#the part that gets me is trying to think of WHY she would end up like that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thewidowsledger · 8 hours ago

Text

Closer

Pairings: Dark!Wanda Maximoff x SHIELD Detective!Female Reader

Word count: 8k

Tags | Warnings: +18 smut, angst, top!Wanda, bottom!reader, Wanda being a perv criminal, fingering (r), enchanted strap (r), dubcon, breeding kink, pregnancy, comic/tarot reading inaccuracies (I did try my best searching about them), jealousy if you squint, friendzoned!Nat

Author's note: This is set after the MoM, Wanda being stuck on Earth-818, where she is a multiversal criminal after killing the Illuminati—the planet's mightiest heroes. Title inspired from the song Closer by NIN. I have another a/n at the end of the fic.

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"Do you know this girl?"

Wanda lets out a small huff, then leans on the table, her sore cuffed hands resting on the cold surface.

"I'll tell you if you tell me what color those pretty little panties of yours are."

ᱬ

She had killed the Illuminati, the very protectors of your universe. You couldn't understand why she would go after them, they were the ones who were keeping your universe safe and sound. It seemed that the only reason she had for doing this was to gain more power somehow and that's the only thing you got as of now.

But you couldn't help but wonder if she's up to something…more or personal? If she isn't after more power, then what is she up to? She could be plotting something far more sinister than anyone could imagine.

Or something she just lost.

As you stand in front of the interrogation room door, your heart is pounding fast, your hands are cold and your breathing hitched.

"I'll get you to talk." You murmured to yourself.

You then took a deep breath before signaling the agents that you are ready, then you watched as the door slowly opened before you. Sitting behind a desk facing you was the most wanted criminal on your planet.

As you stepped inside you examined her, you noticed that her body was covered in a number of devices which were meant to restrain her from using her magical powers. There's something on her temple, something that looked like an electric device. She also had the same thing collared around her neck and in her cuffed hands, you also took note of her blackened fingers. But both her feet seem to be free and in full display. She seemed to be unfazed by all the devices though, despite the fact she looks restrained in almost all parts of her body.

You were one of the top detectives in your field, but you had never seen any of this stuff, let alone be in a high security room with the most wanted criminal in your universe.

"Worried about me? Detective?" She asked as if she could read your mind.

"Comfortable with those on your body?" You huffed lightly, you hoped that you were able to keep a straight face while asking that question. You were doing your best to keep your cool, but it wasn't easy with her looking at you like that. "Sadly, you can only have those removed if you cooperate with me."

Wanda's face started to form a smirk before letting out a small chuckle as if to torment you even more. It was as if she knew exactly what kind of effect she was having on you.

"What about you? I don't think those clothes are comfortable on you…" she spoke with a wolfish grin, "want me to remove them?"

You force yourself to look away from Wanda, your heart rate slightly elevated. You take a deep, subtle breath, trying to compose yourself completely, focusing instead on your mission. There is no room for any distractions right now.

But God, this woman is a breathing distraction.

"Wanda Maximoff, is that your name?" you started, putting down the files you were pretending to fix a while back.

"Yes."

"Where are you from, Wanda?"

Silence.

You pressed on with the same question rephased, "Could you tell me where exactly you came from?"

She still didn't respond. Her eyes were like ice, cold and emotionless. You sighed disappointingly that now made the woman curve her lips upward.

Now, you began to lay out the facts, "You're not from here," you stated. "We've figured that one out. You're not from our universe and you killed our heroes." You slid a photo in front of her, the sound of the paper touching the cold metal table. "Do you know who that is?" It was a cropped photo of her. She was wearing a sweater and wide pants. She had a soft and gentle expression on her face, unlike the cold and emotionless looks she had been giving you so far. You observed how she looked at the photo and there is something you can't put a finger on her expression as she stared at it—jealousy?

"That's me."

"Wrong," you said firmly. You saw her eyes shot through you faster than the lightning. You were pleased that you were finally getting some sort of reaction from her. You could tell that you had caught her off guard. It seems like she wasn't used to being contradicted like this, you'll take note of that.

As a detective, if you cannot get an answer from your culprit you will get a reaction out of them. It was a fun game for you.

You held up another photo, before sliding it down on the table. This one is a closeup shot of her looking eye to eye at one of the monitors of Illuminati headquarters that was recovered. She was covered in blood and her eyes were glowing red.

The photo that has been haunting you since this case was given to you.

She just stared at it like a mirror. Then slowly, she began to tilt her head to the side, imitating the pose in the photo—taunting you. You could feel her eyes piercing into your soul.

Before you could lose yourself at her stare, you slammed your fingers down the photos. "This is not you, this is the Wanda Maximoff of this universe." You pointed at the photo of her variant with the soft and gentle expression on her face. You slid it towards you before grabbing the photo that is left, which was a photo of her showering in blood, "This…this is you."

Silence.

"Happy," you flick the photo of the happy Wanda. "And miserable." You pout, putting down the bloody Wanda in front of her.

Well, your tactics seemed to be not working. Because silence is all you got.

You took a deep breath and spoke again, trying to keep your frustration in check. "I'm going to ask you again, why are you here in my universe?" You stared at her expectantly, hoping for some kind of response this time. But Wanda remained silent, her face impassive as she stared back at you.

You were just starting, you just got here for like twenty minutes. Usually, during this part of interrogation you aren't frustrated yet unless you didn't have your pack of gummies before you started. You still should be cool and calm, but right now? You don't think you are at all.

She seemed to relish in your frustration. Taking pleasure in watching you struggle to get a straight answer out of her. This only added to your growing annoyance, making you wonder how long you could keep up this interrogation without losing your temper completely.

"Don't breathe too hard, detka."

You swear to your dead grandparents, you are going to lose it.

Your face flushed red like a fool, stomach was in knots as you tried to ignore the growing feeling of something you will slap yourself about.

Now, you managed to compose yourself back again, it's your turn to be silent. Fun games for you to play—the silent game where you'll sit on your chair while the culprit moves themselves in every way they could think of, walk, sit on the floor until their ass gets sore while you sit comfortably on your chair and this will go on for long painful hours. You've got to have years of training before you can master it.

So you sat comfortably, not saying anything. You waited to see what she would say or do next. But it seems like she was playing a waiting game as well, trying to see who would break first.

The two of you only sat in silence but the tension was too obvious in the small suffocating metal room.

You looked up from your file folder over and over again, taking notes of everything you got so far and that is the unknown name she had given you—detka. Now, you blinked as you realized how much time had passed. Your eyes shifted to Wanda and you noticed that she was tapping her blackened fingers impatiently on the table. It was clear that she was growing restless.

Good, you told yourself before getting back to your papers. One thing you're sure about is you have been here over and over, you had sat in a small cramped room for ten to twenty four hours half of your life. You're used to it. You do it for a living.

You'll last longer than she will.

"Detective Y/L/N, we got something for you." You heard through the comms of the suffocating room.

You got up and went to the door, waiting as a folder was delivered through a small opening of the door. As you walked back to the table, you couldn't shake off the feeling that Wanda was watching you intently. You tried to ignore it, focusing on the folder in front of you. But the weight of her gaze made the hairs on your neck rise. You glanced up at her, and sure enough, she was staring at you, a smirk written all over her face.

"It's quite disappointing I am not unwrapping something," she commented suggestively as she watched you unwrap the manila envelope on your hands. Then, her gaze drifted up to your lips and to your chest, your cleavage showing slightly on your low cut blouse that seemed to be taunting her from the moment you had stepped into the room.

Your jaw tensed as you tried to ignore the effect her nonsense comments were having on you, you tried to remain focused and professional, but you couldn't deny the heat building between your thighs.

You shame yourself.

You crossed your legs awkwardly, trying to conceal your discomfort. Wanda's smirk only grew wider when she noticed your movement. You could feel her eyes on you, and you wondered if she could tell how this back-and-forth was affecting you. Your mind raced, trying to come up with a way to regain control of the situation without giving her any more satisfaction. So you just decided to shift the focus of the conversation back to the interrogation. You examined a photo of a young girl wearing a denim jacket, taking note of a slight glow on her knuckles before showing it to Wanda.

"Do you know this girl?"

Wanda lets out a small huff, then leans on the table, her sore cuffed hands resting on the cold surface.

"I'll tell you if you tell me what color those pretty little panties of yours are."

"Who is this man?" you pushed another photo towards her that you weren't even able to see first just so you could dismiss her painful teasing, hoping to shift the conversation back to your hands because clearly, it's in hers.

"You want answers? Come on, detective, it's a simple question. Red? Black? Maybe something a little more innocent, like pin—"

"If stupidity is the only thing that will come out of your dirty mouth, then don't talk to me or don't speak, at all." You finally snapped, "I had asked you simple questions as well but I think you're too dumb to answer them since you're all silent." You knew that this was a low blow, but you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratification as you threw her own words back at her.

But still, you didn't last long.

You gathered the papers, folders, and envelopes in front of you, you couldn't help but feel Wanda's venomous glare burning into you. When you glanced up at her, you gulped by the sight of her face. Her expression was a picture of barely contained fury, suddenly feeling like prey being stalked by a predator—like the photo of her showering in blood. You immediately avoided her fiery gaze, you swore you saw it flicker red. You shake your head and take a hold of your documents.

You couldn't believe she had gotten the best of you in this interrogation and you only got defeated and frustrated. All you can do is huff, straightening your collar and smoothing your hair as you try to regain a sense of composure and the little shame that this investigation left you. You glanced towards the two-way mirror, knowing that the other agents and your colleagues were watching this whole ordeal unfold. They watched as you got humiliated by this multiversal criminal.

Taking a deep breath, you spoke up, your voice firm and decisive. "I think I am done here," you said, signaling them to open the door for you. But before you could even step outside, Wanda suddenly spoke up, her voice cutting through the tension in the room like a knife.

"It's not stupidity if it's all true," her words dripping with a cold and thick accent you are not familiar with that sent shivers down your spine.

You knit your brows together but you didn't turn around because you knew you would only see the annoying smirk plastered on her face.

"Victoria's secret, it's lacy and has a floral pattern, scarlet. And it's wet."

You clenched your jaw tightly, your nostrils flaring in anger. Now, you felt violated and humiliated, she had really gotten under your skin in a way that no one else had ever managed before.

As the door shut behind you, you felt a sense of relief at finally getting some distance from her, and you took a few deep breaths to try and calm yourself down—a routine you usually do.

"You okay?" Natasha immediately asked, removing her leather jacket and placing it on your shoulders, "I swear, allow me to do this."

Wanda rose from her chair and tried her best to stretch, trying to pop and shift some bones in her restrained neck and her back. Her movements were slow and deliberate, as if she was savoring the moment. Then, she walked towards the one-way glass mirror.

"No, Nat. If I allow that to happen one of you will come out in that room in a body bag." You walked to put your files down briefly staring at Wanda who was now hovering closely to the mirror.

Natasha then grabbed you by your right arm, her face dangerously close on yours. She clearly didn't like how this multiversal criminal talked to you. "And who do you think that will be?" Natasha asked intimidatingly.

You just huffed playfully, rolling your eyes on her making Natasha let out a few laugh.

"Are you sure those devices are really working on her?"

"Well, we don't know where she's from or what entity she really is. So we don't really know what else she can do," Natasha said and you already know that fact. "As of now it is the highest and most secure restraining device that they have. At least that's what they told me. Why?"

Well, you don't think it is working or restraining her powers at all.

Natasha didn't speak as if she already knew what's going on in your mind. "So it's true?"

"What is?" You asked as you crouched down to your bag, stuffing all the heavy documents you had dragged to and fro wherever you go.

"What she said."

"Natasha, she said nothing but taunt and—"

"Eye fuck you, yes."

Humiliate, humiliate is what you were going to say.

"The last thing she said, was it true?"

Natasha's question hung in the air, you found yourself frozen in place, your mind racing to come up with an appropriate response. You then slowly turned around and your eyes first landed on Wanda. You still have no idea if she can hear or see everything despite her being locked inside, but you can see her staring right at you as if she can see you through the one-way mirror. Now, you are both staring at each other even with the glass standing against the two of you.

Guess there is only one way to find out.

"Why don't you drop by later and find out, agent?"

You stepped back, almost like a flinch as you watched Wanda hit the mirror with her cuffed hands, her jaw shaking and her eyes flickering with a terrifying red glow, as if the rage within her had taken on a life of its own.

Now that you know how much effect you have on her, and how you figured out how she plays—you will play her game with your own hands.

Play the game or the game plays you.

ᱬ

Your fingers flew over the keyboard of your laptop as you delved into the files that had been recovered from the headquarters of the Illuminati. The video footage was particularly compelling, showing Wanda's abilities at their most devastating. You watched in horror as she unleashed a barrage of powerful magic, tearing through the ranks of the Illuminati with ease.

Black Bolt was killed having his mouth covered.

Captain Carter was cut in half with her shield.

Reed Richard was grated to death.

Photon was blasted with her own powers and was crushed by a statue.

And Professor X's neck was snapped by Wanda after what you think was a telepathic duel.

"Why did you do all this, Wanda Maximoff?" You whispered to yourself.

You knew that what had happened there was unprecedented and that the implications were far-reaching. Another set of evidence was given to you stating where this multiversal criminal was, Earth-616—from a different reality. With the Illuminati gone, multiversal travel was impossible, and the potential for catastrophic consequences seemed to loom around every turn with her being in your reality.

You watched another video footage of a young girl who was clearly in the throes of something far beyond her control. The way she was running and in a second she was being consumed by a star-figured portal she made herself, as if her own power was turning on her, devouring her from within.

A theory now begins to take shape in your mind. You theorized that perhaps Wanda was here in your universe because of the young girl. But again, it would always fall back onto why Wanda killed your world's mightiest heroes.

"Think, Y/N. C'mon."

As a seasoned detective, you couldn't help but consider all angles and possibilities. Then, another theory popped, what if Wanda used the girl to get to your universe? But the question that nagged at you this time was why she would do such a thing. What was her motive? Was she trying to escape from her own universe or did she have some greater purpose in mind? The uncertainty of it all made your mind tangle, as you desperately tried to piece together the puzzle that was Wanda Maximoff of Earth-616.

"What do you want?" You whispered, your gaze was locked repeating the footage of Wanda going on to Illuminati one by one.

ᱬ

"Thank you for meeting me."

Wanda nodded in acknowledgement, as she locked the door of the cafe behind you. You carefully watched her actions and movements as you followed her. And as a detective yourself it was your nature to observe and it was clear that she was a bit nervous, a far cry from the confident and aggressive that is her variant.

She led you to a small table for two, as you two finally settled in, you spoke.

"So, uhm. I'm detective Y/N and I think you kno—"

"I-I know who you are, I know what happened," Wanda interjected, cutting you off mid-sentence. Her tone was sharp and clipped, as if she had already anticipated your attempt to broach the topic of the devastating events that had transpired within the week. "You don't need to repeat it all over again," she said with finality.

It was all over the news for days now, hell it would be for the next few years. The death of the World's mightiest heroes and footage of the one who killed them, which was her—not technically her but her variant from another universe.

"I have received threats and so are my children. I had to close my shop since then," your gaze darted around the surroundings. Before you got in, you'd seen the words "murderer, witch, killer, anti-hero," painted on the shop's windows in bold, aggressive strokes.

"But…I have nothing to do with it," Wanda's voice trembled with emotion, you could hear the undeniable anguish in her words. "There would be times that I can't control my powers and it frightens me. My body was present but my mind was something else...someone else," she continued, her voice growing fainter, almost like a distant echo. "I had glimpses of a star…more like a portal, a shattered mirror and a book. But it's…I swear, it's not me I have nothing to do with it."

"Hey, it's—" you carefully edge in. But she quickly stopped you.

"No, I want to get this over with. I just want my children to be safe." She looked at you with glossy eyes. She looks so tired and defeated. "I used to dream every night," she continued, her words tumbling out rapidly, "I was…I was happy, I was with my children, I was in control of everything. But then it's gone. I put my kids to sleep then everything slowly started to disappear, I watched it. I watched everything I created, everything I loved disappear right in front of me."

"You lost your children…" you whispered unintentionally.

"Not me, I'm with my children," Wanda shook her head lightly before looking at you.

"It's not you who lost them…"

It struck you deeply, and suddenly, the pieces started to fall into place.

"What we see in our dreams are what is happening on our alternative selves. They may not be our exact selves, but they're our counterparts from different universes, and when we sleep, we inadvertently tap into their experiences."

"H-how sure are you about that?"

"I came to my old mentor, I told her everything about it. She might give you better answers than I do, I stopped learning more about my powers since I retired," She paused briefly, her gaze dropping to the ground. "Besides, I…I'm just a sitting duck variant here."

"Hey—" you blinked when she handed you a piece of paper. Stopping your attempt to comfort once again.

"I don't need it. Here is the address if you still need answers. That's all I can give you."

She stood and you panicked, you hurried after her. As she reached the door, she turned to face you for a brief moment, her expression unreadable. Before you could utter a polite goodbye, she had already shut the door behind you, leaving you standing in the cold street.

You took an exasperated sigh, then, you quickly pulled out your phone and dialed Natasha's number, asking her to send some SHIELD agents to keep an eye on Wanda and her kids for protection. After the call, you felt lost, it's like you're close to hitting a brick wall, but then you remembered the paper Wanda gave you.

"This sounds like a sham."

ᱬ

"What are you doing here in our universe?" Natasha asked for God knows how many times now. But Wanda remained silent.

She unbuttons her suit jacket, revealing her holstered gun. She watches Wanda's silent form, she is unfazed—unthreatened. She wishes you were here, with how easily you extracted information just using your eyes and laughter. How your disarming smiles could crack even the hardest facades, including hers.

"Was I right?" Natasha freezes, surprised by Wanda's sudden voice.

"What?" Natasha responds sharply, trying to hide her shock. "What did you say?" She watches Wanda closely. Her eyes are no longer empty. They're stormy and intense. "Right about what?"

"C'mon you know what I am talking about." Wanda's eyes crinkled to the side. And Natasha's eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the smirk, remembering the last thing this criminal had said about you before you got out of the first interrogation. Natasha catches herself slowly smirking as well before she can stop it, leaning back confidently in her chair. She hoped this play of hers would look natural.

"Not going to lie, it was impressive 'cause you were right about it. Saw it upclose, it was black, lacy Victoria's Secret, and it's wet—for me."

"It's red." Wanda immediately corrected, the colors of Natasha's face started to drain in embarrassment. "Dark red," She emphasizes, "Almost burgundy, like wine...or blood." She grins mischievously, enjoying how the agent in front of her clenched her jaw.

Natasha intended for it to look like she indeed saw what you were wearing that day. You even told her to come to your place and find out even though she knew it was just a play to get something out of this criminal, only for the two of you to do nothing but investigate and investigate. She even bought wine! But since then you had made it clear to her, that you two cannot be a thing—that she's just a friend.

"Listen here, you twisted criminal," Natasha strided and grabbed Wanda by the collar of her prison suit, pulling her closer. "Try to disrespect her like that once again, you will never be back in your universe again."

Wanda laughed despite Natasha's threat. "In just one snap I can go through your mind and see the very not-so-respectful things your twisted brain has thought of doing to your boss," she spoke calmly, unfazed by Natasha's grip on her collar and how close their faces were to each other.

"Give me your boss or you'll get nothing from me."

