened last summer. I think - maybe you should.. get some help." She tries to soften the blow of calling you crazy by resting a hand on your thigh. You only look to her with betrayed eyes.

"I'm not crazy," you speak calmly, your tone stern, but the crack in your voice only solidifies Natashas' point.

"I don't think you are, Y/N. Here.." She grabs her purse, pulling out a business card from it casually, as if she just happened to have it. You knew her better than that. "This is my friend. She's an amazing psychiatrist. Just talk to her, give it a chance."

You snatch the card away from her hands, not making eye contact with her. Natasha sighs again and stands, watching your leg bounce harder. She leans down to kiss your forehead.

"I'll call you tomorrow. I love you.." She trails off, unsure if you'd even reply.

"Love you." You mumble, pouring yourself another glass.

After she leaves, you stare at the business card in your hand, eyes settled on the name in bold lettering. You crumple the card, ball it up in your hand, and throw it across the room. It bounces off the wall with a small 'thunk'. Then you're left sitting, recalling the events of last summer.

***

Summer 2017

It was an exceptionally hot night. The air conditioner had been broke all day, leaving you sweating and fanning yourself with a magazine. Also leaving you with no choice but to leave the windows open, letting a cooler breeze flow through your quiet house.

You shot a quick text to Natasha- See you tomorrow, meet at the coffee shop near yours.

With a sigh, you rest your head on the back of the couch, listening to the voices on the TV. You get a strange feeling suddenly, your whole body covered in goosebumps, the small hairs on your arms standing straight up. You slowly open your eyes, staring straight ahead at the characters running around the screen.

"Get a grip, Y/N.." You mumble to yourself, patting your cheeks as if to wake yourself up. Maybe you just needed some sleep. Your anxiety seemed to be kicking up again. Your hands reach for the remote on the table in front of you, and you press the power button, turning the TV off.

It's then you see, in the black screen, reflecting an image not only of you but a person standing directly behind you.

***

Current Fall 2018

No, I'm NOT doing this right now.

You think to yourself, swallowing down your third glass of wine for the night. Instead, you get up to double -no, triple- check all of the locks in your house. The windows to the backyard, locked. The sliding glass backdoor, locked. The windows to the front of the house, locked. The front door, locked. The side door leading to the garage, locked. Windows in any bedrooms, locked. Your bedroom door and window, locked.

It was exhausting, but it was a routine you had been following for the past year. It kept you safe. You turn on I Love Lucy, drifting off into another nightmare with your mysterious shadow.

The morning after, you awake to your alarm and slap your hand on your loud phone to slide it off. You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. The morning sun shines brightly in the room, the light warm on your skin.

I am NOT crazy...

You repeat to yourself over and over, a mantra easily spoken and believed in your mind. Breakfast was made and eaten, running shoes tied to your feet, laces double knotted, ID and cash in case of emergencies, and headphones settle snug in your ears. The first mile was fine, humming along to your music, and enjoying the cold fall. It was when you were heading back towards your house that you began to have that unsettling feeling.

Your panicked eyes look around as you jog, your head constantly turning from side to side as you look for your shadow. You find yourself reaching into your pocket, letting your hand grab onto the pepper spray you had brought with you. Only a little ways to go. It's fine.

Your pace sped up, but your shadow was creeping up closer to you. Your heart was racing. Sweat was dripping down your forehead. With your thumb gripping the spray, you suddenly turn around, spraying the shadow behind you.

"Ahhh! What the fuck!" A man screams, falling to his knees in front of you. Your heart was beating out of your chest at the sight of him, rubbing his eyes and screaming in pain. But on the sidewalk in front of him you see your emergency clip that held your cash and ID.

"Jason! Oh my god, what did you do to him?" A woman comes running up to his side, sliding her arm around him. "Are you crazy? You dropped this. He was trying to give it back to you!" She screams at you, throwing the clip in your direction. Dollar bills fly to the ground, and you back up.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't know, I thought he was - I didn't know.." Your voice trails off as you shake your head, hands shaking. "I didn't know.." You repeat it 4 times.

"Y/N, you're lucky he didn't press charges, I can't believe you actually pepper sprayed him.." Natashas voice sounded from the phone in your hand as you recall the events from the morning.

"I know, I can't believe I did either. I feel so fucking bad about it.." you hold your head in your hand, guilt filling your gut.

"It happened. There's nothing you can do about it now. He'll be fine.. people get pepper sprayed all the time," she tries to joke, attempting to lighten the mood.

You sit up and sigh into the phone, looking around the room. The TV playing, the dusty art supplies sitting on a desk in the corner. Your eyes find and focus on the crumpled business card on the floor by the wall. As you stand, your feet carry you over, picking it up.

"I'll talk to you later, Nat," you say, letting her say goodbye before you hang up. Your hands straighten out the card, and you once again read the name in bold lettering.