ᱬ

You find yourself standing in front of a quaint, old-fashioned shop, nestled between two larger buildings. The sign above the door reads "Madam Calderu's Psychic Readings" in a flowery, Victorian script. As you push open the heavy wooden door, a bell chimes merrily, announcing your arrival. The shop is dimly lit, filled with an eclectic mix of incense burners, crystal balls on a small, round table.

Before you can take in your surroundings properly, you hear a sudden scream.

Your hand goes for your holster, gun drawn instinctively. The woman freezes, seeing the gun pointed at her. "Wait!" She throws up her hands, the shawl falling back to reveal a middle-aged woman with sharp features and piercing dark eyes. The woman's gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, it's as if she's peering right through you, seeing something that only she can comprehend. Her eyes widen slightly, and she takes a step closer, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper.

"You…"

Taking a deep breath, she forces a calming smile. "I apologize, dear. You just gave me quite the surprise. Please, have a seat. I am Madam Calderu."

Even though something about this feels off—hell, everything about this feels off, you holster your gun and take a seat at the nearest table. The smooth wood is cool to the touch, just like her hands when she places them palm-up on the table.

"What's your name, dear?"

Her eyes seem to pierce through you as she awaits your response. There's a strange intensity to her gaze, like she's trying to unravel the very fabric of your existence.

"Y/N…" you were about to get your badge to show her that you are a detective but she gently stopped you.

"Y/N, no need for that," She repeats softly as if she already knows what you really are.

The goosebumps you're feeling made you want to finish whatever this is. "I am here about Wanda Maximoff."

"Which one?" She asks, laying out a spread of cards you thought are tarot cards across the table.

"What? Wh-what do you mean which one? Hey I-I am not here for that." You rushed out, but she already flipped a card.

"The Fool. Bare…untouched, pure." You cringe slightly, what a nice way to say you are a virgin…which you truly are. "You are going to bring a new life."

"W-what?"

She turned to another card that was placed vertically. "The Hermit. You're in deep search for something. The Devil, upright. You are bound...constrained by circumstances beyond your control." Another card was flipped. "The Empress Meaning, upright. You are a vessel…meant to contain something immense, powerful. But you're unprepared. A fragile container for a force that could shatter you at any moment."

The last card made her eyes widened as she saw the image—a hanged man suspended upside down from a tree, with his right foot bound and his left foot free. "Someone is after you…" She mutters under her breath, then she looks at you who was in a deep frown, images of something red…a crown, something powerful flashed her mind that made her scream. You immediately took a hold of her hands with yours, as if you pulled her out of her nightmare, she stopped screaming but she was breathing hard.

"You wait here, young lady." She stood, shaking as she rushed from her seat disappearing through the string curtains.

The room grows silent again as you wait for Madame Calderu to return. Your phone suddenly rings, making you jump slightly. You pull it out, seeing Natasha's number.

"Romanoff."

"She wants you."

Realizing what she meant, you shifted on your seat in frustration. "Romanoff, I told you not to…" you didn't finish, sighing defeatedly knowing that scolding Natasha would get you nowhere. She had always been like this, stubborn and would sometimes go against you and your higher ups. "I'll be there." You say, ending the call and tucking the phone back into your pocket.

Madam Calderu came rushing back with a wooden rectangular sigil in her hand only to see a 20 dollar bill on top of the table.

You were gone.

ᱬ

"Y/N, I'm sorry." Natasha followed you behind as you strided toward the interrogation room. You have not been giving her any words or any blink of an eye as you arrived. And she has been apologizing, following you around like a lost puppy.

"I want you out of this case, Romanoff. This is not the only time you went against my orders." You say with finality before disappearing behind the door of the interrogation room, not wanting to hear any of her reactions.

You took deep breaths before you turned around and saw how the criminal had been staring at you. She was wearing a wolfish grin, elbows on top of the table while her cuffed hands together were in the air.

"How are you holding up?" You asked, much calmer like you were the first time.

"I'm good, detective." She said, simply. "I'm good now that you're here."

"I could say that." You quipped, making her let out a few chuckles that made your stomach flutter.

"I didn't like the attitude you have the last time we saw each other."

"Well, I didn't like how you didn't cooperate with me."

Wanda smirks teasingly, her black fingernails tapping against the metal table. "I missed you, detective," she purrs softly, her voice dropping an octave. She manspread her legs slightly under the table, unnoticed by you.

You respond in a neutral tone, your expression giving nothing away. "I could say that," you repeated, never breaking eye contact with the criminal.

She chuckles softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She leans forward slightly, the movement subtle yet intentional. "Didn't you miss me too?" She just threw you a bone, looking for a reaction—any reaction. She watches your face carefully, eyes picking up every tiny muscle twitch. She sees your jaw tighten slightly, your shoulders stiffen. She notes how you never left her gaze, how you keep your voice neutral and unreadable.

But then, you remained composed. Chuckling but you didn't give any response to her question, instead you answered with a question yourself.

"Wanda, have you had dreams?"

She frowned before huffing softly, but failed to hide the slight uptick in her lips. She leans back slightly, her gaze drifting away before slowly returning to meet yours.

"It's here, right in front of me."

As Wanda answered, a smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth draws Wanda's attention back to your face. She sees the genuine smile hiding behind the smirk, and it makes her pause. She's not used to seeing genuine smiles, especially not directed at her. Wanda's eyes linger on your smile, her gaze seeming to drink in the sight. She notices the way your indifference during the first interrogation melts away, replaced by something warmer. Something that makes Wanda's heart skip a beat.

"Have you lost someone?" You asked another question, much personal this time. But silence was the only answer you got back from Wanda. You expected for it to not work for now but you know that eventually, later on, you will get something out from her—you will make her say something.

"I used to have dreams, Wanda." When the words escape your lips, you see Wanda's eyes widen slightly, hanging onto each word. "I dream of my kids, and I dream about losing them every single time." You continued. Your dreams have become a nightly ritual, an obsession. Every night, you relive the same scene, sitting on the couch, surrounded by laughter, playful shouts and calls for you—their mommy. You're surrounded by your children, their faces blurry but their joy unmistakable. And then, next thing you know is you're awake in an empty bed, no signs of your children.

"Every time?" She asks, already knowing the answer.

You hesitate, then nod. "Like clockwork. I see them, hear them. They feel so real…" You trail off, smiling at the memories. "Then they're gone." You add softly, unconsciously wrapping your arms around yourself. Wanda swallows hard, her fingers twitching slightly. "It's funny because I don't even want kids, but after those dreams, when I wake up the first thing I expect to see is them beside me."

As she sits there, watching you wrestle with the ghosts of your dream children, she feels an unfamiliar pull. She's seen the same thing in her own dreams—blurry faces, laughter that turns to silence.

"Every night the same dream, every morning the same nightmare." She murmured under her breath.

For the first time since you've seen her, Wanda's mask completely slips.

"I can say the same, Y/N. I've lost people I loved…but I am here to get them back now."

Bingo.

Wanda blinks, momentarily taken aback as she watches you rise, a flicker of confusion passing over her face.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Wanda." You say before disappearing, leaving her alone in the cold room.

ᱬ

Later that night, as the prison settles into a quiet routine, you find yourself back at your apartment.

You pour yourself a glass of wine, the cool liquid sliding down your throat as you relax on your couch. This case has been tough, but tonight, you finally made a huge progress. She had opened up, shown emotion. You smile smugly to yourself, confident that tomorrow, with your newfound insight, you'll finally break the case wide open.

You finish your glass of wine, feeling tired. You've had a long day of investigating and interrogating. You let out a breath, your body relaxing as you slide into bed in your silk nightgown. You close your eyes, ready for sleep. But you felt dizzy. As the room spins around you, suddenly, unmistakably, you hear it—laughter. The clear, joyous laughter of children echoes through your darkened bedroom. Your eyes fly open, but the sound doesn't stop. It surrounds you, bouncing off the walls, growing louder.

Figures begin to take shape right before your eyes. Two boys—the same children from your dreams. They're laughing, their faces fully visible this time, and they're reaching out their little hands towards you.

"Mommy!" You laugh, reaching to them.

But then, in an instant their laughter turns cold, their smiles disappearing as they hiss, "Mommy, go away! Run, Mommy, run!" They push you back, their small hands shoving you towards the bed. You saw a glowing figure just outside your door, a woman with horns in her head—glowing red.

Your kids continued to scream, "Run! Mommy!"

Your heart was pounding in your chest, you wrapped your arms around your children, pulling them close. You can feel their small bodies shaking, mirroring your own fear.

"Mommy, go." The first boy whispered.

"You have to go now, mommy." The other one said.

But you didn't let go of them. The footsteps grew louder and the figure was just right beside your bed. Blocking out the light on the hallway of your room.

You jolt upright in bed, your nightgown damp with sweat. You pant, looking around your room. No children, no figure. Just you and your phone ringing loud.

"Y/N," Maria's voice is tight, "Wanda escaped. We don't know how but we need you here. Now."

"2800 Sherwood Street, Eastview." You rattled out. Your heart pounds in your ears as you stand still. "Maria, 616 is after 818's kids, she might be on her way to get them now. Target is the variant Wanda of Earth-616. Presumed armed and dangerous. Objective: Contain and capture." You stood, walking to where your closet is, "Eliminate if you have to." You ended the call swiftly, pulling on your tactical gear—bulletproof vest, cargo pants, combat boots out of your cabinet.

When you were about to get undressed, there was a figure that loomed over your room's doorway. You can't be wrong but it was the same figure you saw in your dreams just a while back. A woman with little horns, glowing red.

As you sweep the hallway, you think you're alone. But then, a movement catches your eye—a shadow darting between rooms. You turned around, gun raised, heart pounding. "Who's there?" You call out, voice echoing through the empty house. Then, a shadow appeared right at the end of your hallway and it started crawling to your direction. Without thinking, you spin around and dash back to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. You lock it immediately, and aim your gun straight at the door as you step back.

You felt an energy behind you so you whirl around, gun still pointed at the air, only to find yourself face to face with the towering figure. It looms over you, the red light pulsing violently. Your hands tremble slightly as you raise the gun higher, aiming at the center of the shadowy mass. You gasp, eyes widening as you recognize the features hidden beneath the glowing shadow.

"W-Wanda?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

Her blackened fingers extend, reaching to the gun aiming at her and it disappears in a flash of dark energy. Before you could react, she snapped and in an instant you were up in the air. An unseen force lifts you off the ground, suspending you in mid-air with an invisible restraint tying your feet and hands. You struggle, legs kicking uselessly as you float higher but her eyes glow with an intensity you've never seen before, almost burning with the red energy that surrounds her. She watches you like a predator eyeing its prey—calculated, intense, and completely focused.

"Miss me?"

"What are you doing?" You manage to choke out, heart is now hammering to get out of your chest as you stare into her glowing eyes. Her appearance is disturbing; she wears a crown that looks like horns, and a suit that looks like it was drenched in blood. The red energy seems to be seeping from her very pores. Her features are still beautiful, but twisted into something dark and terrifying.

"To get what I lost."

Your frown deepens as you process her words.

Then, a chill laughter escaped her lips. "I thought you already figured it out, detective," she says mockingly, her voice dripping with condescension. "You're supposed to be the smart one. The one who sees through every lie and unravels every mystery." She leans in closer, her face inches from yours as you elevate in the air. "But you've got it all wrong."

Your mind races, trying desperately to connect the dots. Your detective mind isn't working at the moment and she tilts her head, studying your baffled expression with cruel amusement. Her blackened fingers gently caress your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw. "You really don't get it, do you?" She murmurs, her touch icy cold. Her fingers started to caress your stomach. "Let me give you a hint...what's the same thing we lost every time we close our eyes?"

Your kids. Her kids.

You shake your head, trying to clear the confusion. "But…I-I don't have your kids, Wanda."

"Oh, you will." Her voice drops to a threatening whisper as she snaps her fingers again. In an instant, you find yourself falling backward onto your bed, the familiar indentation of your pillow against your head. Wanda begins to crawl up your body, her blackened fingers digging into the blankets, pulling her closer. Her face hovers above yours, her twisted crown casting ominous shadows on the walls. "Now, let's make them, shall we?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying desperately that this is all just a nightmare. But as Wanda's cold hands begin to roam over your chest, pulling the knots of your nightgown, you realize with a sinking heart that this is no dream. This is terrifyingly, undeniably real.

"Open your eyes."

A shiver runs down your spine as the cold air hits your bare skin. You have nothing under your nightgown, just your lacy panties. You're exposed, vulnerable, lying naked beneath her. She takes a moment to admire the sight, her red eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "I knew you're more beautiful without clothes," she murmurs, tracing a finger down your chest. She then squeezes them roughly, pinching your nipples between her fingers until you gasp in pain. Her other hand reaches up to grab your throat, squeezing tightly as she attacks your chest with a frenzy of kisses and bites.

You arch your back in pain as Wanda's cold hands maul your breasts, her fingers digging into your flesh like claws. Her hand around your throat tightens, cutting off your air supply as she nuzzles her face between your breasts, inhaling your scent deeply. Your body goes limp beneath hers. You spread your legs wider, letting her settle deeper between your thighs. Your arms lift up, wrapping around her neck possessively. You whimper softly as she bites down hard on your collarbone.

Her fingers slip beneath the lacy fabric of your underwear and immediately find their way inside your warmth. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, her skin so cold it burns against your sensitive flesh. She begins to move her fingers in and out of you brutally, ignoring your cries. She silences you with a brutal kiss, her cold fingers continuing their relentless assault on your insides. Her thumb finds your clit, pressing down hard as she forces another finger inside you. You feel yourself stretching to accommodate her blackened fingers, your body trembling with a mix of pain and pleasure.

You should be fighting, clawing, biting, anything to make her stop. Instead, you find yourself wrapping your legs around her waist, pulling her closer as she invades your cunt with cold, blackened fingers.

Letting her darkness in.

"Hng Wanda..." You whimpered.

She smirks wickedly as she hears you cry out her name, your pleasured gasps mingling with anguished moans. Her eyes glitter with cruel triumph. "Say my name again," she commands.

"W-Wanda…" You stuttered.

Then, she curled her fingers inside you agonizingly slow, hitting that perfect spot. "Louder."

"Fuck! Wanda!"

Just as you're about to release the coil on your stomach, she pulls her fingers out of you suddenly, leaving you gaping and empty. You whimper in protest, but before you can even process what's happening, she shoves two of her blackened fingers into your mouth instead.

"Suck."

Magic crackles in the air as Wanda presses her blackened fingers against your lips, demanding obedience. Shimmering sparks dance before your eyes before you reluctantly close them, submitting as your mouth envelops her fingers. The metallic taste of chaos magic and your wetness coats your tongue, making you shudder.

She pulls her fingers free from your mouth, leaving behind trails of dark magic. Kneeling between your legs, she lets you see the crimson strap-on secured around her waist—it looked so real, enchanted.

As you finally register what's happening, adrenaline shoots through your veins. Your body goes instantly rigid, eyes wide with realization and fear.

"No..." you whimper, trying to close your legs, but she holds them firmly open with her knees. The alarm bells in your mind scream to fight back.

With a cruel smile, she rips your delicate underwear to shreds, discarding the remains aside. She grabs your thighs tightly, spreading your legs as far apart as they'll go. The enchanted strap-on hangs between her legs, the chaos runes pulsing with dark energy.

"It's time to make what we lost."

She rubs the tip against your wet entrance, coating it with your arousal. You watch in horror as she throws her head back, moaning softly. "You're so tight, around my cock," she hisses, gripping your hips. Without warning, she snaps her hips forward, burying the entire length inside you brutally. She shushes your cries, her free hand caressing your cheek, kissing your forehead soothingly as she continues to brutally thrust the strap-on into you with each heartbeat. With every painful push, you let out a little whimper, your body trembling beneath hers.

"It hurts, Wanda…" you sobbed.

"I know, detka." She placed her forehead against yours before kissing them again, her thumb gently stroking your cheek as she continued to ravage you with the cock. "It's supposed to hurt." She murmurs against your forehead, "This pain will remind you who you belong to now." As she continues to brutally thrust into you, she starts to feel pleasure from the enchanted device. The chaos runes absorb your pain and convert it into dark energy, feeding into Wanda. She moans softly, nuzzling your face, "You're hurting so nicely…" The pleasure builds inside her, her hips snapping forward with increased force, the strap-on plunging deeper into your torn and stretched flesh. She buries her face in your neck, kissing and biting your skin as she chases her orgasm. "I'm going to cum inside you, my love."

All you can feel is the relentless pain, your body bruised and your pussy battered by her cock. But despite the agony, you nod dumbly, willing to take whatever she gives you. "Yes, Wanda," you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. "Please, please."

She presses a palm firmly against your stomach, feeling the prominent bulge of the strap-on inside you. "Feel that, detka? Feel how deep I am?" She pants harshly, her hips grinding against yours. "You'll be filled with my cum, marked from the inside out."

"Then, we will never lose them again."

"Please…I don't wanna lose them again, Wanda. Please, give me my kids. G-give me your babies."

Your statement throws her over the edge. She groans loudly, her body tensing as she forces her cock deep inside you, releasing wave after wave of hot, enchanted seed. The chaos runes pulse dangerously, filling your womb with dark energy.

She collapses onto you, panting heavily as she caresses your stomach, feeling the warmth of her release inside you.

"Our kids…" she slipped out of you. Making you whimper from the empty feeling. Then, her hand slowly trailed down to your pussy, feeling the wetness of her cum mixing with yours as she pushed it back inside you.

"We'll never lose them again."

ᱬ

You blinked groggily as you stirred awake in your bedroom decorated in a vintage 1950s style. A silky nightgown slips off one shoulder as you sit up slowly. You stare at the two boys beside you, your heart swelling with love. And your dear wife, Wanda lies in between them, her hand protectively resting on the boys' backs, a soft smile on her sleeping face.

Feeling you're moving away, Wanda calls out softly, stirring in her sleep. "Hey, mommy." She carefully removes her arms from around the twins, ensuring they don't wake up.

"Hey." You greeted back, groaning as you finally managed to stand. Wanda immediately rounded the bed to get to you.

"Mmm, good morning, my love." Before you can say a word, she leans in to press a tender kiss to your lips. She took your hands as she sat back on the bed. Then, blackened fingers slide down to your swollen stomach, you laugh, guiding her head as she leans down to kiss your bump.

"Good morning, little one," she coos. "We can't wait to meet you soon."

—

Author's Note: This was supposed to have an angsty ending but I remember promising someone here to write a Wanda fic w happy ending.

I just want to inform everyone that this might be the last fic I will be posting. I will be on hiatus since I have been missing school a lot due to health issues and I need to keep up and get back on track. Every series/fics of mine will be put on hold for a while, but I promise that the first thing I'll post when I get back are updates on them. I'll see you all around :)))

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff au #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch au #scarlet witch

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havendance · 2 days ago

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I have to offer: AU snippet where Tim travels back in time to Knightfall and bothers Helena about it :)

Helena's apartment had been invaded. There was a cape hanging over the back of her couch, a pair of boots tossed haphazardly on the floor, and curled up on her couch balancing a laptop at an uncomfortable looking angle with an open bag of chips next to him, was a familiar teenage boy in green tights and a sweatshirt.

She set her groceries down on the counter "What," she said, "are you doing here?"

Robin looked up. "Helena!" he said with far too much enthusiasm for someone she teamed up with once and who was now acting far too comfortable in her space. "It's a long story." He wasn't, she noticed, wearing his mask this time.

The show of trust was appreciated, she had to admit. The showing up without warning was not. Helena crossed her arms and gave him the do you want to try that again look she'd perfected on her students.

He grinned back, unphased.

"My apartment is not a clubhouse, kid."

"I'm here for business," he said, unconvincingly. "I have a proposal."

"Which is?"

"How would you like to become Batman?"

"Excuse me?"

He had a whole presentation prepared, it turned out. Apparently that was what he'd been doing while eating her chips.

"Sorry," he said unconvincingly when she pointed this out.

Helena sighed. "Just show me this presentation."

"You know what happened to Batman," Robin said. In case she didn't remember, the first slide had the picture of Batman being tossed down into the streets by Bane that every news station had been running for the past week.

Helena nodded. "Yes."

"Well that left Gotham in a bit of a mess..."

Point 1 of Robin's argument: Gotham needed Batman. This was argued with a fervent sense of bone deep conviction on Robin's part and also graphs. Lots of graphs.

"I get it," Helena said, after he'd been talking for at least five minutes. "I think you can move on."

He made a face at her, but skipped past at least half a dozen more graphs to get to point 2: Batman's chosen replacement sucked for reasons including assassin brainwashing, not listening, and also more graphs of predicted casualty reports.

"Where did this data come from?" she asked, looking closer. There were some awfully specific points on that graph...

Robin skipped forward. "Not important. Just trust me on this," he said, sounding untrustworthy.

"So why me?" she asked when he finally got to the end.

"I can't take down Azrael on my own," he said, "and it's not like I can put on the Batsuit on afterwards either."

Helena waved a hand dismissively. "That much was clear, but why not someone more trustworthy."

"I trust you," Robin said without hesitating which was both endearing and also a little intimidating.

"But what about that Nightwing guy? Wouldn't he make a better choice."

For the first time that evening, Robin dimmed slightly. He looked away, an unreadable expression on his face. "Nightwing's... complicated," he said. And then, lighter again: "And maybe I want to make Batman sweat a little after ditching me with Azrael. Come on, it'll be fun. Please?" he added when she didn't say anything.

He made a very tempting case was the thing. Helena doubted that it would be as easy as he made it out to be, but it would be fun to mess with the real? former? Batman some.

"If we're doing this, does this mean I get to know who I'm partnering with?" she asked.

"Tim," Robin said, far easier than she was expecting. "Tim Drake. We have a deal then?" He stuck out a hand.

Helena shook. "We have a deal."

#tim's traveling back in time from idk post-bruce quest?#i did not put too much thought into this #dc #bats + birds + affiliated #tim drake #helena bertinelli #batman: knightfall #tim tag #the cooler gotham antihero #advancing the tim & helena agenda #havendance writes #my fic #i think my vague thoughts were tim is from the brucebats + dickbats era and maybe has some feelings about it he’s trying to ignore #carthago delenda est

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nomie-11 · 1 day ago

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Fight For Me - Part 3

masterlist! | Right Wing - Part 1 | The General - Part 2

synopsis: ellie never had anyone fight for her before, but hearing the way your teammates talk about you, she knows that maybe next time she won’t be alone

pairings: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

The locker room was alive with the familiar buzz of post-practice exhaustion. The sharp scent of sweat and cooling gear filled the air, mingling with the low hum of chatter and the occasional burst of someone’s laughter. Ellie lingered by her locker, fingers absentmindedly unlacing her skates as she listened to the others talk. She was sure what she was waiting for—maybe an excuse to leave, maybe a reason to stay.

She found her eyes drifting toward you. You were across the room, leaning against your locker, laughing at something Vi had said. Even now, after an absolutely grueling practice, after putting everyone through hell on the ice, you barely looked tired.

Ellie scowled. How the hell did you do that?

Dina, sitting on the bench beside her, nudged her shoulder. “You’ve been staring for like, five minutes, dude.”

Ellie snapped her head toward her. “What? No, I haven’t.”

Vi, overhearing, smirked. “Yeah, you have.”

“Fuck off,” Ellie grumbled, yanking her laces free with more force than necessary.

Caitlyn, ever the observant one, arched a brow. “What’s your deal with Cap, anyway?”

Ellie hesitated. What was her deal? She hated you—or at least, she wanted to hate you. But the problem was, she didn’t actually know you. Not really. All she knew was what she saw on the ice: a player who was better than she, a captain who commanded absolute loyalty, a strategist who made the game bend to her will.

So instead of answering the question, Ellie deflected. “What’s her deal?”

Dina and Vi exchanged a glance. Abby, who had been rolling out her shoulder with a resistance band, snorted. “The General?”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I keep hearing that. Why is that her nickname?’

Caitlyn smirked. “Because this is her team. She commands it and she built it.”

Ellie frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dina leaned back against the lockers, arms crossed. “Before Cap, the team was good. Like, really good. But good doesn’t win championships. Good doesn’t push you past the point where you want to quit. She made us great.”

Vi nodded. “She doesn’t just play hockey—she sees it. Lives, breathes, and eats it, too. The way she reads the game, the way she moves the puck? It’s like she’s playing five steps ahead of everyone else. When we got here, she made this team into what it is now. She made it better.”

Ellie frowned, absorbing their words. She thought back to every practice, every game replay she’s watched. It was true—you didn’t just play, you orchestrated. Like a general in a command room, you saw the ice as a battlefield and your team as an army.

Caitlyn added, “She took this team from a solid contender to a fucking dynasty. Three straight conference championships, frozen four appearances, and if we play our cards right, we’re winning the whole thing this year.”

Ellie raised a brow. “And you guys just… let her take charge like that?”

Vi laughed. “Let her? You don’t let Cap do anything. She just does it.”

Dina grinned. “Day one, freshman year, it was me, her, and Vi. She showed up to practice and ran everyone into the ground. Our seniors thought they were gonna humble her. They didn’t.”

Vi chuckled at the memory. “Yeah, I remember thinking, ‘no fucking way this rookie is that good.’ And then she smoked all of us in suicides, outworked everyone in frills, and by the end of the first week, we all knew. She would lead. Be something different.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted. She had spent the last few weeks resenting you, trying to fight against the way you led this team, when really—you were the team.

Dina glanced at Ellie, as if reading her thoughts. “Look, I get that you and Cap don’t exactly vibe, but if you actually listened to her, you’d realize she’s trying to make you better, too.”

Ellie scoffed. “I don’t need her help.”

Abby smirked. “That’s cute.”

Ellie glared. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Vi leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “It means you’re playing checkers while she’s playing chess. She’s already figured out where you fit into this team. You just have to listen.”

Ellie clenched her jaw, looking down at the skates discarded on the floor. The worst part? They were right, and she knew it.

“Do any of you guys actually like her? As a friend?” Ellie questioned cautiously.

Dina blinked at her like she had grown two heads. “Are you serious?”

Vi let out a sharp laugh. “Ellie, she’s our fucking captain.”

”No shit,” Ellie muttered, rolling her eyes. “I mean besides hockey. Off the ice. Do you guys actually like her?”

Caitlyn, who had been tying her sneakers, glanced up with a small smirk. “She’s intense as hell. Kind of a bitch, too.”

“Super goal-oriented,” Abby added, stretching her shoulder with a wince. “Rides all of our asses like it’s her job.”

Dina grinned. “Technically, it is her job.”

Ellie felt something ugly twist in her chest. It was what she had been saying—you were too much. Too sharp, too demanding, too relentless. The perfect hockey player, maybe, but not someone anyone would actually—

Vi cut through her thoughts with a scoff. “But, yeah, dumbass. Of course we love her.”

Ellie frowned. “Even though she’s—”

“A goddamn nightmare?” Caitlyn supplied.

“A complete hardass?” Abby offered.

“The most stubborn person alive?” Dina grinned.

Vi leaned back on the bench, crossing her arms over her chest. “She’s all of that, yeah. But she’s ours.”

Ellie stared at them.

Dina’s voice softened, losing its usual teasing edge. “She fights for us, Ellie. Tooth and fucking nail. She’s been the first one in our corner since day one, even when we didn’t ask her to be. She’s had our backs through every shit call, every bad game, every injury.”

Caitlyn nodded. “When I blew out my knee last season, she stayed at the hospital with me all night. Coach didn’t even ask her to. I woke up, and she was just there.”

Vi smirked. “She cussed out a ref so bad in our freshman year that Coach had to physically drag her off the ice.”

Abby grinned. “When Dina got concussed, she carried her off the ice herself.”

Ellie blinked. “That’s not legal.”

Dina snorted, shaking her head. “Yeah, and she bitched the whole time about how heavy I was.”

Vi smirked. “To be fair, you were dead weight. You kept trying to tell us you were fine while your eyes were rolling back in your head.”

“I was fine,” Dina said indignantly.

Abby rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t even count to five.”

Dina waved a dismissive hand, then leaned back against her locker with a grin. “Honestly, that’s nothing. You wanna know how I really knew Cap had my back.”

Ellie arched a brow. “Spill.”

Dina’s grin widened. “I’m actually a teen mom.”

Ellie choked on her own spit. “What?”

Vi snickered. “Yup.”

Dina look way too amused at Ellie’s stunned expression. “Had my kid with Jesse our senior of high school. Just happened to line up with the end of the season and then summer, which, you know, lucky timing and all.”

Ellie blinked, trying to process. “You—” she gestured vaguely, still thrown, “—have a kid?”

Dina nodded. “Little dude named JJ. He’s three and a half now.”

Ellie had absolutely no idea what to do with this information. “And—you still play?”

”Obviously.” Dina said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But BU almost tried to kick me off the team when they found out the little boy strapped to my soulmate’s chest was my kid mid-sophomore year.”

Ellie frowned. “They can do that?”

“They tried to,” Dina’s expression darkened slightly. “Tried to tell me I wouldn’t be able to keep up, that it’d be a distraction, that I needed to focus on my ‘future’—which, like, excuse me, this is my future.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted. She could imagine it, the way schools and coaches could be—how quickly they’d turn their backs the second they decided you weren’t worth the trouble. “What happened?”

Dina smirked. “Cap happened.”

Ellie blinked. “What?”

Vi leaned forward, grinning. “Yeah, that was a fun day.”

Dina laughed. “I thought she was gonna rip Coach’s head off. She stormed into his office and straight-up told him that if they kicked me off, she’d quit the team.”

Ellie’s jaw nearly dropped. “She what?”

“Threatened to walk. No hesitation. Said she wouldn’t play for a school that didn’t have its players’ backs.” Dina’s voice was warm, fond. “And here’s the thing—this was right after we won our first conference championship. She was their golden girl, and they knew it. The idea of losing her scared them so much that they backed off.”

Ellie was quiet for a moment, turning this over in her head. She’d spent weeks seeing you as this untouchable, ice-cold general who lived and breathed hockey, this was something else.

What would Vermont have been like if she had someone like you to fight for her? Would they have still booted her at the first sign of real trouble?

Vi ran a hand through her short hair. “You think that’s bad? Try this one?”

Dina smirked. “Smooth topic shift.”

Vi shot her a look but continued. “Middle of our sophomore year, I almost had to drop out.”

Ellie’s brows furrowed. “What? Why?”

Vi sighed, her fists clenching. “My little sister needed me. Money was tight—worse than usual. Our dad dropped dead out of nowhere, and if I wanted to keep her fed and taken care of, I had to pick up more hours at work, which meant I didn’t have much time for school, much less hockey.” She exhaled sharply. “So, I told Coach I was quitting.”

Ellie blinked. “You were just gonna leave?”

Vi shrugged. “Didn’t feel like I had much of a choice at the time. But guess who didn’t let that happen?”

Ellie didn’t even have to guess. “Captain Perfect stepped in.”

Vi nodded. “She would not shut up about it. Helped me find grants, financial aid, hell, even some weird-ass booster program for ‘exceptional athletes in difficult circumstances’—which, yeah, that’s a mouthful, but it covered two-thirds of my tuition alone. She even bullied Coach into giving me a small stipend from the team budget.” Vi huffed out a laugh. “And when I was still being stubborn about it, she just showed up to my job one night, tossed an envelope of cash onto the counter, and told me to pay my goddamn bills.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “Where the hell did she get the money?”

Vi smirked. “Her own savings. Said she didn’t need it. Said ‘what’s the point of winning if we don’t all cross the finish line together?’”

Ellie swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way it made her chest tighten, and the overwhelming guilt and jealousy she had for these girls. The Vermont captain was nothing like this—didn’t even fight for her even after they had played together for two years. And here you were paying Vi’s rent after a year and a half on the same team? Threatening your career just to keep Dina on the ice?

Caitlyn sighed. “I guess I’ll go next, then.”

Ellie turned to her, and Caitlyn leaned against Vi with a small huff. “My mom didn’t want me to keep playing. Thought I wasn’t focused enough on my studies, that hockey was just a distraction.”

Ellie frowned. “That’s ridiculous. You’re, like, insanely smart.”

Caitlyn gave a humorless chuckle. “Didn’t matter. You’ve never met an asian mother on a mission. In her mind, I had to be better. She tried to pull me from the team.”

Ellie clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking. “What happened?”

Caitlyn smiled slightly. “Our dear captain happened?”

Dina grinned. “This was epic.”

Caitlyn laughed. “She learned my mother’s language of numbers and statistics. Launched a full-scale campaign to convince my mother to let me stay. Had the entire team sign petitions. Brought in my academic record and class statistics to prove I wasn’t falling behind. Got Coach to sit down with her and explain how crucial I was to the lineup.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “She wouldn’t leave my poor mother alone.”

Ellie could picture it—your relentless determination, your refusal to let anything stand in the way of keeping your team together.

“In the end,” Caitlyn said, “my mom gave in. She figured if I had a captain that determined to keep me on the team, I must be worth something.”

Ellie didn’t know what to say to that.

And then Abby sighed. “Alright. My turn.”

Ellie glanced over. Abby had been quiet, listening, but now there was something hesitant in her expression. Ellie could feel the entire atmosphere in the room shift, as if everyone knew something she didn’t. Something bad.

Abby took a breath. “Last year was rough for me.”

Ellie didn’t move, didn’t respond, sensing the weight behind Abby’s words.

“I had… a lot of pressure on me. To perform, to be the best, to live up to the expectations that came with being on her team.” Abby’s jaw tightened. “And I handled it like shit. Stopped eating right. Stopped resting. I thought if I just pushed harder, I’d b fine. But I wasn’t.”

Ellie felt her chest tighten. “What happened.”

Abby hesitated, then sighed. “I passed out. In the middle of practice.”

Ellie’s stomach dropped.

“And Cap…” Abby exhaled, shaking her head. “She caught me. She was so pissed. But not in the way you’d think. She wasn’t mad at me at all—she was just mad at herself, like she was angry that she didn’t see it coming and felt like she should’ve.”

Ellie swallowed hard.

“When I was lucid—later that night—it was just me and her, and I totally broke down.” Ellie could see Abby blink back a tear from her eye quicker than it had showed up, immediately resuming her story. “I was so unhappy with myself. Unhappy with my body, with my performance, everything. I kept telling myself that I was fine, that I had it under control.” She huffed a humorless laugh. “And then, she just—looks at me. Really looks at me. And goes, ‘Abby, you need help.’”

Abby swallowed. “I tried to blow her off. But she didn’t let me. She got Coach involved. The team’s physical therapist. Even my dad. She forced me to go see a therapist. And I hated her for it at first.”

Elli watched as Abby’s jaw clenched, but then her expression shifted, softened.

“But she saved me.” Abby’s voice was quieter now. “She saved my career. Probably my life. And she never, ever made me feel weak for it. Just kept telling me that she needed me on her team. That we needed me on this team.”

Silence settled over the room.

Before Ellie could respond—before she could even process the weight of everything she’d just heard—the locker room door banged open.

“Alright, dumbasses, listen up.”

Ellie turned to see you stride in, a bag slung over your shoulder, your expression set in that signature no-nonsense look she was beginning to recognize. Without breaking stride, you reached into the bag and started tossing protein bars, apples, and electrolyte pouches at your teammates with the precision of someone who had done this a hundred times before.

“You—” you pegged an apple at Dina, who caught it with a grin— “eat. You need more fresh fruits and vegetables in your diet.”

Dina laughed. “Caught red-handed.”

“You—” a protein bar smacked Vi in the chest— “drink some fucking water. if I see you cramping up in drills again, I’m making you run suicides.”

Vi rolled her eyes but tore open the wrapper anyway. “Love you too, Cap.”

“You—” you shoved an electrolyte pouch into Caitlyn’s hands— “I know you’re gonna be up late studying, so make sure you eat snacks. Also, I know you hate the cherry electrolyte pouch flavor, so I got you the blueberry.”

Caitlyn gave you a smile, pocketing the packet. “You know me so well.”

“And you—” you turned to Abby, softer now, pressing an apple into her hand instead of throwing it— “get some rest. No gym tonight.”

Abby sighed but nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

Finally, your gaze landed on Ellie. For a moment, she thought you were going to skip her entirely, but then you tossed something her way. She barely caught it before looking down at her hands—a protein bar and an electrolyte pouch.

“You looked like shit out there today,” you said bluntly. “Eat, sleep, and be ready to work in the morning.”

Ellie bristled, instinctively wanting to push back, but then she caught the way the others were looking at you—like this was normal, like this was just how you were. Like this was caring.

And then, for the first time, she saw the softness beneath the steel.

This was you looking out for your team. This was you looking out for her.

Ellie clenched her jaw, tearing open the protein bar just to give herself something to do.

You nodded in approval before stepping back. “Everyone, get back to the dorms. Early morning practice tomorrow. I want all of you rested.”

There were groans, but no one argued. They never did. You turned to leave, but just before you walked out the door, Ellie found herself calling after you.

“Hey, Cap.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

Ellie hesitated. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, just that she wanted to say something. Finally, she settled on, “you gonna get some rest too?”

Something flickered in your eyes—surprise, maybe, or something else Ellie couldn’t quite name. Then, slowly, you smirked.

“Worried about me, Williams?”

Ellie scoffed, stuffing the rest of the protein bar in her mouth just to avoid answering.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you turned away. “See you at practice.”

And then you were gone, leaving Ellie staring after you, a strange warmth settling in her chest. Shit. Maybe she didn’t hate you after all.

——————-

The air in the Vermont locker room had been suffocating that night. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow over the silent team. Ellie sat at her locker, her fingers dripping the edge of the bench, knuckles white. The echoes of the final buzzer still rang in her ears, but it wasn’t the loss that made her sick—it was the fallout.

No one was looking at her.

Not her teammates. Not her coach. Not even her captain.

Ellie swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in her throat. She had given everything she had that night. Played her fucking heart out. And now—now they were throwing her to the wolves.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “That wasn’t fucking fair, and you all know it.” Her voice cracked, raw with frustration, but no one spoke up.

No one defended her.

Not after the ref’s bullshit call. Not after the fight broke out. Not after the other team’s defenseman got away with a dirty, knee-on-knee hit on Cat.

Ellie had seen red. Had thrown off her gloves, grabbed the fucker by the collar, and put them on the ice before they could even blink. It was instinct, fueled by adrenaline and the absolute rage at seeing one of her only friends on the team taken out like that.

But the refs didn’t care about that. They didn’t care about what had started it—only how it ended. And it ended with Ellie being ejected.