The clock on the wall read 5:28 as you sat, one day after work, on a chair in the hallway near the front door. You look around the hallway that leads to a massive house. It seemed the front was used for her practice, a room on either side of the hallway. One you assumed an office, the other a room to meet with patients. The clock ticked to 5:29, and your leg began to bounce.

The door on the wall across from you opens, revealing a brown headed woman with a warm smile on her face. She was taller, a creme colored blouse and brown pants settled on her legs. Her familiar green eyes find yours, and you both let out a small, awkward chuckle.

"Y/N.." Wanda says and holds out her hand to you, watching as you stand in front of her.

Your hand reaches for hers, "Wanda.." Her hand is warm and soft in yours. You know you linger too long in her grip. She leads you into room number two, a medium-sized room with one big, comfortable looking chair and an even more comfortable looking couch. Behind her comfy chair was an extravagant looking fireplace. Bookshelves lined the walls, and as you walked inside, your fingers trail the spines of the books that sat on them. It felt comfortable and safe. The sun was beginning to set, and an orange glow filled the room. Wanda sits in a chair, a notepad, and pen in her lap. You follow suit, sitting across from her on the couch.

"So, are you sure you want to do this? I'd be more than happy to recommend you to some other, highly recommended, co-workers of mine?" Wanda says with a smile, and you can't help but blush. She just had that effect on you.

"As long as you're okay with it, I am. I trust you, and right now, I really need that.." You mumble the last part, sitting back into the couch. Wanda nods, understanding of you.

One of the last times you saw Wanda she was in your bed, giving you what still stands today, the best orgasms of your life. Natasha had thrown a Christmas party where you met. You and Wanda came alone. You both had a lot to drink, and one thing led to another. You spent the night talking and laughing, getting to know each other as you came on her fingers. After that, you saw her from time to time, over a couple of months. She let you eat her out on your couch and fucked you against the counter in your kitchen. It was the best sex you'll probably ever have. You felt more alive with her than you had in years.

But then you had to leave town for work, and by the time you came back, the two of you had lost touch. Then, a few months after, during the summer, when your shadow appeared, you cut practically everyone out of your life.

"Well then, let's get started," Wanda interrupts your train of thoughts with a click of her pen, crossing her legs. "I reviewed the file you sent over from your stay at the Bay Point Medical Center. Do you want to talk about that?" She asks, her voice as smooth as honey.

You let out a shaky sigh, playing with the zipper of the bag you held in your lap. "I've always been.. anxious, since I was a kid. Always had these uh, routines. Tie my shoes until they felt right, flick the lights 4 times before bed."

"Were you ever diagnosed or tested as a kid?"

"No, my mom didn't believe in that sort of thing."

"So you were first diagnosed with OCD and Bipolar Disorder at Bay Point." Wanda makes a note. You tap your leg 4 times.

"Yes."

"So what led you to that moment, to that night?" Her voice is so inviting. You would tell her just about anything at this point.

"I'm sure it says in the file.." You clear your throat, suddenly being unable to look her in the eyes.

"There is a version, but I'd like to hear yours." Her eyebrows raise, pen hovering over the paper of the pad.

"It was a few days after I saw my shadow," you start, Wanda has a curious look on her face.

A pause.

"Your shadow?" She asks, you nod.

"The stalker, person watching me." You reply, she nods for you to continue. "I hadn't slept in days. The police didn't believe me. There was no evidence, they said, that anyone besides me had been in the house that night. So I went to the docks, and I-I bought a gun from some junkie. I'm not proud of what I did," you say, meeting her comforting gaze.

"I'm sure. You hadn't slept in days. You were delusional - sleep deprived. No medication, no diagnosis. Under extreme stress. Given the circumstances, I'm glad no one was hurt." Wanda concurs.

"Well, maybe not physically. But when you wave a gun around at 3 in the morning down the street, maybe a little psychological damage to the family that found me," you groan and put your head in your hands.

"The report said you had left a note at your house. What did it say?" Wanda asks, and you think back to when you scribbled on a piece of paper, what you thought would be, your last words. You're quiet for a moment. Wanda can tell you won't answer that question just yet.

"How about, who did you leave it for?" She asks.

"For my shadow."

The rest of the session you had spilled about your feelings that night and talked about you OCD and Bipolar disorder. You told her about your stay at the mental hospital, and told her about your routines. You spoke to her of almost everything.

"I think this session was really productive, Y/N. You've been very open with me, and I appreciate that." Wanda stood at the front door, smiling down to you. It was dark now, the sun at set completely. "I'll see you at the same time, Thursday?"

You nod and smile back at her. "I'll see you then." You walk to your car, feeling lighter. But you also can't ignore the hair on the back of your neck rising as you drive away.