Coach had gone ballistic. Not at the other team. Not at the refs.

At her.

By the time the team had shuffled into the locker room, defeated and exhausted, Coach had already made up his mind.

“You’re done.” His voice had been cold. Detached.

Ellie’s head snapped up. “What?”

“You’re off the team, Williams.”

Her stomach lurched. “Coach, I—”

“Save it.” He shook his head. “You’re reckless. A liability.”

Ellie’s nails bit into her palms so hard she thought she might break the skin. “You’re seriously gonna kick me off over one fucking fight?”

“One fight?” He scoffed. “This isn’t your first outburst, Williams. You don’t listen. You play with your emotions instead of your head. And tonight, you embarrassed this team.”

Ellie looked around, desperate, searching for someone—anyone—to back her up.

But all she saw were averted eyes.

Cat was in the training room, still getting checked out, but everyone else was here. Her teammates, her captain. the people who were supposed to have her back. And yet, no one spoke. No one fucking said a thing.

Her captain—Maddie—stood near the front, arms crossed over her chest, face unreadable.

Ellie’s voice was hoarse when she spoke. “You’re just gonna let this happen?”

Maddie didn’t look at her.

Ellie’s stomach twisted. “Maddie.”

Still, nothing.

Ellie let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Fucking unreal.”

Coach didn’t give her another glance. “Pack your stuff. You’re out.”

And just like that, it was over.

No fight. No argument.

They let her go without a second thought. She was nothing to them.

——

The drive back to the apartment was a blur. The world outside the window was streaked with rain, the streetlights glowing in smears of gold and white. Ellie could barely process it. One moment she had a team, a future, a fucking purpose—now? Now she had nothing.

Joel was waiting for her when she stepped inside, fresh off a late-night flight in from Jackson. She was drenched from the rain, her bag slung over her shoulder like dead weight.

He took one look at her face and sighed. “Kid.”

Ellie dropped her bag and collapsed onto the couch, rubbing a hand down her face. “Don’t.”

Joel ignored her, stepping closer. “What happened?”

Ellie didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. Her throat felt tight, her chest even tighter.

Joel sat beside her, silent, waiting. He was patient when he was waiting for her to be ready to talk. Always had been.

Finally, Ellie exhaled, voice hollow. “They kicked me off the team.”

Joel was quiet for a long moment. Then— “They what?”

Ellie let out a humorless laugh, leaning back against the couch. “Coach said I was a liability. No one fought for me. Not even Maddie.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Ellie muttered. “Tell that to them.”

Joel was silent again, but this time, Ellie could feel the anger rolling off of him. He’d always had her back—always fought for her, even when she didn’t deserve it. And now, when she needed someone the most, he was the only one standing in her corner.

Not her teammates, not her captain, just Joel.

The thought made her sick. She had fought for that team. Bled for them. And they let her go without a word.

Joel exhaled sharply. “You’re not done, kiddo.”

Ellie scoffed. “Uh, pretty sure I am. No team, no scholarship, no—”

Joel cut her off. “You’re not done.” His voice was firm. Certain. “There’s still time to transfer. I’ll make some calls.”

Ellie shook her head. “No one’s gonna want me.”

Joel’s eyes darkened. “Boston will.”

Ellie frowned. “BU?”

“I know the coach—he owes me for something I did ages ago. They’re always looking for talent. And you, kid, are damn good. You just need someone who gives a shit.”

Ellie hesitated. The thought of starting over again—of going through another season of proving herself, of fighting for a spot she didn’t even know she wanted anymore—was exhausting.

But what other choice did she have?

Joel leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “My Ellie wouldn’t quit over something like this. I know you.”

Ellie clenched her jaw, staring down at her hands.

She wasn’t sure if she had it in her to fight anymore. But Joel—he had enough fight for the both of them, and she just had to hope that was enough.

———

Now, sitting in the BU locker room, listening to her new team talk about you—how you fought for them, how you never let them fall without being there to pick them back up—Ellie couldn’t help but wonder…

What if Maddie had fought for her the way you’d fought for Dina or Vi?

What if someone had stood up for her like you did for Caitlyn, had given a shit beyond just what she could do for the team like you had for Abby?

Would she have still ended up here?

Would it have still felt like she was completely alone?

Because even now, surrounded by her new teammates, part of something bigger—she still felt like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Waiting for them to decide she wasn’t worth it.

Waiting to be left behind.

But then—you tossed a protein bar into her lap, your voice breaking through her thoughts. “You looked like shit out there today. Eat, sleep, and be ready to work in the morning.”

Ellie blinked, looking down at the bar in her hands. When she looked back up, you were watching her, expression unreadable.

And for the first time in a long time, Ellie felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

Hope. Hope that maybe, this time would be different. Hope that if push came to shove, she wouldn’t be alone on the ice with a chasm between her and her teammates.

Hope that you would toss a rope bridge over the break and hold her hand as she crossed, and fight for her the way no one else had.

This is part three of a multipart series!

<- previous part | next part ->

If you enjoyed this series, please make sure to check out my others!

Taglist: @vahnilla , @sevyscoven , @taurtel , @liasxeatt , @aliluvszs , @riiinnniiieeee , @dreamersbelieveinus

#ellie williams x reader #tlou ellie #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #tlou ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #tlou #tlou2

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antianakin · 1 day ago

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Yeah, I think I was focusing more on the worldbuilding aspect of it in this post than the narrative/emotional/character development aspect of it, but I feel like it got discussed in other reblogs back when I first posted this.

I think that that's likely an intended reading, that Anakin WANTED her lightsabers to match his (and Obi-Wan's) in a way that would be immediately obvious. They're meant to represent their relationship and the connection between the two of them, and THAT'S why I think she got rid of them at the end. Practically, she leaves them behind in order to make it look like she died on the moon (although the very obvious grave sites for all the clones is a pretty massive indicator that SOMEONE survived), but symbolically I think it's meant to show that she has to leave that part of herself behind, the optional future represented in those lightsabers. Anankin wants her to come back to the Jedi, wants her to come back to HIM, and that's what the lightsabers are. She says it out loud later to Yoda, that she's not ready YET to come back, but her acceptance of the lightsabers from Anakin tells him something similar nonverbally, too. But after Order 66, that option is gone. So by leaving behind the saber, she is leaving behind the option to be a Jedi again, too.

Setting the worldbuilding aside for a second, it's still pushy. Because Anakin is sending her a very specific message by giving them to her, he's trying to convince her down a specific path, forcing her to either reject the very useful weapons or accept them and everything they represent along with them.

But bringing the worldbuilding back in, it can easily go from pushy to INVASIVE and offensive. In The Gathering, we see those kids have to go through REALLY personal trials in order to acquire that crystal. We see something similar happen with Ezra in Rebels and Cal in Jedi: Fallen Order, as well. Acquiring a crystal is intensely personal to the Jedi. They can obviously pick up other lightsabers and use them just fine, we see Anakin and Obi-Wan do this in AOTC and we see Obi-Wan do it in TCW. So it's not IMPOSSIBLE that there are spare kyber crystals lying around the Jedi temple that Anakin was able to go grab and utilize for his own purposes. But it means removing the crystals that Ahsoka had PERSONALLY EARNED for herself and replacing them with random ones just to make them look like his, without ever consulting her about it. What did he do with the original green/yellow crystals? Are they now down in the Jedi storage, or did he keep them? He doesn't offer them to her at all, just in case she doesn't like what he's done. She has NO OPTION but to accept them as is and accept the loss of the original crystals. And that feels kind-of invasive and offensive to me. Yes, Ahsoka left the lightsabers behind, with the crystals in them, but still. Why would Ahsoka PREFER to have new random crystals from storage instead of the ones she'd earned herself?

Having spare parts, including crystals, in case Jedi need them on a short term basis and can't get to Ilum, is one thing. But replacing someone else's crystals in their lightsabers with random ones just to make them suit someone else's aesthetic purposes and send a deliberate message feels... So Wrong. In so many ways.

Like I mentioned in my original post, you could've gotten a VERY similar emotional gesture by just having him give her back her ORIGINAL lightsabers. It implies that he just carries them around with him everywhere, either as a reminder of her, or in the hopes that he might bump into her and be able to return them, or both. Maybe he can tell her that he's been continuing to maintain it and keep it clean and in good working order. And it keeps the same symbolism of wanting Ahsoka to return to the Jedi and to him, it's a symbol of their prior relationship, a life Ahsoka had chosen to give up but could still return to if she chose to, and then ultimately has to COMPLETELY leave behind later. It would've done all the same things but without the weird creepy aspect of how Anakin changed the color, and honestly I think it just works better.

Anakin changing the color of Ahsoka's lightsabers is such a weird writing choice to make because it honestly makes zero sense with everything we've been shown or told up until then about how lightsabers work.

In the Gathering arc, we see all of the kids pick up what appear to be pretty similarly colored white crystals, but they don't all end up with the same color lightsaber. We hear them discuss the importance of choosing the design of the hilt to suit them, but never once hear them discuss any importance to choosing the COLOR of the saber. There's never any indication that the Jedi can choose the color of their saber, it's effectively chosen for them when they're led to a crystal to begin with.

The only other times we know someone can change the color of a crystal is bleeding and purifying which requires a lot of effort and appears to result only in red or white blades.

So for Anakin to have changed the color of Ahsoka's sabers from green/yellow to blue, either we need to completely discount that worldbuilding and assume that the hilt provides the color somehow and can be engineered differently, or Anakin somehow found two new crystals that he was able to confirm were blue and replaced her crystals with the new ones.

The option was there to just have Anakin have adjusted the design of hilt if they wanted to have Anakin do something to her lightsabers that was invasively sweet in a typically Anakin sort of way, to make them match his and Obi-Wan's more or something. Or if they wanted it to be genuinely sweet, he could've just given her back the sabers normally. And instead, they just... threw out everything we ever knew about the lightsabers just to give Ahsoka sabers that they were going to have her throw away in 3 episodes anyway and never get back. I don't really see the point of it when the lightsabers have no emotional impact upon anything.

#ahsoka #anakin #lightsabers

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vryfmi · 2 days ago

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[major book spoilers]

my favourite concept that i barely see in l&co fandom being talked about is Lucy grieving Skull. whether you see their relationship as platonic or ship skullyle, it's stupid to deny the fact that Lucy grew to care about Skull, her actions in epilogue being the heartbreaking glimpse into the new reality for her and her friends after the events of TEG:

“I don’t know why you insist on having it with us for each meal.” (Holly) “It’s that horrid charcoaled skull Lucy insists on carrying around with her.” (Holly) I’d wrapped it up and taken it home, and kept it with me ever since, just in case.

here i want to say that im not a fan of idea of Skull eventually "coming back", re-materialising. it defeats the moral of Lockwood & Co and the growth that Skull underwent. past is meant to stay the past, living can only learn from it while dead will forever exist there. no one should disturb the dead, the past, it needs to be left at rest and let it hold its memory.

Skull wanted and longed for freedom, at first defined by breaking out of silver-glass prison, but later, very clearly defined by the peace of mind. he was scared of death as much as Bickerstaff was, that's why Skull turned his back on the other side, he chose to stay here, in the world of the living. i always read his decision to save both Lucy and Lockwood as him admitting that he could never be a part of the living world (cough could never compete with what lockwood, alive boy, could give lucy cough), so he pushed the two away as he stayed in the room with Marissa, Penelope and Ezekiel.

to me, the best ending to Skull's story is him passing on his terms, not the explosion destroying his connection with the source, but contemplating what he sees himself doing after Lucy suggested him staying with L&Co. Skull declines her offer. and chooses freedom.

obviously, that's my reading and how i prefer to interpret L&Co's ending. (it's also the reason i can't accept that christmas special as canon, im sorry, i hate happiness).

but that leaves Lucy and her newfound need of keeping skull near her at all times since Fittes HQ explosion, her wishful thinking that he'd come back. and i want to see her go through painful acceptance of losing Skull. losing a someone that she never got to know closer. losing a chance to get to know him as a friend, to admitting to have found a friend in Skull, a kindred spirit. losing someone who understood her and knew her deepest fears because these two deeply traumatised teens were so alike. losing something that she chose to define herself and her worth by. Lucy would have to come to terms with how much of a support system she had in Skull. and now, she'd have to navigate without it.

Lucy makes a remark that i can't stop thinking about.

Whenever I put my fingers on it, I got no psychic charge. The bone was dry and cold.

i could go on a rampage theorising why Lucy can't feel anything despite a) her having a strong Touch b) objects that are not sources are still able to hold strong psychic echoes. but i feel like Stroud was trying to wrap up the story and didn't want to introduce a whole new storyline of Lucy picking up fragments of Skull's past. which is a shame. i would kill for such story to be told. (please hit me up if you do.)

but say she really can't pick up anything, Skull is gone and there's not a psychic trace left of him. where does Lucy find herself then? constantly checking the skull with all her senses, wishing to see a green spark dance around the (former) source, to hear a whispery insult in her ear, to feel just anything with her touch. but it's all gone. there's nothing left. no one left. everyone else is moving on, hurries Lucy to get rid of that horrid old bone, but how can she? how can she bring herself to get rid of the only thing left? the only thing left on earth to remember a nameless boy by? the boy who could've been her friend, but she failed to trust him? failed to say thank you?

with each passing day Lucy’d feel worse because she knows how she looks to her friends, to agents, to the ones saving London from violent visitors every night, putting their lives on the line. and here she sits, wishing a ghost to appear in her attic room when she's the most vulnerable at heart.

bonus points for Lucy picking up a pencil and trying to recreate the boy she saw on the other side on paper while the memory is still fresh, while she still remembers. (but also, if we view books as Lucy's memoirs, it would make Skull's bare-bone description even more sad because that would mean older Lucy forgot the details).

what im trying to incoherently say is, Lucy would grieve. and having read almost all of the books Stroud wrote, i see that he has a very intimate relationship with grief and mourning the loss of someone dear to the point where he explores different sides and intensities of it, how each of his characters goes through it, in every single book of his. (i believe, i have three more books of his to read).

p.s. i don't want to be a hypocrite so here are fics about lucy grieving skull that i love to bits:

- i'm still painting flowers for you by terryh

- echoes by menina123

- it isn’t the same (but it is enough) by bluejay_07

- don't wanna go, but it's time to leave by fourohfourerror

#lockwood and co #lockwood and co spoilers #l&co #lucy carlyle #the skull #skull in the jar #skull in a jar #skullyle #the empty grave #jonathan stroud #analysis #meta writing #blogposting

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xanneeeyyyy · 9 hours ago

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"WHERE THE HELL IS SHE?!"

Hey everyone! This is my first story here—hope you enjoy it! And sorry for any grammatical errors 🙏🏻 Just drop in the comments if y’all want a part 2! 💟

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒ .⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒

Wherein Katsuki Bakugou has a girlfriend who was hopelessly terrible with directions.

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒ .⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒

It was supposed to be a simple errand.

"Y/N," Aizawa-sensei had said after class, rubbing his temples, looking like he was already done with life. "Can you run to the store near the dorms and pick up some snacks for Eri? She ran out."

I straightened up and beamed. "Of course, Sensei! Anything for Eri!"

"It’s a five-minute walk. Be back quick."

I nodded enthusiastically. "No worries! I’ll be back before you know it!"

Famous last words.

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒

9:30 PM – Heights Alliance Common Room

Katsuki Bakugou was pissed. And when he was pissed, everyone felt it. His left leg bounced restlessly as he sat on the couch, gripping his phone so tight that it was a miracle it hadn’t exploded yet.

No texts. No calls. Nothing.

It was past curfew and his girlfriend was missing, and nobody had seen her all evening.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Someone tell me where the hell Y/N is. NOW." The entire common room froze. Kirishima, who had been casually scrolling on his phone, slowly looked up. "Uh… She’s not in her room?"Bakugou’s eye twitched. "OF COURSE SHE’S NOT IN HER ROOM! I CHECKED!"

"Maybe she's in the library?" Momo suggested.

"I checked!"

"Training grounds?"

"I CHECKED!"

Midoriya furrowed his brows. "She’s not answering her phone?"

"DO YOU THINK I WOULDN’T HAVE CALLED HER ALREADY, DUMBASS?!"

The whole room went silent.

And that’s when everyone started to realize—Y/N had been gone for a long time.

Todoroki blinked. "…When did you last see her?"

Iida frowned. "She left after class, I believe."

Kaminari sat up straight. "Wait, after class? That was at 4:30 PM!"

Collective horror filled the room.

"SHE’S BEEN GONE FOR FIVE HOURS?!" Kaminari screamed.

Mina shot up from the couch. "OH MY GOD, SHE'S DEAD!"

Kirishima gasped. "SHE GOT KIDNAPPED!"

"Or lost," Todoroki muttered, sipping his tea.

Bakugou’s vein popped. "OF COURSE, SHE GOT LOST! SHE’S A DAMN DIRECTIONLESS IDIOT!"

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒

Just then— A knock on the door. Everyone whipped their heads around. Aizawa-sensei stood there, looking slightly more awake than usual. And then he said the one thing that shattered the entire dorm.

"Where’s Y/N?"

Silence. Pure, deafening silence.

And then—

"YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE SHE IS EITHER?!"

The class erupted into chaos.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHERE IS SHE?!" Uraraka screeched.

"SHOULDN’T YOU KNOW?!" Kirishima yelled.

"SHE’S YOUR RESPONSIBILITY!" Iida pointed dramatically.

Momo clutched her chest. "Sensei, please don’t tell us you were the last person to see her—"

Aizawa blinked. "I just asked her to grab some snacks for Eri after class." Everyone stopped.

Kirishima stared. "…After class?"

Aizawa nodded. "Yeah. That was at 4:30 PM."

BOOM.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?!?” Bakugou exploded. Literally. His hands sparked, and his entire body radiated fury.

Aizawa sighed, completely unfazed by his student’s nuclear-level outburst. "Why are you all yelling?"

"BECAUSE YOU SENT HER OUT FIVE HOURS AGO, AND SHE HASN’T COME BACK!" Aizawa… blinked. Then, very slowly, he checked the time.

9:30 PM.

"…Oh."

OH?!

"Sensei!" Uraraka cried. "You sent her out alone?!"

"SHE GETS LOST IN THE DORMS!" Kaminari shrieked.

"She once tried to go to the training room and ended up in the boys’ bathroom," Sero added.

"One time, I found her outside the dorms when she was just trying to find the laundry room," Momo said gravely.

Todoroki sipped his tea. "She might’ve accidentally boarded a train."

Silence.

"SHE WOULDN’T—" Bakugou stopped.

He thought about it.

…She totally would.

His face darkened.

"THAT’S IT. I’M GOING TO FIND HER."

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒

Meanwhile…

I was very, very lost.

What was supposed to be a five-minute errand turned into five hours of wandering. I had taken a shortcut.

I should not have taken a shortcut.

Somehow, I had ended up in an entirely different neighborhood.

I checked my phone. 3% battery.

"…Oops."

I clutched the snack bag tightly. "Well, at least I got the snacks!"

That was not the priority.

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒

10:00 PM – Heights Alliance

Bakugou stormed back into the dorms, looking furious and exhausted.

"NO LUCK?!" Kirishima asked.

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I FOUND HER, SHITTY HAIR?!" Bakugou roared. "I CHECKED EVERYWHERE!"

"We need to call the police," Iida declared.

"Or put up missing person posters," Kaminari added.

Todoroki sipped his tea. "Have we considered checking the store?"

Everyone stopped.

Bakugou froze.

And then—

The front door opened.

I stepped inside, smiling like nothing was wrong.

"Oh! Hey, guys!" I beamed, holding up the bag. "I got the snacks Aizawa sensei!"

Silence.

Then—

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!"

I blinked. "Uh… funny story—"

Before I could finish, I was tackled by Mina, Uraraka, and Momo.

"WE THOUGHT YOU DIED!"

"You were gone for six hours!"

Bakugou stomped over. His hands trembled. His jaw was clenched. His red eyes were burning.

"YOU," he growled. "YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"

I gulped. "I… got lost?"

"NO. REALLY?"

"…Really."

His hands balled into fists. And then— He pulled me into a crushing hug.

I froze.

The entire class froze. "…Holy crap," Kaminari whispered.

"Did Bakugou just… hug someone?" Bakugou quickly shoved me away, face red as hell. "DON’T FUCKING SCARE ME LIKE THAT AGAIN!"

I laughed nervously. "Sorry?" Aizawa sighed. "Never again." He turned to me, eyes serious. "You are never running errands alone again." The class nodded aggressively. Bakugou crossed his arms. "Damn right, she’s not." I smirked. "So… I’m getting a personal escort now?" Bakugou’s face turned redder.

"SHUT UP YOU DUMBASS!"

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒

#katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #mha x reader #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki x y/n #bakugou fluff #bnha bakugou #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction

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javierpenaismyhusband · 2 days ago

Text

This Was A Mistake

Javier Pena x m!reader

Summary: I never thought I’d fall for my tutor, Javier Peña, but here I was, sitting in his bar after a year of avoiding him, talking and drinking like it was nothing. Who could’ve predicted that the same night I’d finally confess how I felt about him, he’d do the same? It was crazy, unexpected, and intense, but in that moment, everything felt right.

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, MDNI, huge age gap,virgin (not mantion), tutor x student, mother mantion and talk, blowjob, anal, unprotective p in a, a lot of drama (i dont know if i have put everyting)

Notes: "Hi there! This is a quick one-shot. It's not perfect, but I think it's good enough. I hope you enjoy reading it, and if you like it, please like or reblog!"

As I walked toward my old tutor’s bar, a familiar pull settled in my chest—something between nostalgia and longing.

For years, he had been a constant in my life. Every week, he sat across from me at my parents’ dining table, his deep voice patient as he guided me through lessons I barely cared about. But it wasn’t the schoolwork that held my attention. It was him.

Javier Peña.

I had been drawn to him for as long as I could remember. The way he carried himself—effortlessly confident, sharp but never unkind. The way he’d run a hand through his dark hair when he was thinking or the way his lips would twitch in amusement when I said something clever. He was intoxicating in a way I never admitted out loud. But I never acted on it. How could I? He was my parents’ friend, older, and—worst of all—taken. So, I kept my mouth shut, played the part of the obedient student, and buried the feelings that refused to fade.

Then high school ended, and life pulled me in a different direction. Work became my priority, and before I knew it, I stopped visiting. Not intentionally, but the excuses piled up until the distance between us felt permanent.

And yet, I never really forgot him.

Today, though, was different. I had a rare day off—no responsibilities, no distractions. Maybe that was why my feet carried me here. Maybe I was just looking for an excuse.

Either way, I was about to see him again.

And I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a terrible idea.

I pushed open the door, and the familiar scent of whiskey and aged wood greeted me. The place wasn’t too busy—barely a handful of people scattered across the dimly lit bar. And there he was, the first thing I saw.

Javier Peña.

He was leaning against the counter, his eyes fixed on his phone, probably scrolling out of boredom since it didn’t seem like today was a busy shift. For a second, I just stood there, taking him in—the same sharp features, the slight furrow in his brow, the way he always looked like he was half-distracted but still in control of everything around him.

Then he looked up.

The moment his gaze landed on me, a slow, easy smile spread across his face. "Hey, what’s up?" he said, his voice carrying that familiar warmth—like I hadn’t been gone for as long as I had.

I walked over to the bar, shrugging off my jacket as I leaned against the counter. "Hey," I said, trying to ignore the way my pulse picked up just from seeing him again.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his voice as casual as ever.

"A small beer would be amazing," I said, sliding onto the barstool.

Javier smirked, grabbing a glass and pouring my drink with effortless ease. I watched him—every movement, every shift of his body, the way his forearms flexed as he worked. It was almost hypnotic.

He placed the beer in front of me, leaning against the counter. "So, how’s work?" he asked.

I raised a brow. "How do you know I started working?"

Javier let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Come on, kid, your mother comes around here all the time."

Of course, she did.

I took a slow sip of my beer, letting the cool bitterness settle in my chest. "Work’s not great, but that’s life, I guess."

Javier huffed a quiet chuckle, wiping his hands on a bar towel before leaning his forearms against the counter. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal the veins in his arms, the slight flex of muscle as he shifted his weight. He had always carried himself like this—effortlessly confident, like nothing ever truly rattled him.

"Yeah, tell me about it," he said, shaking his head. "What are you doing, anyway?"

I took a slow sip of my beer, letting the cool bitterness settle in my chest. "Work’s not great, but that’s life, I guess."

"Yeah, tell me about it," he said, shaking his head. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"I work as a barista in a coffee shop."

Javier raised a brow, smirking. "You? Serving people overpriced lattes?"

I rolled my eyes. "Hey, it’s a job. Not exactly my dream, but it pays the bills."

He let out a short chuckle, his deep voice settling into something warm. "Still... never figured you for the type."

"What type?"

"The one with patience for early-morning customers." His smirk grew. "Bet you give them hell."

I grinned despite myself. "You have no idea. The number of times I’ve wanted to throw a cup at someone’s head…" I shook my head. "But yeah, it’s fine. Just… not what I thought I’d be doing with my life."

Javier’s smirk faded slightly. He tilted his head, studying me like he was trying to read between the lines. "You ever think about doing something else?"

I exhaled, running my finger along the rim of my glass. "Sometimes. But I don’t know. Feels like I’m just stuck, you know?"

His gaze lingered on me, dark and unreadable. For a second, it was like we weren’t in a bar, weren’t just two people catching up. The air between us thickened—something unspoken settling into the space between words.

"Yeah," he murmured after a beat. "I get that."

The silence stretched, not awkward, but heavy. Like there was something else waiting beneath it, something neither of us was willing to reach for just yet.

I looked at him then—really looked at him. His hair was a little shorter than I remembered, but the few strands of gray at his temples suited him. His jaw was still sharp, his lips still distracting in a way they had no business being. But there was something else, too. A tiredness around his eyes, the weight of years pressed into the lines on his face. He had always seemed larger than life to me—untouchable, unreachable. But sitting here, watching him pour me another drink, he felt… closer.

Too close.

"You want another beer?" he asked, his voice smooth, easy—like the moment hadn’t just swallowed us whole.

I smirked, trying to shake the feeling off. "Trying to get me drunk, Peña?"

That earned me a quiet laugh, low and rich, the kind that settled in my chest and stayed there. "Please. I’ve seen you drink before. One beer won’t do shit."

I grinned, tilting my glass up to finish the rest. "In that case, yeah, I’ll take another."

As he grabbed a fresh glass and started pouring, I let myself watch him again—this time without looking away.

God, I’d missed this.

Missed him.

And now that I was here, sitting across from him after all these years, I couldn’t tell if it was a mistake.

"You should stick around for a while," he said eventually. "I’m closing up in an hour."

My fingers tightened around my drink. Was that an invitation? Or just something he said to be polite?

I forced a chuckle, playing it off. "Guess I’ll have to pace myself, then."

Javier smirked, shaking his head. "Guess you will."

I took another sip, trying to ignore the way my stomach twisted.

This was fine. Normal. Just two people catching up after years apart.

So why did it feel like something was pressing down on my chest, making it harder to breathe?

So I did. I stayed.

I watched him move, the way he carried himself—steady, purposeful, like he had a rhythm to everything. The sound of the mop swishing against the wooden floor filled the quiet between us, and for a moment, it felt like I wasn’t really here but just watching from a distance, like I used to when I was younger.

Back then, he was just Javier, my tutor. My parents’ friend. The man who sat across from me at the kitchen table, explaining history with that same easy confidence he carried everywhere. Back then, he belonged in my house, in my world—but always just out of reach. Untouchable.

Now, he was here, cleaning his own bar, sleeves rolled up, sweat glistening at his temple, and I was still watching. But this time, it felt different.

I sat in silence as he finished the floors, wiping down each table with slow, methodical movements. He was avoiding looking at me—I could tell. There was something almost restless about the way he worked, like he needed to keep his hands busy, like if he stopped, he’d have to acknowledge that I was still here, watching him.

When he moved behind the bar again, gathering up glasses and running the tap, I finally spoke.

"You always close up alone?" My voice came out more strained than I intended.

Javier didn’t turn around. "Most nights," he said over the sound of running water. "It’s easier that way."

Easier.

I nodded to myself, fingers tightening around my half-empty beer glass.

I wanted to ask him something—something real. But the words sat heavy in my throat, stuck beneath the weight of everything we weren’t saying.

Instead, I just watched. The way his broad shoulders tensed, the way his jaw set as he scrubbed at a stubborn stain on a glass, like he was focused on anything but the fact that I was still here.

Then, without a word, he shut off the water, dried his hands, and reached for a bottle of whiskey from the shelf. Two glasses clinked against the counter as he made his way around the bar, coming to sit beside me.

I felt it the second he sat down—that shift in the air, like something settling between us. Or maybe something unsettling.

He poured the whiskey slowly, the amber liquid swirling under the dim light.

"Figured you could use something stronger," he muttered. His voice was lower now, quieter, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted me to hear him or not.

I exhaled, shaking my head. "That obvious?"

Javier didn’t smile, didn’t tease me like he usually would. He just slid a glass toward me, his fingers grazing mine for half a second before pulling away. That touch—barely there, but enough to make my pulse stutter.

"Yeah," he murmured.

I stared down at the drink, feeling his eyes on me, heavy and unreadable.

For a moment, it felt like time folded in on itself—like we were sitting across from each other again at my parents’ table, books spread out between us, the scent of his cologne clinging to the pages as he leaned in to explain something I wasn’t paying attention to. But we weren’t there anymore. We hadn’t been there for a long time.

Javier lifted his glass slightly. "To old habits," he said, his voice calm, steady.

I hesitated.

Was that what this was? Just an old habit? Something comfortable and familiar, nothing more?

I forced a smirk, lifting my glass. "To old habits."

We drank.

The whiskey burned, spreading warmth through my chest, but it didn’t ease the tension coiling in my stomach.

Javier set his glass down with a quiet clink, his fingers tapping against the rim. His eyes flickered toward me, and for a split second, I swore I saw something there—hesitation, maybe. A question he wasn’t asking.

I swallowed hard, setting my own glass down, mirroring his movements.

I should leave. I should say something easy, something casual, and walk out before this got too complicated.

But I didn’t move.

Neither did he.

And in that silence, in the weight of everything we weren’t saying, I realized something.

I had spent years trying to forget the way I felt about him.

And now, sitting here in the dim glow of his bar, with the taste of whiskey on my tongue and his eyes lingering just a second too long.

I tilted my glass slightly, watching the last of the whiskey swirl at the bottom before looking up at him. “So, what’s up with you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, like this was just any other conversation.

Javier let out a slow breath, leaning back against the barstool. “Nuhh… nothing new,” he muttered, rolling the glass between his fingers. “My life’s pretty boring.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Boring? You own a bar. You meet people every day.”

He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, and most of them just want cheap drinks and to complain about their problems. Not exactly thrilling.”

I hummed in response, glancing at him over my glass before taking another sip. The whiskey burned just enough to make me feel warm, but not enough to shake the feeling creeping up my spine—the feeling that something was off.

The air between us had changed.

It wasn’t just the whiskey dulling the edges of reality or the low hum of the bar lights overhead. It was him. The way he sat, the way his shoulders carried something heavy, something unseen.

I let the silence stretch between us for a moment before I spoke again, the words slipping out before I could think better of them.

“How’s your girlfriend doing?”

I regretted the question the second it left my mouth.

Javier stiffened, just barely, but enough that I noticed. He brought his drink to his lips, taking a slow sip before setting the glass down with a dull thud. His fingers curled loosely around it, his thumb brushing the rim as if considering his next words carefully.

“We broke up some weeks ago,” he finally said. His voice was calm—too calm. Like he had rehearsed saying it enough times that it no longer cut the same way.

My stomach twisted.

“Oh,” I said, my voice coming out quieter than I intended.

Something about the way he looked at his glass made my throat dry.

I shouldn’t care. That was the rational part of my brain speaking, the one that reminded me over and over again that I was just the kid who used to sit at his kitchen table for tutoring sessions, the one whose parents trusted him, the one who was never supposed to be looking at him like this.

But I did care.

And maybe that was the worst part.

I shifted in my seat, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Didn’t work out?” I asked, trying to sound neutral, but I could hear the edge of something else in my own voice.

Javier exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Guess not.”

His tone was even, but I saw the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tapped once against the bar before going still.

I should drop it. I should let the conversation slip into safer territory, talk about work, about the weather, about anything that wouldn’t make my pulse quicken like this.

But my mouth worked faster than my common sense.

“Was it bad?” I asked, tilting my head slightly.

Javier’s eyes flicked up to mine. There was a split second where he hesitated, like he was deciding how much to say—how much to give me.

“No,” he said eventually. “Just… wasn’t right.”

Something in the way he said it made my skin prickle.

“Guess that means more time for cheap drinks and people’s problems, huh?” I joked, my voice light, an attempt to break whatever this was.

Javier huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he took another sip of his whiskey.

“Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

But neither of us smiled.

Because we both knew there was something unspoken sitting between us, heavy and impossible to ignore.

And for the first time since walking through that door, I felt like maybe, just maybe—he knew exactly what I was thinking.

And worse?

I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

I watched him, my fingers idly tracing the condensation on my glass. The bar was quiet, just the faint hum of music in the background, the occasional clink of glass against wood.

“How are you?” I asked, my voice steady, but something about the way he looked tonight made my chest feel tight.

Javier lifted his gaze to me, his expression unreadable. For a second, I thought he wouldn’t answer. He just studied me, as if trying to figure out why I was asking in the first place.

When I didn’t look away, he exhaled through his nose, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cigarette. The flick of his lighter was the only sound between us. The small flame cast a glow on his face, sharp and fleeting, before he snapped the lighter shut.

He took a slow drag, the ember burning bright, then let the smoke curl from his lips.

I swallowed.

“How do you feel?” I asked again, softer this time.

Javier tapped the ash into the tray, taking his time before answering. His fingers curled loosely around the cigarette, but there was a tension in them, like he was holding something back.

Finally, he took another long drag, exhaling toward the ceiling.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, voice rough, worn at the edges. “Like I should feel something, but I don’t.”

His words hung between us, heavier than the smoke.

I watched him carefully—the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes flicked somewhere past me, like he was seeing something I couldn’t.

Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist.

“Nothing at all?” I asked, my voice quieter, but I knew he heard me.

He let out a low, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

It didn’t sound like the truth.

I should’ve let it go. I should’ve let him sit in his silence, let him drink and smoke and pretend like he was fine.

But I couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t.

And maybe I wasn’t either.

I didn’t say anything. Just lifted my glass and took a slow sip, letting the burn of whiskey settle in my chest. The silence between us wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It was heavy, thick with things left unsaid.

Javier brought the cigarette to his lips again, exhaling smoke in a slow, practiced motion. His eyes flicked toward me, but he didn’t say anything.

On impulse, I reached forward and plucked the cigarette from his fingers.

He raised a brow, watching as I brought it to my lips and took a drag. The taste was sharp, bitter, nothing like the smooth burn of whiskey.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low, curious.

I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dissipate between us before meeting his gaze.

“Mmm… I don’t know,” I muttered, rolling the cigarette between my fingers.

Javier huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head like he wasn’t sure what to make of me. But he didn’t take the cigarette back.

Instead, I grabbed the whiskey bottle, pouring another drink for myself before refilling his glass. The amber liquid sloshed slightly, catching the dim light of the bar.

He eyed me, amused. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

His voice held the same teasing tone I’d used earlier, throwing my own words back at me.

I smirked, lifting my glass in a mock toast. “Maybe.”

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head before picking up his drink.

And just like that, something in the air shifted—subtle, but noticeable.

The tension didn’t disappear, but it changed.

Javier swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. His voice was casual when he asked, “So… are you seeing anyone?”

I huffed a quiet laugh, tipping my head back slightly as the alcohol buzzed warmly through my veins. “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff.” My words slurred just a little, the whiskey working its way through me.

He raised a brow, intrigued. “Why not?”

I hesitated, running my finger along the rim of my glass, debating whether I should even say it. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way the room felt smaller, more intimate, but I found myself answering honestly.

“Because the person I want doesn’t want me back,” I muttered, my voice quieter now. “And I’m not the type to start dating just to forget.”

Javier let out a low hum, studying me for a second before smirking. “Who’s the girl that broke your heart?” His voice had a teasing edge, like he was trying to keep things light.

I turned my head, meeting his gaze.

“Who said it was a girl?” I asked.

The teasing faded from his face instantly. His fingers tightened slightly around his glass, but he recovered quickly, schooling his expression into something unreadable.

“Oh,” he said, his voice softer now. “Sorry… I didn’t know.”

I shrugged, taking another slow sip of my drink, though I could still feel his eyes on me.

“So… who is he?” Javier asked again, his voice quieter this time, more careful.

The question made my chest tighten. My grip on the glass faltered for just a second before I steadied myself, but I knew he noticed.

What was I supposed to say? That it was him? That I had spent years trying to push this feeling down, burying it under excuses, under logic, under the simple fact that he was my parents’ friend, that he had always been off-limits?

That every time I looked at him, it was like something inside me ached in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover from?

Javier was watching me now, really watching me. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was sharp, searching.

I stared down at my drink, as if the answer could be found in the swirling whiskey. My throat felt tight, like speaking would give away too much.

Then I felt it.

His hand, warm and steady, landing on my shoulder.

My breath hitched.

“It’s fine,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost gentle. “You can tell me.”

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But I couldn’t.

I forced a weak laugh, shaking my head as I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I can’t,” I said, barely above a whisper.

Javier let out a slow breath, rubbing his thumb absently over my shirt before pulling his hand away. The loss of contact was immediate, like stepping out into the cold after being wrapped in warmth.

“I’m not gonna tell your parents,” Javier said, like he thought that was the problem. “I promise.”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. If only he knew.

“It’s not that,” I muttered, my voice quieter now, barely above a whisper.

Javier’s eyes narrowed slightly, his focus sharpening like he could sense something was off. “Then what is it?”

My pulse pounded against my ribs, the weight of his attention suffocating and intoxicating all at once. My hands felt restless, twitchy. I needed to move. The air in the bar felt thick, like it had been sucked out of the room and replaced with something heavier—something I had no choice but to breathe in.

I pushed back from the bar, standing too quickly. The sudden motion made my head spin, the whiskey settling deep in my veins. I raked a hand through my hair, gripping it at the roots, exhaling hard. My back was to him now, but I could still feel him watching me.

Javier never missed a damn thing.