***

Summer 2017

You scream loudly as you turn to see a figure behind you. A shadow, dressed in all black. A white faceless mask covered their true face. They stand still as you back away, slowly tilting their head to the side.

"Run." A menacing whisper, a familiar tone.

You run.

#marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #dark fic

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everymangetshiswish420 · 3 months ago

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Whatever the pic said 😇

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wandasfavv · 3 months ago

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Wife reveal… and this is very really super serious so don’t “hey girly” me telling me you know her🤗

#kels rants<3 #but umm fic coming out on the weekend :3 #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen

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anyaeras · 11 months ago

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Try Again || W.Maximoff

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Summery || Wanda is a streamer and asked for your help, but there was a catch, You had to win In order to get your reward.

Pairing || dom!streamer wanda x sub!reader

Warnings || Smut ,, AFAB reader,, they/them pronouns ,, pet names ,, mommy kink ,, light degrading ,, strap on sex ,, edging ,, pussy slapping ,, exhibitionist ,, maybe Voyeurism ,, punishment ,, restraints ,, gagging ,, overstimulation ,, cunnalingus

Masterlist

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Your girlfriend Wanda was a huge gamer, known for streaming often on social media platforms even gaining a large audience.

For yourself gaming wasn't your strong suit, you tried to play simple games with Wanda but the only one you came close to being good at was animal crossings.

Nonetheless Wanda brought you on her twitch multiple times letting her fans get to know you while also letting you multiple times embarrass yourself until you beg her to help you play better while she ends up having to help you.

Tonight Wanda had an idea, she had told you about wanting to start an OnlyFans to go along with her twitch, with the help of her close (also streamer) friends. You were okay with what Wanda chose to do, you honestly didn't mind as she would also get your approval, and never did anything you told her you were uncomfortable with.

Wanda came up behind Y/n smiling seeing her partner cutting up some fruit finishing making a small snack for the couple.

"Y/n bebe, would you like to do a stream with me? I know You've been practicing?" Wanda asked y/n wrapping her arms their waste.

Y/n thought about it for a moment finally giving in to Wanda's pleads

"Fine" y/n said and like that Wanda dragged her up into the gaming room.

"Wands I need to change first I can't wear this online" y/n giggled a bit noticing they were just in a tank top and short night shorts.

"Oh baby don't worry about that" Wanda teased making y/n blush before setting up the stream for a moment putting on her headset to check on her party chat.

"Nat, Maria? You guys there, y/n agreed to do a stream with us" the gingery brunette said a bit too excited

"Really?" Natasha said a bit surprised

"I skipped some details but my girl will love it" Wanda said knowing y/n in the end would enjoy this

After that Wanda set up the game putting the mic and headset on y/n's head, before pulling y/n to sit on her lap. Starting the stream the second computer monitor showed the live recoding of them y/n blushed a bit over sitting on Wanda's lap but said nothing, at that moment they also didn't even notice this wasn't the twitch streaming set up.

"Hello all my little witches, y/n is back wanting to show everyone how good she's been getting at my games right bebe" Wanda spoke softly running her hands up and down y/n's sides acting oh so innocent as she did.

Starting the game up Wanda aloud y/n to play a warm up match with Natasha and Maria like normal, yet while y/n was busy focusing on the game wanda was keeping up with the large filled chat as well as adjusting herself, slipping a large dildo out from her pants, y/n hadn't even noticed the chat nor Wanda's strap, which was now ready for y/n's pussy.

Y/n won the first practice match with Maria and Natasha carrying her throughout the match.

"You're getting so good at it hun, how about mommy raises the stakes, if you win this round you get to cum, but if you lose you better keep yourself together" Wanda spoke which confused y/n until they felt her strap press against their back, everything clicked, noticing the top of the stream the logo of a website which wasn't twitch.

Once everything clicked in y/n's mind their pussy took over, soaking through her bed shorts.

Wanda laughed moving y/n's shorts down and off, sitting you down on her red strap, not moving you as the faux cock rested inside you.

Whining a bit knowing how badly you are at Wanda's games both video and sexual still you wanted to try your hardest, clicking the button on the controller to enter a match and like that the witches games started, she would thrust her hips upwards her hands resting on your hip forcing you to slide up and than force you right back down on her while you tried to focus on the game, wanting to get your own rewards, muffling your moans as the mic placed on your head was most definitely on, with Natasha and Maria in the party chat.

Wanda could her her friends make fun of your poor playing as apart of the whole plan, the gamer thrusted now even harder trying to hit y/n's G-spot, a loud squeal like moan came from y/n making Natasha and Maria absolutely die laughing, as they now found a new thing to tease y/n about.

"Aww y/n mommy must make your brain melt" Maria teased in a baby tone making Anya whine quickly in the game getting shot at, dying which made the scream flash the words defeat in front of her face.