"Tell me," he pressed again, voice steady, patient.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, trying to force down the lump in my throat. But the words were already there, already climbing their way up, like they had been waiting for this moment.

I let out a shaky breath. Then, finally—

“Because it’s you.”

Silence.

My chest tightened, but there was no stopping now.

“It’s always been you,” I said, voice raw, unsteady. “From the first day you started teaching me.”

The confession sat heavy in the air between us, thick and unspoken for too damn long.

I didn’t turn. I couldn’t.

Years of restraint, of keeping this locked away, of pushing it down because it was wrong, because he was my parents’ friend, because he was older, because he had always been untouchable—gone in an instant.

I waited for him to say something. To laugh it off. To tell me I was out of my damn mind.

But he didn’t.

Instead, I heard the quiet scrape of a chair, the soft rustle of fabric as he stood.

I swallowed hard, my heart slamming against my ribs. He was leaving. He had to be.

But then—

Warmth.

Close.

The faint scent of whiskey, leather, and smoke wrapped around me before I even felt him.

His presence was right there, heat radiating against my back.

Then, a breath—soft, slow, deliberate—brushed against the back of my neck.

A shiver crawled down my spine.

And in a voice so low, so steady it sent something twisting deep inside me, he whispered—

“What if I told you that I feel the same way?”

I froze.

My breath stalled in my throat, my body refusing to move, as if the weight of his words had paralyzed me.

What if I tell you that I feel the same way?

I must have misheard him. That had to be it. He couldn’t have meant what I thought he did. Not Javier Peña. Not the man I’d spent years longing for, hoping for, knowing deep down that it would never happen.

But then I turned to him—slowly, hesitantly, like I was afraid that if I moved too fast, I’d wake up from a dream.

And he was there, standing close, watching me.

His dark eyes weren’t teasing. They weren’t mocking. They held something heavier, something dangerous.

Something I had only let myself imagine in the late hours of the night, when my mind wandered into places it shouldn’t.

Before I could say a word, before I could even breathe, he moved.

His hands cupped my face, firm but not rough, like he needed to make sure I was real. And then—he kissed me.

A slow inhale rushed through my nose as his lips pressed against mine, warm, steady, and deliberate. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was like he was savoring the moment, like he had been holding himself back for too long and finally let go.

My mind went blank.

I had imagined this—countless times. I had dreamed of it, thought about it in quiet moments when I let my guard down. But nothing, nothing, compared to the way it actually felt.

The soft drag of his lips, the lingering taste of whiskey, the heat radiating from his skin—it made my head spin.

And then he pulled away, just enough to look at me.

His eyes were darker now, pupils blown wide, a fire flickering behind them that sent a shiver down my spine.

I exhaled shakily, my lips still tingling, my pulse erratic.

I could have stepped back. I could have laughed it off, acted like the alcohol had made us both reckless. But I didn’t.

I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate.

I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back in, crashing my lips onto his.

This kiss was different.

There was no hesitation, no restraint.

It was hunger. Years of suppressed feelings breaking free all at once.

His hands found my waist, gripping firmly, pulling me against him. I let out a quiet noise, a mix of surprise and need, and that was all it took.

I felt him lose control.

His hands slid up my back, fingers pressing into me, like he needed to feel every inch of me. His lips parted against mine, his tongue teasing along my bottom lip, asking—no, demanding—entry.

I let him in.

A low groan rumbled in Javier’s chest as our tongues met, the taste of whiskey mixing between us. My fingers tangled in his hair, my entire body burning with something unfamiliar—something terrifying and exhilarating all at once. I could feel my heartbeat everywhere. In my throat, in my fingertips, in the space between us that was disappearing fast. I didn’t want to stop. Not now. Not ever.

Javier pulled me closer, until there wasn’t a single inch left between us, his hands roaming, gripping, claiming. “Fuck, Javi,” I whispered as we broke apart, my breath ragged. My forehead rested against his chest, my hands still gripping his shirt like I needed something to hold onto. His heartbeat was fast—just as fast as mine.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low, husky, and way too damn calm for what had just happened.

I swallowed hard, my face burning. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before forcing myself to say it. “Fuck... I want you.”

The words tasted like a confession, heavy and raw.

His hands, still firm on my waist, tensed. I felt him inhale sharply, like he was holding himself back. Like he needed to make sure he had heard me right. “Then have me,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something darker, something that sent a shiver straight through me.

I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark, filled with something I couldn’t quite name—a mix of desire and something softer, something that made my chest ache. He didn’t say anything else, just stepped back and started closing the blinds, one by one. The room, already dimly lit, grew darker, more intimate. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed in the quiet space.

When he turned back to me, his expression was unreadable, but the way he moved—slow, deliberate—made my breath catch. He closed the distance between us in a few strides, his hands finding my face, tilting it up to his. His kiss was slow, almost torturous, as if he was savoring every second. I melted into him, my hands finding his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm.

His hands slid down to my hips, gripping them tightly as he walked me backward until the edge of the counter pressed into the small of my back. He broke the kiss, his lips grazing my jaw, my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath hot against my skin.

I nodded, my voice failing me.

He paused for a moment, his hands still gripping my hips, his forehead pressed against mine. “Look at me,” he said softly, his voice steady. I did, and the intensity in his gaze took my breath away. “If at any point you want to stop, you tell me. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He kissed me again, this time deeper, more urgent. His hands moved to the hem of my shirt, tugging it over my head and tossing it aside. His lips found my collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, making me gasp. His hands roamed my body, leaving trails of heat wherever they touched. I felt exposed, vulnerable, but also safe in a way I couldn’t explain.

He stepped back for a moment, his eyes raking over me, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He pulled his own shirt off, revealing the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen. I reached out, my fingers tracing the lines of his body, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my touch.

He stepped closer again, his hands finding the button of my jeans. He undid it slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, before sliding them down my legs. I stepped out of them, feeling completely exposed now, but he didn’t let me feel self-conscious for long. His lips found mine again, his hands exploring my body with a kind of reverence that made my head spin.

He broke the kiss again, his hands moving to my thighs, lifting me up onto the counter. I felt the cold surface against my skin, but it was quickly forgotten as he stepped between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs, pushing them apart. His lips found my neck again, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, making me moan. His hands moved higher, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, making me shiver.

He paused for a moment, his breath hot against my skin. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

I nodded, my breath hitching in my throat. His fingers found my entrance, slowly, carefully, probing, testing. I gasped at the sensation, my hands gripping the edge of the counter. He moved slowly, carefully, giving me time to adjust, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmured, his voice soft, reassuring.

His fingers moved deeper, stretching me, preparing me. The sensation was overwhelming, but not unpleasant. I could feel myself relaxing, letting him in, even as my breath came in short, uneven gasps. He added a second finger, moving them slowly, carefully, making sure I was ready. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So tight, so perfect.”

I moaned, my head falling back as he continued to work me open, his fingers moving deeper, faster. I could feel the pressure building, the pleasure coiling in my stomach. He added a third finger, stretching me further, making me gasp. He leaned in, capturing my lips in a deep, passionate kiss as he continued to prepare me.

When he finally pulled his fingers away, I felt empty, aching for him. He stepped back for a moment, undoing his jeans and sliding them down his legs. I could see the hard length of him, and the sight made my breath catch in my throat. He stepped closer again, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter.

His eyes met mine, his gaze intense. “Are you sure?” he asked again, his voice low, husky.

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

The counter was cold against my back, but the heat radiating from Javier’s body was enough to make me forget the chill. His hands were everywhere—tracing my thighs, gripping my hips, sliding up my chest as if he was mapping every inch of me. His breath was hot against my neck, his lips brushing my skin in a way that made me shiver.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. His eyes met mine, searching for any sign of hesitation.

I nodded, my voice caught in my throat. God, yes. More than okay. I wanted to tell him to never stop, to keep touching me like this, to keep making me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in the world. But all I could manage was a breathless, “Yes.”

His lips curved into a small smile, and he leaned down to capture my mouth in another kiss. This one was deeper, hungrier, as if he was trying to devour me. I moaned into his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The taste of whiskey lingered on his tongue, mixing with the heat of our desire.

“Relax, baby,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm. His hands moved to my thighs, spreading them wider. “Just relax for me.”

I tried to do as he said, to let my body go loose and pliant beneath him. But the tension was still there, coiled tightly in my stomach. Javier leaned down, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh, his tongue tracing a path up to the sensitive skin where I needed him most. I gasped, my hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation.

“Javi,” I moaned, my voice trembling. “Please…”

He didn’t make me wait. His mouth was on me in an instant, hot and wet, and I cried out at the intensity of it. His tongue dipped inside me, teasing and probing, making my body quake with pleasure. My hands gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white with the force of it.

“Oh god, Javi,” I gasped, my head falling back. “That’s—oh fuck, that’s so good.”

He hummed against me, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through my body. His hands gripped my hips, holding me in place as he worked me over with his mouth. I could feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter until I was sure I was going to explode.

“Javi, I—I’m gonna—”

He pulled back before I could finish, his lips slick and swollen from the effort. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire. “Not yet, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I want you to come when I’m inside you.”

I whimpered at the thought, my body aching with need. Javier straightened up, his hands moving to my hips as he positioned himself at my entrance. I could feel the tip of him pressing against me, and my breath hitched in anticipation.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice soft but firm.

I nodded, my heart racing. “Yes. I’m ready.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing mine as he pushed inside me. I gasped at the sensation, my body stretching to accommodate him. Javier was careful, slow, giving me time to adjust. His hands moved to my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks as he looked into my eyes.

“You feel so good, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So tight, so perfect.”

I moaned, my hands gripping his shoulders as he began to move. The pleasure was building, coiling in my stomach, spreading through my body. I could hear the sound of our bodies coming together, the sound of our breathing, the sound of our moans. It was overwhelming, but I didn’t want it to stop.

“Javi,” I gasped, my voice trembling as I felt the pleasure building, spreading through my body. He moved faster, deeper, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me closer, driving into me with a kind of intensity that made my head spin. “Javi, fuck, don’t stop.”

“I won’t, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, husky. “I’ve got you.”

His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder, more insistent. I could feel the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, threatening to burst. My hands moved to his back, my nails digging into his skin as I held on for dear life.

“Javi,” I moaned, my voice shaking. “I’m so close…”

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “Let go.”

His words were like a trigger, and I felt myself shatter, the pleasure ripping through me with such intensity that I cried out his name. My body convulsed, waves of pleasure crashing over me as Javier continued to thrust into me, chasing his own release.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. “So tight, so perfect.”

I could feel him inside me, his movements becoming more frantic as he neared his own climax. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer, driving into me with a kind of desperation that made my head spin.

“Javi,” I gasped, my voice trembling. “I—oh god—”

He kissed me, swallowing my moans as he thrust into me one last time, his body shuddering with the force of his release. I could feel him pulsing inside me, the sensation sending another wave of pleasure through my body.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. Our chests rose and fell in unison, the air thick with heat. I could feel the coolness of the counter beneath me and the heat of Javi’s body against mine, and for a brief moment, everything outside of this room, this bar, faded away.

Javi let out a shaky breath and rested his forehead against mine, his fingers tracing slow, calming patterns on my bare chest as we both tried to catch our breaths. I closed my eyes, unwilling to break the moment.

But soon, the reality of it all crept in, and Javi pulled back, gently lifting himself off me. He stepped back, a brief pause between us as I tried to steady my racing heart. He disappeared behind the bar, and I could hear him rummaging through something.

When he returned, he was holding a damp towel. He knelt in front of me with a quiet tenderness that made my chest tighten, and without a word, he began to clean me up, his movements careful and slow. His touch was the perfect contrast to what had just happened—gentle and considerate, as if he was trying to reassure me without saying a word.

I closed my eyes again, letting the moment linger, the feeling of his hands on me bringing a sense of calm I didn’t know I needed.

Once he was done, he tossed the towel aside and stood up, his back turned as he returned to the bar, pouring himself a drink. I watched him, feeling the weight of the silence between us.

I quickly got dressed, the motions automatic but my mind still reeling. I pulled my clothes on with shaky hands, unsure of how to handle the new space between us.

Javi took a slow sip of his whiskey, not looking at me as he leaned against the counter. The distance between us felt suffocating now, and my throat tightened as I tried to figure out what to say.

What happens now?

My mouth opened, but no words came.

Javi didn’t seem to rush it, though. He just took another sip of his drink, watching me over the rim of his glass, waiting for me to say something.

I had no idea what that something was.

"Javi, is everything okay?" I asked, my voice shaky, the knot in my stomach tightening.

He didn’t answer right away. The silence hung between us, thick and suffocating. Then, finally, he looked at me—his eyes dark, his expression unreadable.

"This was a mistake," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

I froze, my heart plummeting to my stomach. The tears welled up before I could stop them. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold it together, but it was useless. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Just moments ago, you were... you were fucking me. You called me baby, and now you're telling me it was a mistake?"

The words felt like a slap, each one stinging more than the last. I couldn’t understand it.

He stood there, not meeting my gaze. His hands were clenched, his jaw tight. "I'm sorry, but this was wrong," he said, still avoiding my eyes.

I could feel the tears threatening to spill, but I couldn’t let them fall. Not yet. Not in front of him. "Why? Why was it wrong?" I demanded, my voice barely more than a whisper. "What the hell happened between then and now?"

He finally looked at me, his face contorted with guilt. "Because I’m a friend of your parents. I’ve known you since you were a kid, and this... this was so wrong."

His words hit like a physical blow. The sting of them was almost too much to bear. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but I couldn’t find the words. I felt like I was suffocating, drowning in everything I hadn’t been prepared for.

Javi looked away again, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never meant for this to happen," he muttered, his voice strained. "But it did, and now I—"

I couldn't hear it anymore. The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over. It wasn’t just the anger or the hurt—it was the disappointment. The crushing realization that this thing we shared, this moment, might have never meant as much to him as it did to me.

I wanted to scream, to lash out, but all I could do was stand there, staring at the man who’d just made me feel like everything I wanted could never be more than a mistake.

"I hate you," I whispered, my voice breaking as I stepped toward him. The words felt foreign on my tongue, but they were the only thing that could match the fury and heartbreak crashing through me.

Javi didn't move. He didn’t say a word. He just stood there, his eyes full of regret but devoid of any real defense.

I didn’t know what I wanted from him anymore. I didn’t know if I wanted an apology or for him to hurt the way I did. All I knew was that the emptiness inside me was too much to bear.

"I hate you," I repeated, louder this time, my chest tightening with every word. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

With that, I reached out and slammed my fist against his chest, the force of it leaving my knuckles aching. I wanted to hurt him, make him feel something—anything—because I was drowning in my own pain. My breath hitched with every sob that wracked my body, my vision blurring with tears.

Javi didn't react. He didn’t move to stop me. He just took it, standing there like he was expecting it, like he knew I needed to break.

The anger, the hurt, everything came pouring out of me as I hit him again and again, but no matter how hard I tried, it didn’t make the emptiness go away.

Finally, my hands dropped to my sides, exhausted from the futile attempt to make him understand, to make him care.

I turned away from him, shaking with emotion, and stumbled toward the door. I fumbled with the lock, my hands trembling so badly I almost couldn’t get it open.

And when I finally did, I bolted.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t want to see the look on his face. I didn’t want to see the regret or the confusion or the guilt. I just wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

The cold air hit me as soon as I stepped outside, but I didn’t care. I was numb.

I ran.

I ran as fast as I could, my breath coming in sharp gasps as the world blurred around me. The pounding of my heart in my chest was all I could hear, and each step felt like it was pushing me further away from him. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t slow down.

When I finally reached home, I didn’t even glance at my mom, who was sitting on the couch. She called out to me, but I ignored it, my legs moving on their own as I stormed past her, my mind a haze of pain and anger.

I didn’t care to explain. I didn’t care to answer. I just needed to be alone.

Slamming my bedroom door behind me, I locked it without even thinking. The click of the lock was like a final barrier between me and the world outside—between me and the mess that had been made.

I collapsed onto my bed, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once. I buried my face in my pillow, unable to hold back the tears any longer. My chest heaved with each sob, my body wracked with the kind of pain that felt like it might swallow me whole.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him—his words, his touch, the look in his eyes. I couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d kissed me, the way he’d pulled away as if everything we’d shared meant nothing.

But most of all, I couldn’t stop hating myself for wanting him so much.

I cried until I could cry no more, until my eyes were swollen and my body ached. Then, exhausted, I finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, the remnants of my tears staining the pillow beneath me.

The next morning, I woke up with the weight of last night still pressing on my chest. My head was pounding, and I felt like I hadn't slept at all, even though I'd spent hours in bed. I unlocked my door, avoiding the mirror as I stumbled into the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would wake me up, but it didn’t erase the lingering pain from the night before.

I did what I needed to do, then walked back to my room, feeling the exhaustion in every step. I didn’t care about anything at that moment. Not my mom’s questions, not the world outside my room.

As I walked past her in the hallway, she caught sight of me, her brow furrowing with concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice gentle but filled with worry.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Instead, I walked straight to my bed, ignoring her. I flopped down and grabbed my phone, half-hoping for a message from Javi. Something that would make me believe he didn’t mean what he said. Something that would make everything okay again.

But no message came. The silence from him was deafening. I couldn't help but feel like he was confirming everything I feared—he didn’t care.

The entire week felt like a blur. Waking up early for work, going through the motions, but nothing really sinking in. Every day I dragged myself through, wishing I could just escape the ache in my chest.

When I got home that evening, my mom was waiting for me, standing by the kitchen counter with a note in her hand.

"Javi's bar is hosting a party tomorrow night," she said, glancing at me. "I was thinking of going. Would you like to come with me?"

Her voice was casual, like everything was normal, but I could hear the underlying hope in her words. She didn’t know what had happened, of course. She didn’t know how badly Javi had hurt me.

I looked at her for a long moment, the question hanging in the air. Part of me wanted to go, to face him, to find out if any of this was real. But another part of me just... couldn’t.

"I’ll think about it," I said, my voice flat, trying to mask the turmoil inside me.

But deep down, I knew what I really wanted: answers.

As the day of the party came, I stayed locked in my room. I was dressed up, ready to go, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually leave. My mother had already left a couple of hours ago for the party. She sent me a text asking if I was coming, adding that Javi had asked about me too. I stared at the message, my finger hovering over the keyboard, but I couldn’t bring myself to reply. What was there to say? What was there left to say?

I sighed, a heaviness settling in my chest. "I’ll go, just to show him I don’t care," I muttered to myself. It felt like a lie, but I didn’t want to admit that it was my pride—my heart—that was keeping me from staying away.

With a shaky breath, I got up from my bed and walked toward the door, feeling the weight of every step. The last thing I wanted was to walk into that bar, to see him, but I knew I had to face him. At least, that’s what I told myself.

When I walked into the bar, the familiar hum of the music and chatter filled the air. My mom was already with a group of friends, chatting away, and for a moment, I felt like I could blend into the background. But the moment I walked in, my eyes immediately went to the bar where I knew he’d be. And there he was.

Javi didn’t look the same as before. He wasn’t the confident, charismatic guy I’d seen all these years—today, he seemed distant, distracted. He wasn’t the guy I had kissed with so much fire, the man who had held me like I was the only thing that mattered. No, this version of Javi felt... lost. His usual smirk was absent, his posture slumped in a way that made him seem smaller, somehow.

Our eyes met across the room, and I couldn’t help it. A pang shot through my chest. I quickly looked away, trying to bury the hurt, but I could still feel his gaze on me, like a weight on my skin. He didn’t move toward me, didn’t try to say anything. I wasn’t sure if I even wanted him to.

I made my way to my mom and her friends, trying to act normal, to act like I wasn’t on the verge of breaking down. I asked my mom for a drink, and she gladly went to fetch it for me. I needed something to numb the ache that was quickly turning into something unbearable.

As I stood there, talking with a friend, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Javi was watching me from across the room. The air between us was thick with unspoken words, with what had happened—what hadn’t happened. His presence loomed over me, but I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge it. Not yet.

The music was thumping, the bass reverberating through the floor beneath me as the crowd swirled around in a haze of lights and movement. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed or how many drinks I had downed. I just knew I was floating in this fog, trying to numb whatever I felt—whatever he made me feel.

My mother had long since disappeared into the sea of people, lost in her own conversations, leaving me to get lost in mine. My friends were beside me, laughing, dancing, but all I could focus on was the knot in my stomach, the way my heart still beat a little too fast whenever I thought about Javi.

I wasn’t sure when the guy had appeared—whether he had come out of nowhere or if I’d been too lost in my thoughts to notice—but he was there, moving with me, his hands brushing against mine as we danced. He leaned in close, a sly smile playing on his lips as he whispered something I couldn’t hear over the music, but it didn’t matter. I was too far gone to care.

I didn’t even realize how much I was flirting back until I felt his breath on my neck, his body pressing closer. A strange, disorienting sense of detachment washed over me. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. Was this some kind of defense mechanism? A way to forget? Was I doing this just to make Javi feel something?

And then, out of nowhere, the guy’s lips were on mine.

I froze for a moment, my body going stiff. I didn’t kiss him back—not at first. I wasn’t sure how to react, my thoughts clouded with the image of Javi’s face, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. But then, from the corner of my eye, I saw him.

Javi.

He was standing at the edge of the crowd, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched. His gaze was burning into me, full of anger, of frustration. The expression on his face twisted something deep in my gut.

Without thinking, I responded. I kissed the guy back.

It was like a reflex—something to make the moment feel real, something to make Javi feel something. The guy deepened the kiss, but it was hollow, the taste of alcohol and cigarette smoke in my mouth. The more I kissed him, the more I felt like I was doing this for the wrong reasons, not because I wanted it but because I needed to see Javi react. I needed to know if he still cared, if it bothered him.

I could still see him—Javi—his face hardening, his fists tightening at his sides. His eyes locked on mine, filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. But he didn’t move. He didn’t come over. He just stood there, watching.

I felt like I was spiraling, caught in a whirlwind of emotions I couldn’t make sense of. Part of me wanted to run to him, to say everything I couldn’t say before. The other part of me, the part that was trying to protect itself, wanted to push him away and keep him at arm’s length.

Out of nowhere, Javi appeared in front of us, pushing the guy away with a force that made him stumble back. The music around us seemed to blur out, like everything paused in that moment, and all I could focus on was him—his anger, his presence.

The guy, clearly shocked, staggered backward but quickly regained his composure. “What do you want, old man?” he spat, his tone laced with annoyance.

Javi didn’t flinch, his gaze cold and unyielding. His jaw was clenched, his posture rigid, like he was fighting to keep himself in check. He didn’t care that the guy had thrown words at him; he didn’t even look bothered. Instead, his voice was low, like a growl.

“Leave, or I’ll fucking end you,” he said, his tone calm but dangerous.

The guy took a hesitant step back, not sure if Javi was serious or not, but he didn’t challenge him. He muttered something under his breath and disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two of us standing there in the tension-filled silence.

I stood there, staring at Javi as my chest tightened, my heart hammering painfully. What right did he have to just come in and control everything?

“What do you want, Javi?” I finally asked, my voice shaking, but not with fear—more with frustration. “What the hell is this?”

Javi’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening around my arm. I could see the frustration and guilt flicker in his eyes, but it didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it only made me more angry.

“You don’t get it, do you?” I spat, pulling my arm out of his grasp. “You don’t get to just walk into my life, make me feel all this—this fire—and then treat me like it was nothing. Like I’m just some fucking mistake you regret. And now you’re acting like you have the right to control me?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I immediately regretted it, but it was too late. They hung between us, sharp and raw.

Javi's expression faltered for a split second, his face softening, but then he closed off, like a wall slamming down. He was silent for a long moment, staring at me like he didn’t know how to respond.

“You think I don’t regret what happened?” His voice was lower, rougher than I expected, and he stepped closer to me, his hand still gripping my arm. “I was trying to protect you. Trying to do the right thing, even if it meant hurting myself.”

I shook my head, anger bubbling up inside me again. “Protect me? You hurt me, Javi. You kissed me, made me think it was real, and then... then you turned it into nothing. You said it was a mistake.”

“I never said it didn’t mean anything!” His voice cracked, his eyes filled with frustration and guilt. He wasn’t looking at me, though. He was looking at the ground, like he couldn’t bear to face me. “I wanted you—god, I wanted you more than I could even handle. But I’m older than you. I know what happens when you get caught up in something like this. I wasn’t thinking straight, but that doesn’t mean it was a mistake.”

I scoffed, my heart pounding in my chest. “Then why did you push me away? Why did you tell me it was all a mistake if it wasn’t? I still don’t get it.”

He closed his eyes, his jaw tight as he took a slow breath. When he opened them again, they were full of something I couldn’t quite decipher—regret, maybe, or fear. “Because I couldn’t give you what you needed. I couldn’t be the one to ruin your future. You deserve better than someone like me, someone who can’t even get his own shit together.”

I yanked my arm away from him, pushing past him to get to the bar. The last thing I needed right now was his pity.

“Don’t talk like that,” I said, my voice shaking slightly as I turned back to him. “You’re just scared of what this is. Of what we could be. And I’m tired of you running away from it.”

Javi’s face twitched, his mouth opening like he was about to argue, but instead, he closed it again, looking at me with such intensity it felt like he could burn me with just a stare.

“You think I’m scared?” His voice dropped to a whisper, and for the first time, he sounded vulnerable, like he was finally admitting something he’d been hiding from both of us. “I’m terrified of what I feel for you. You have no idea how hard it is to want someone this badly and know that you’re not good enough for them. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, but I’m too fucked up to give you what you need.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, all I could do was stare at him, trying to process the mess of emotions swirling between us.

I finally spoke, but my voice was quieter, softer. “Then don’t push me away. Don’t keep pretending like this is some mistake. Because it’s not. Not for me.”

Javi swallowed hard, his eyes flickering between mine, conflicted, torn. His hand hovered near me, like he wanted to touch me, but was scared to.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he muttered, his gaze dropping again, ashamed. “I never did.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, then I stepped closer to him. “Then show me. Show me that it’s not too late. Show me that this—us—wasn’t just some stupid mistake.”

He looked at me for a long moment, then his face softened, the walls crumbling just enough for him to take a step toward me. But before he could say anything, a voice broke through the tension.

My mother came.

Javi immediately stiffened, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for me again but stopped himself. His jaw clenched, and I could see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he schooled his expression into something unreadable.

I turned sharply, forcing a neutral look onto my face as I met my mother’s gaze. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed, her eyes flicking between me and Javi with thinly veiled suspicion.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Yeah," I said too quickly. "Fine."

She didn’t look convinced. Her eyes narrowed, lingering on Javi, who had shoved his hands into his pockets and was looking off to the side like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"You sure?" she pressed.

Javi finally spoke, his voice tight. "Everything’s good."

She hesitated for another second before nodding slowly. "Alright," she said, but her tone made it clear she wasn’t buying it. "I’ll be with the others if you need me."

I waited until she disappeared into the crowd before whipping back around to Javi. "You were about to say something," I reminded him, stepping closer.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t know what you want me to say."

I scoffed. "Oh, I don’t know, maybe the truth for once?" I shoved at his chest. "You push me away, tell me it was a mistake, and then you don’t let me move on either. What the hell do you want from me, Javi?"

Javi didn’t answer, didn’t even look at me, so I turned my back and started to leave. My hands were shaking, my chest burning with everything I wanted to scream at him. But before I could take another step, his hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back with just enough force to make me stumble.

Before I knew what was happening, his lips crashed against mine.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t hesitant. It was desperate, claiming, full of everything he had refused to say. And it wasn’t just us this time—it was in front of everyone. My mother. My friends. His friends. The whole damn bar.

For a moment, everything stopped. The music, the chatter, the world around us—it all blurred into nothing. His grip on me was tight, almost trembling, like he was terrified to let go.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, he pulled away. His forehead rested against mine, his breath warm and uneven.

"That's the truth," he murmured, his voice low but firm.

I stared at him, trying to process what the fuck had just happened. My heart was hammering so hard I swore everyone in the room could hear it. My lips were still tingling, swollen from the force of his kiss.

"What the hell am I looking at right now?"

I tensed and turned. My mother stood a few feet away, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her face.

Javi didn’t let go of me. He straightened, squared his shoulders, and looked her in the eye. "I kissed him," he said, voice steady. "Because I love him."

A long silence stretched between us. Not from the whole bar—people were still drinking, dancing, laughing—but in this small space, it felt like the world had come to a halt.

My mother blinked, like she hadn’t expected that answer. Her eyes flicked to me. "And you?" she asked, quieter this time. "Is this what you want?"

Javi's hand was still gripping mine, firm but not forceful. Just enough to let me know he wasn’t about to run again.

I swallowed, steadied my breath. "Yeah," I said, my voice even. "It is."

She exhaled through her nose, rubbing her forehead. "Jesus Christ," she muttered. "You couldn’t have warned me before shoving your tongue down each other’s throats?"

That startled a small laugh out of me, tension breaking just slightly.

Javi, though, was still watching her like she might change her mind and drag me out of here by force.

My mother sighed and looked at him again. "You better not screw this up," she said, pointing a finger at his chest. "Because I swear to God, Javi, if you hurt him again—"

"I won’t," Javi said immediately, his voice firm.

She studied him for a long moment, then rolled her eyes and waved a hand. "Whatever. I'm getting another drink," she muttered before walking off.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

Javi looked at me, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t look like he was about to run.

I turned to look at Javi after my mother left, my heart still racing from everything that had just happened. My lips tingled from his kiss, the weight of his confession still settling in my chest.

"You love me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, like saying it too loud might make the moment shatter.

Javi scoffed, shaking his head, but there was no frustration in it this time. Just something softer, something real. “What do you think, stupid?”

I let out a breathless laugh, the tension between us shifting, turning into something lighter, something almost teasing. But beneath it, I could still feel the intensity in his gaze, the unspoken words lingering between us.

“Did my mother just cockblock us?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Javi exhaled sharply, a smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “Looks like it.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the noise of the bar fading into the background. People had gone back to their drinks, their conversations, their dancing, but for me, the world had narrowed down to just him. The way he was looking at me—like he was still trying to figure out how we got here, like he wanted to say a thousand things but didn’t know where to start.

He reached up, ran a hand through his hair, then looked at me again, more sure this time. “Wanna head out?”

I tilted my head, pretending to think about it, though we both knew my answer the second he asked. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. Not tonight. Not after this.

I nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Javi walked over to his friend, leaning in close to say something. I couldn’t hear what, but after a nod and a pat on the back, his friend grabbed the keys from behind the bar, signaling he’d take care of closing up. Javi muttered a quick thanks, then grabbed his jacket and backpack before heading back toward me.

The night air was cool against my skin as we stepped outside, the distant hum of the city filling the quiet between us. We walked for a little while, the sound of our footsteps mixing with the occasional laugh or shout from people still lingering outside bars and restaurants.

Then, Javi reached into his pocket, pulling out a key. He held it up before glancing at me with a small smirk. “Ever been on a motorcycle before?”

I eyed the bike parked a few feet away, sleek and bigger than anything I’d ever imagined riding. “Not one this big,” I admitted, looking back at him.

Javi chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped forward and unlocked it. Without hesitation, he swung his leg over and settled onto the seat, adjusting himself before glancing at me expectantly. “Get on.”

I hesitated for half a second before stepping forward, my fingers grazing against his shoulder for balance as I climbed on behind him.

“Hold on,” he instructed.

“To what?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

Javi didn’t respond—he just reached back, grabbed my hands, and pulled them around his waist, securing them in place. My chest pressed against his back, and for a moment, all I could focus on was the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Like this,” he murmured, voice lower, softer.

I nodded against his shoulder, tightening my grip. “Got it.”

Javi started the engine, the deep rumble vibrating through me, through both of us. And as he took off down the empty street, wind rushing past, the city lights blurring around us, I closed my eyes and let myself hold onto him just a little bit tighter.

The ride was nothing but open roads, wind whipping past us, the city lights fading as we left the busy streets behind. I clung to Javi, my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, feeling the way his body moved with the bike, steady and confident. It was impossible not to feel safe with him like this.

After about thirty minutes, we pulled up in front of his house—a modest place, tucked away on a quiet street. Javi killed the engine, the sudden silence making my ears ring. He got off first, locking the bike with a swift motion before turning toward the door.

I followed, watching as he unlocked it, pushing it open and then stepping aside, waiting for me to enter. I hesitated for just a second before stepping inside, the warm air of his home replacing the cool night breeze outside.

The door clicked shut behind me. Javi tossed his backpack onto the couch, his jacket landing beside it in a careless heap. Before I could take in the space, before I could say anything, he was on me.

Strong hands gripped my waist, pulling me in as his lips crashed against mine. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just heat, raw and urgent. His fingers dug into my sides as he pushed me back against the door, his body pressing into mine, as if he was afraid I’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

I melted into him, my hands sliding up his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as I kissed him back just as hard. Every bottled-up emotion, every moment of tension between us, every unsaid word—it was all there, in the way he kissed me, in the way his breath hitched when I pulled him closer.

Javi broke away just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breathing heavy. “I shouldn't want you this much,” he muttered, almost like he was angry at himself.

I let out a breathless laugh, my fingers still tangled in his shirt. “Then stop.”

His grip on me tightened. “I don’t fucking want to.”

Javi didn’t let go of me, not for a second. His lips stayed on mine, his hands firm on my waist as he slowly walked me backward, guiding me through the dimly lit space.

I barely registered the layout of his home—just fleeting glimpses of dark furniture, the soft glow of a lamp somewhere, the faint scent of leather and cologne that clung to everything. None of it mattered. The only thing I could focus on was him.

His hands roamed up my back, fingertips pressing just enough to make me shiver as he deepened the kiss. My breath hitched when my legs hit the edge of a bed.

Javi pulled away just enough to look at me, his dark eyes burning with something unreadable. His thumb traced my jawline, his breathing uneven. “You sure about this?”

I swallowed, my heart pounding. There was no hesitation. “Yeah.”

His lips curled into a small, almost relieved smile before he kissed me again—slow this time, deliberate, like he wanted to take his time memorizing every second.

Javi’s hands moved with a steady confidence, his fingers tugging at my belt as his lips dragged along my neck. Heat coiled in my stomach at the slow, deliberate way he moved—like he had all the time in the world to undo me piece by piece.

His teeth scraped against my skin, and I let out a shaky breath, my fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer. The soft clink of my belt coming undone sent a thrill through me, the weight of his body against mine making my head spin.

Javi didn’t rush. He moved like he was claiming me, like he needed me as much as I needed him. His breath was warm against my skin, his hands steady as they slid lower, guiding me back step by step until my legs hit the bed. Then, with one last lingering kiss against my jaw, he pushed me down, following right after.

As we fell onto the bed, I straddled Javi, my hands immediately moving to undo the buttons of his shirt. My fingers worked quickly, pushing the fabric off his shoulders, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. My eyes traced over him, drinking him in, before I moved lower, my hands already going for his belt.

Javi just watched me, his breathing heavier now, his hands gripping my waist like he was grounding himself. When I finally got his jeans off, my gaze dropped, and I swallowed hard. His cock was thick and hard, standing proudly against his stomach.

"Fuck," I muttered, dragging my thumb over my lips as I took in the sight of him.

A low chuckle left Javi’s throat, his hands sliding up my back. "You gonna keep staring, or you gonna do something about it?"

I smirked, leaning down until our lips nearly touched. "You’re impatient," I teased, my fingers already trailing lower.

His eyes darkened with desire, and he gripped my hips tighter, pulling me flush against him. "Only when it comes to you," he murmured, his voice rough with need.

I couldn't help but smile, feeling a rush of power and anticipation. I let my fingers dance over his skin, teasing him with light touches that made him shiver. His breath hitched as I finally wrapped my hand around his cock, feeling his heat and hardness.

Javi's head fell back against the pillow, a low groan escaping his lips. "God, you're killing me," he whispered, his hips lifting slightly to meet my touch.

I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his chest before trailing more kisses down his stomach. His muscles tensed under my lips, and I could feel the restraint in his body, the way he was holding back.

"Let go," I whispered against his skin, looking up at him through my lashes. "I want you to feel this."

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, there was a raw vulnerability in his gaze. Then he nodded, his hands sliding into my hair as I took him into my mouth.

The sound that tore from his throat was primal, and it sent a wave of heat through me. I moved slowly, savoring every reaction, every tremble of his body. His fingers tightened in my hair, guiding me, urging me on. I took him deeper, feeling his cock hit the back of my throat. The taste of him, the scent of him, it was intoxicating.

But Javi had other plans. Suddenly, he grabbed me and turned me around, pushing me onto my hands and knees. I gasped in surprise, my heart racing with excitement. His hands were firm on my hips, holding me in place as he leaned down, his breath hot against my ass.

"Fuck, you're so sexy like this," he growled, his voice thick with lust.

I shivered, anticipation coursing through me. His fingers traced the curve of my ass, teasing me, making me squirm. Then, without warning, he spread me open and his tongue was on me, licking and teasing my hole.

"Oh god," I moaned, my fingers gripping the sheets tightly. The sensation was overwhelming, electric. His tongue was relentless, swirling and probing, making me wet and ready for him.

Javi's fingers joined his tongue, gently circling my entrance before slowly pushing in. I gasped, the intrusion sending waves of pleasure through me. He took his time, stretching me, preparing me, his fingers moving in and out in a steady rhythm.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice husky. "So tight."

I could only moan in response, my body on fire with need. His fingers curled inside me, hitting that spot that made me see stars. I pushed back against him, desperate for more.

"Javi, please," I begged, my voice ragged. "I need you."

He chuckled softly, his fingers slipping out of me. I heard the sound of the lube bottle, and then he was there, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice gentle despite the urgency in his touch.

I nodded, my breath hitching as he slowly pushed into me. The burn was intense, but the pleasure was even more so. I gasped, my body stretching to accommodate him. He stilled for a moment, giving me time to adjust, before he began to move.

Each thrust was deep and deliberate, filling me completely. I met his rhythm, pushing back against him, our bodies moving in perfect sync. The room filled with the sounds of our breaths, our moans, the slap of skin against skin.

Javi's hands gripped my hips tightly, his fingers digging into my flesh as he picked up the pace. His cock hit that spot inside me over and over, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. I could feel the tension building, the coil of heat tightening with each thrust.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Javi groaned, his voice strained with effort. "So tight, so perfect."

His words sent me over the edge. My body tensed, and I cried out, my orgasm ripping through me with an intensity that left me breathless. Javi followed soon after, his body shaking as he came, his cock pulsing inside me.