Wanda took this moment as y/n was moaning struggling to hold herself together as Wanda fucked her brains out.

"Are you close baby?" Wanda asked

Making y/n nod frantically screaming a little at a harsh trust from Wanda yet when y/n nodded Wanda stoped all her motions.

Y/n whined at the loss of pleaser

"Awww you poor thing" Natasha teased in the mic making y/n wiggle a little for any type of friction.

Spanking y/n's thigh to make her stop Wanda whispered into y/n's ear.

"Try again baby, maybe this time you'll try harder if you wanna cum" Wanda said in fake remorse for her submissive partner.

This time y/n loaded into the match quickly trying even harder this time to win, getting a few kills as Wanda bounced y/n up and down on her cock, Wanda smiled as she watched y/n's pussy take her so well.

"You look so so needy right now dear, god I just love when I have you like this" Wanda managed to get out grunting as she kept up the fast trusting until once more y/n died and the screen flashed a defeat.

The fail made y/n whine loudly as they really were struggling now on the border of overstimulation.

"M-mommy please I can't hold it anymore I need to cum please let me cum please" y/n started begging as Wanda's thrust stoped, this time she slapped y/n's puffy cunt making y/n scream and lurch forwards.

The women on the mic teased and laughed at y/n even thought they have been throwing the matches to make y/n have to wait even if she was doing good, while the people on the live stream were sending a bunch of tips.

"Hmm should I make my precious try again or let them cum, your pussy seems so needy and overstimulated baby" Wanda said with fake empathy as she teased y/n's clit with her fingers, waiting for the stream to flood with responses

Being already fucked dumb y/n didn't even bother looking at the chat, Wanda would just read it aloud anyway.

"Keep going she needs to try harder" @CarolDanvers (donated funds)

With that Wanda motioned for y/n to keep going yet when they just whined Wanda slapped y/n's puffy pussy again getting the same reaction to the painful swat as she did earlier.

Wanda reached around starting the match, this game Wanda thrusted even harder than before railing the poor y/n until they just couldn't hold it....

"Mommy I cant i cant" and like that y/n came in front of everyone on the stream, still endless teasing from Natasha and Maria about how what a slut they were for not even making it through the game.

As y/n came everything seemed to stop, Wanda turned off the game leaving the party and shut down the stream, looking now back at y/n.

"I didn't tell you to cum dear, on the bed now" Wanda ordered making y/n run into their shared bed room.

Wanda came into view a few moments later, her clothing discarded as well as the strap with the strap which was once on her waist now in her hands, along with some rope.

"My stupid little baby was too busy being a cockslut to even follow mommy's orders hmm? That to bad." Wanda taunted as she tied both y/n's wrist to the bed frame, before moving to do the same with her ankles.

"M-mommy I'm sorry i didn't mean-" before y/n could finish Wanda reached over to the nightstand grabbing some fabric to gag y/n.

"Shhh no need to speak, if it's too much for you snap your fingers" was all Wanda said before heading into the closet, only to come out with a flogger.

Wanda go to work running the leather on y/n's body before raising her arm coming down hardly on y/n's right thigh, than doing the same thing on the left, small tears of pain and pleaser came to y/n's face.

At some point Wanda moved up to y/n's stomach before back down to her cunt, hitting her hard a few times before feeling like y/n's muffled cries were enough.

Wanda took the gag out of y/n's mouth smiling at her handy work on their body.

"Make me cum and maybe I'll let you do the same naught one" Wanda stated before straddling y/n's face letting them eat her out.

Y/n got to work trying her hardest to make Wanda cum.

"Good girl, keep going, my little slut keep going" Wanda praised grinding her hips down chasing her own high, eventually with a low moan Wanda came on y/n's face.

"Swallow sweetheart" Wanda said softly, brushing her hand on y/n's face. Watching as they did just as they were told, Wanda had y/n whipped.

Wanda grabbed a vibrator, turning it on high before placing it right on y/n's clit.

"You can cum whenever you want, be my good little slut and let go"

Y/n did just like that, her legs shook as they were still tied to the bed, as she quickly came, yet Wanda never moved the vibrator.

"You wanted to cum so bad earlier now cum keep cumming sweetie" Wanda laughed finishing her punishment off, make y/n cum once more, and than again after that, Wanda wouldn't stop until y/n was crying from overstimulation, finally stopping it all.

Wanda turned off the vibrator, setting it aside before un-doing y/n's limbs. Pulling y/n into her arms.

"You did so good baby, so so good, come let me clean you up" Wanda said softly kissing y/n's temple before lifting y/n up slowly to go take a bath.

Resting the rest of the night with y/n in Wanda's arms, at some point at night Wanda looked back at her phone noticing all the tips she made from the stream along with some untrusting text from her best friends, which made Wanda laugh, and y/n blush....

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