We collapsed onto the bed, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. Javi pulled me into his arms, his heart pounding against my back. I could feel the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his body against mine.

In the silence that followed, the chaos of the night faded into the background, replaced by a quiet, unspoken understanding between us. His fingers lightly traced the curves of my skin, not out of desire, but with a tenderness that made everything feel real, almost too real.

I closed my eyes, letting myself melt into his embrace, not wanting to break the fragile peace we had found in each other. It wasn’t about the rush of the moments before, or the undeniable attraction—it was something deeper, something quieter, something that felt like it had always been meant to happen.

My voice broke the silence, soft and uncertain, “This isn’t a mistake, is it?”

Javi turned his head, meeting my gaze with a mixture of fear and certainty. “No. It wasn’t.”

I nodded slowly, as if i needed to hear that from him to make sense of everything. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, the kind that held more meaning than words could ever convey.

And for the first time, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, we could make it through this. Together.

The night settled around us, and I let myself fall asleep in his arms, knowing that we were more than just the heat of the moment—we were something real, something that might just survive.

Note: I hope you had fun reading it and feel free to ask anything you would love to reader from me

For more Fics tap here.

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randomfoggytiger · 3 days ago

Text

React: A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try (My Struggle II), Part VIII

TLDR: Mulder's passenger princess episode.

AGENDA GOING IN

Okay.

We’re back.

It’s been awhile (five months) since the last update-- how time flies~.

My thoughts going in: please, enjoy my suffering. Know that these are the rantings of a mad man and don't take anything to heart. Come, let us all gather to loathe (with snacks, of course) this bloated behemoth that chased its own tail right up into its internal organs.

**Note**: All previous parts can be found under the Revival Reviler's first-time watch through and A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try tags; and all my previously documented react projects are easily accessible under the React tag.

MY STRUGGLE II

Welp, it’s time to press play.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII didn’t miss this. At all.

Oh, thanks for the succinct summary of My Struggle I-- you forgot to include the fact that Mulder hadn’t had a breakdown or disconnect from reality, that Scully left him fearing he would, and that she waited in the wings waiting for him to have a breakdown for x amount of months or years. And that she’s jealous of a young blonde woman who she effectively stabbed with a medical instrument when that woman as A. in her care and B. afraid for her life and trying to prove her innocence. And that Mulder already knew the world wouldn’t end right before or right after Colonization… so his breakdown (which he didn’t have) wasn’t connected to Colonization not happening.

And also that he and Scully are and aren’t and will and won’t get together.

And that she was nearly seduced by an Alex Jones type figure.

Just wanted to remind myself of aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall the garbage I had to weed through in a previous post here. Sigh.

LET CSM DIE.

You can’t just have Scully start narrating-- well, CC can because My Struggle I was Mulder’s Struggle, and My Struggle II is Scully’s, as he said-- and show me all these cool moments and then… bring us back to present.

Why would you do this to my poor, woe-be-gone soul?

Also… most of the pictures we're shown make no sense because those were from private, no-camera-in-sight interludes between Mulder and Scully. Were there no pictures from interviews, or before Congress, or from identification photos, or on crime scenes (i.e. the one from The End) for the writers to grab, or…? YES this is a nitpick, yes I’m petty, yes this is only 2 minutes in.

I will say: this is the most recognizable "Scully" voice yet-- Gillian is tapping into that dreamlike, detached, floating accent that her character of yore used to narrate with. …And to know the camera is going to switch over to her off-brand Scully hair and off-brand X-Files story is… not great.

“Abducted from my home by unknown assailants--” MA’AM, even the FLASHBACK PHOTOS show Duane Barry. YOU KNEW HE WAS THE ONE KIDNAPPING YOU AT THE TIME, NOT THAT THE GOVERNMENT WAS BEHIND IT. PLEASE, I’m barely three minutes in, spare me.

“Tests [that she was subjected to] that I now suspect are part of a larger conspiracy--” MA’AM. Only now?Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase.

“Questions remain… about their motives and final objectives.” Um… for a secret cabal focused on “consolidating” power “at home” and “across the globe”... I think, don’t quote me on this, but I think YOU GOT YOUR MOTIVE RIGHT THERE.

...Yeah. Um. Guess alien blinks sound like camera shutters.

THIS IS THE END says the title card. 'Kay.

Oh, so we're focusing on Scully this episode. Mulder's not in the basement (or will be found? in the basement?) ...Does this parallel My Struggle III when Mulder finds Scully in a coma on the basement floor? Is that in MSIII?

That's it, I'm putting this on 1.75 speed.

Okay, six weeks have passed since My Struggle I. ...You know, what is a reasonable timeline? What is canon? What is anything, really?

Go AWAY Tad O'Malley. "What may seem like science fiction is now scientific facts" UGH.

...What's with the strange up-close, snap out, and float in dramatic angles? ...I know it's for the updated show, but sometimes it's too... it's too.... Goofy. There, I said it. It's goofy. They're wasted on inconsequential moments to build artificial tension. Those effects should be saved for times when it matters, not "Character A walks in, sits down, listens to under 30 seconds of alien DNA stuff, ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM, SWOOSH, WHOOSH, PHONE CALL, floooooooooat iiiiiiiiiin."

Ugh.

FURTHER PROOF THAT SEASON 10 HAD THE WORST MAKEUP:

This, this, THIS is Gillian's up-close shot? THIS?? Crust between her eyebrows creating an almost unibrow??? Cracking under her right eye???? Green poking through her concealer????? Cakey, pasty vinyl on her cheeks?????? Is she molting?????????

Compare to Milagro and you'll see that OH, WOW, the above is bad.

This plot is so mind-numbingly convenient:

Scully shows up at the office, Mulder's not there.

Scully sits down because Mulder's device is playing Tad out loud.

Just as she reaches the pertinent part, Tad calls (not because he's a weirdo who was waiting for his show to reach that beat, noooooo, just because he needed to call her, of course.)

Tad needs to talk.

Scully drives to Mulder's house where Tad is: her partner's missing: he had a meeting with Tad there and never showed.

Convenient. Just soooooooo convenient. And this one minute of drama all conveniently comes together six weeks after the Revival's first episode. Despite other cases she and Mulder investigated that would require a ton of time to solve and catalog. Uh huh.

This is definitely, absolutely, 100% realistic. Definitely.

Tad talking sense into Scully. Nope, don't like that.

1.75x is the perfect speed for this, it really highlights how random and nonsensical all these actions and passing conveniences are.

Scully doesn't listen, calls police to find Mulder.

Skinner and Einstein are in the office? And she's consulting them? Idon'tcaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare.

"I'm afraid he fears my judgment," says Scully about Mulder not leaving a note. "That I might think he's crazy or not."

...

......

.........

..............

You can't hear it, but I'm sighing away Deep Throat and the Season 4 Max two-parter and Folie a Deux....

Scully.

Writers.

Don't insult me.

Bumping this up to 2x.

"No one has the right or the ability to tamper with your DNA," insists Einstein.

"Unless we gave them that ability."

...What. (Note from the future: That line still doesn't make sense.)

IWTB hospital and first wave of patients (unbeknownst to Scully and Einstein.) Sigh.

Mulder lookin' not too good in his car. Sigh.

I wish I had a 3x opinion.

WHY are we looking at characters through IVF pols and etc. while they deliver (rehashed) important dialogue (again)? Because it's artsy? It's stupid.

I'm not even 10 minutes in.

"The science that we were taught takes us but a distance towards the truth."

Setting that statement aside-- because it contradicts many high and noble monologues from the original series that Scully HERSELF spoke-- Einstein talks with "ums" and snappy, modern lingo while Scully still speaks as she did in the original run: a touch flowery, a touch otherworldly, a touch pastiche or purple prose.

This not only distracts but frustrates because the Revival dialogue flip flops on this distinction constantly: Mulder and Scully sounding like themselves (sometimes too young and too purple-prosy) one second then "updated", modern mouthpieces-- using words like "homey" and "the internet" unironically-- the next.

I'm so... look. Okay, yes, we're going there.

Actually, no, I need to go outside for a bit first, then we're going there.

...I'm back.

So. Let's be super, super honest here: Chris Carter is trying to appeal to a (then) mass, general perspective of his intelligence. He wants to be seen as the smartest genius TM when it comes to discerning "the truth" and seeing through "the lies." He did this more deftly with characters such as Deep Throat, Max Fenig (who Morgan and Wong created, actually), and other like-minded tie-ins to a greater conspiracy. Fox Mulder was the epitome of how to do this concept right: Mulder routinely fought to separate his message from the pencil pushers and the quacks-- those who implied he was "in on it" because he was a Fed (and therefore, a Jew) and those who went too far in their conspiracies while on an earnest hunt to expose the truth (the fringe radicals or not-so-radicals.) Carter even played with conspiracy theorist nuts well with The Lone Gunmen (who were also created by Morgan and Wong), three dudes who felt betrayed by the government but could also trip up over the strip of metallic paper in their $20.

Why did all the aforementioned examples work whereas Tad O'Malley does not? It's not because conspiracy theories were on the rise in 2015-- that just removes any excuse from the writers, who could have studied and cleverly built up on that "phenomenon." And no, it's not because CC secretly likes or encourages those fringe or peripheral thought experiments-- his bent leans the opposite way, which makes this situation even more irritating.)

You cannot have a conspiracy theorist be right about everything. Not only does it hinder your message, it then promotes that vein of thinking: that all counter-culture is probably correct because it chooses to explore what others are too afraid to (Scully) or what the government is suppressing for their own interests. And why is this so... for lack of a better word, idiotic?

Conspiracy theorists are just people like you and me: they're human, and they're often wrong. Their motives might come from a universal place, and they can be right about a few things (broken clock is right twice a day, etc.), but that doesn't mean they're infallible, either.

Tad O'Malley, meanwhile, is proven right over Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. Fox Mulder. And Dana Scully. Again and again.

What the writers were trying to do is point out our own perception bias and highlight our own ignorance, ala Max Fenig. Why they succeeded then-- Max was right enough and wrong enough-- is why they failed now: Tad is right, always, because the plot needed him to be. His irrationality-- believing in chemtrail and microwaves and etc.-- still serves as a truth machine to the people; and he is still painted as a heroic figure bringing hope to the masses in times of crisis.

I know the writers' point: truth and hope can come from the unlikeliest places because we're all human and we all want each other to survive. That's nice. Put it in the script next time.

In short: it's because Carter and his writers, all of them, were lazy. In trying to subvert the new norm-- the rising growth in conspiracy theorists like QAnon or Alex Jones-- and trying to prove how they could take an established trope most of the public disliked and invert it (as he did with UFOs in the 90s), CC fell into an obvious trap: he forgot to make it make sense-- or, worse, didn't see the value in doing so and, thus, didn't care.

And why does this boil down to laziness? Because CC has the next goal to reach, the next car to explode, the next up close shot and lens flare to chase!!!!! HE doesn't have TIME for piddly quibbles!!!! He doesn't have TIME to flesh out what should remain a mystery!!!!!!!! He has to chase the mystery, guys, don't you get it, guys, there's ALIENS out there, guys, but it's NOT aliens it's THE GOVERNMENT, GUYS!!!!!! Aren't I so clever??? YOU THOUGHT IT WAS ALIENS THIS WHOLE TIME BUT IT WAS THE GOVERNMENT, HAHA!!! YOU THOUGHT SCULLY WOULD STAND BY MULDER EVEN IF SHE THOUGHT HE WAS CRAZY, HAHA!!!!! YOU THOUGHT TAD O'MALLEY WAS LIKE ALEX JONES, HAHA!!!!! I FOOLED YOU ALL!!!!!!!!!!!

Laziness. Absolute laziness.

Also: Tad's show is called SQUAD. He and his squad'. I just... wanna die.

Also also: Tad's show sure is getting a lot of press. And do you know why he's getting a lot of press? Because in canon, his show was forcibly shut down by the government.

Hm. Now wouldn't that be a more honest and interesting plot line if the writers wanted to set the show in current-day politics (a show that wasn't about politics to begin with, but I digress)? That Tad might be so wrong that his program became dangerous; and that the government then overstepped their power to suppress those claims and, in effect, gave him a microphone because of that unlawful suppression? And wouldn't it be more complicated if Tad got his hands on valuable information right before everyone became ill, and the public then began to buy into his message because he "predicted" what would happen while the government was divided into two camps: those who were ignorant and those who were effecting global change (i.e. the Syndicate remnant)? Like Kersh and CSM, for example? Y'know, the threads that were established and dropped previously? Wouldn't that fit The X-Files in the modern age, that the government can't get away with outright suppression like it used to? That even those who try to do good can effect evil if they handle it wrongly? Wouldn't that also prove to the audience that Mulder is in a different class than regular conspiracy theory nuts; and that Scully was intelligent enough to clock that he was being duped and save him from swallowing the lie?

Again, absolute laziness.

Also also also, the vaccines are attacking these peoples' immune systems because they've effectively been immunocompromised.

And while that's all maybe scientifically fine and dandy, you've gotta PROVE THAT, CC. Instead, Scully sees one patient-- who she doesn't know is a military vet-- and just. A. assumes he's a vet, B. that he's had a mandatory anthrax vaccine, and C. that it's the vaccine that's killing him because it's suppressing the veterans' immune systems....

Oh by the way, we're TOLD all that because it would be too much work to devote any time to building up to or even proving that assertion, claim, or theory. ...WE HAD A BLUE PRINT IN F. EMASCULATA, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, IT SHOULDN'T BE THIS DIFFICULT.

Scully jumps on a global contagion theory... because... Tad's guest said it would happen. And she jumps on that because... Mulder's gone and also because.... she trusts that he's figured out a similar conspiracy theory. And she jumps on this before waiting for Einstein's DNA results because... there's not enough time (despite doing two time-consuming medical tests later on.)

The writers' intent: to show off Scully's intelligence, to prove she trusts Mulder's instincts and her gut despite her scientific brain shooting those instincts down as conspiracy.

The reality.... she just jumped on a random theory to keep the plot rolling. ...WHY.

Scully... never checked... Mulder's computer... to track... his phone....

And Miller just stumbled across it on Mulder's OPEN LAPTOP.

I'm.

LAZINESS. Lazy, lazy, LAZY.

I hate the dialogue in this episode so much:

Characters flip ideas on a whim, seemingly at random because the writers needed to stall the episode's progress.

Characters announce themselves not by name but by, "I was there for you when you needed help [last time]" because the writers needed a "who's that????" for commercials.

Other ugh-ery factors. >:///////

"Agent Scully."

"Agent Reyes. Monica."

Thanks for the unnecessary exposition.

"I wish this were in better circumstances. I wish a lot of things were different here today."

"You have something to tell me?"

"Something you need to know."

...Shut up. This dialogue....

"How long have you been at the FBI?"

SCULLY THIS ISN'T IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW.

Firstly, literally the stupidest explanation for CSM's return.

Secondly, I don't care about this scene or this reintroduced character because Monica goes full-on villain arc later. Here, Gish plays her as someone strong-armed into compromises for the greater good... but since that doesn't last....

Pffffffft, I don't care.

WHY. ARE. THERE. SO. MANY. UP-CLOSE SHOTS. OF. THEIR. FACES. FOR. NO. REASON.

Wait, ALIENS ARE BACK ON THE MENU, BOYS. But they were never evil, oh noooooooooooooo, definitely not. We just used their incredible science for evil and blamed THEM. (Despite those innocents abducting and cutting Mulder open. And turning the Requiem population into super soldiers-- yeah, remember those? You're right-- I don't either. )The truest shame the human race ever did. Tragic.

So, Monica compromised because she wanted to be "one of the chosen"/"one of the elites" to survive.... But tries to frame it as she did it to help? Scully? Who was already "one of the chosen" because her genome was already tampered with during her first ever abduction?

So.

Monica effected nothing, is bound to he CSM forever, and will live.

And... how does that help anyone, exactly?

Honestly. What's her plot. she's just a coward. She did nothing and achieved nothing except get "sealed" and serve CSM smokes.

Lot of unnecessary lingerings on CSM smoking, btw. Could have cut that down so the episode doesn't feel so rough-shod.

"He loves Mulder," blabs Monica. "He sent a man to him to offer him a deal."

Mulder fight montage. ...Okay, fine, nice, you got your punches in, that's okay, fine. But there had BETTER be a reason for this sequence.

I'm waiting--

WAIT, THE GUY'S TRYING TO KILL HIM OR CHOKE HIM OUT, WHAT. CSM SENT HIM OVER TO SAVE MULDER BUT, BUT, WHAT--

Okay, now the fight's becoming too long and silly.

GUN'S OUT??? How is this supposed to SAVE Mulder, again??

More fighting, uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh, I just know this is going to end with a "Wait, wait, I'm here because--" moment....

Even worse: Mulder gets the upper hand, asks, "Who sent you?", and goes to CSM anyway.

THAT WAS A WASTE OF TIME.

I hate, hate, hate the dialogue. "I've always won badminton"/"You never won, I controlled the game in your and my favor before you were born"/"I don't believe my beloved badminton is rigged"/"You don't want to believe."

Florals? For spring? Groundbreaking.

Pause for smoking again.

Do you know that every word on a script's page is calculated for time spent to film, down to a second's worth? That not only do the writers'plot out sequences, but someone else they hire cuts through and marks their writing with that timetable, leaving very little flexibility for too many add-ons or add-libs (unless succinct, quick, and carefully slotted in?)

And the writers plotted for how many neck-smoking sequences?

Wow.

Mulder smacking CSM's cig away would have been nice if it hadn't been squandered by the up-close DID YOU CATCH IT shots back and forth. And the fact we had a better moment from a better era (Talitha Cumi) that did this, too. SEE, FANS, YOU CAN DO PARALLEL GIFS NOW-- aren't you happy?????

CSM sounds so Canadian. Guess WBD didn't watch out for his vowels anymore? I guess?

At this point, just.... Is there any reason why Mulder doesn't pull the trigger? YES, I KNOW real Mulder wouldn't. But this is Earth 2 Mulder. This is Clone!Mulder. This is... what did I call him in my Weremonster review (post here)? Oh, yeah: this is Ken; and he'd leave a slug in CSM's head for his Barbie. Why not? For me, do it for meeeeeeeeee.

We're back to this: Tad O'Malley 's characterization is, perhaps, THE PEAK EXAMPLE of lazy writing. (That or Scully's continued butchery....)

"The mainstream media doesn't cover" etc. etc. Well guess what? Both sides don't cover what's not advantageous to their narrative; but further, WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULDN'T COVER THIS NEWS STORY? We haven't established in canon if the media is or isn't in pocket with the Syndicate. Regardless, they'd be scrambling with 24/7 coverage for answers or an attempt at a cover up. What should have happened instead was that the media wasn't following the story to public's satisfaction and Tad filled that void, which would reveal a selfish, megalomaniacal streak to his nature-- the classic tale of drunk on power and corrupt with unchecked influence. INSTEAD, he's right.

And Chris Carter, by proxy, turns himself and his writing and his analytical prowess into a mere, perfunctory jape. (I'm not the type to hate, despise, or even dislike CC. I'm really not. But this is a stretch too far; and his later dogged insistence that we didn't get it is an even further, even more insulting stretch.)

I think? Chris tried to inject nuance-- that Tad was wrong because he deduced the cause of the virus to CHEMTRAILS, of all things-- but... the episode hasn't said it's not chemtrails, NOW HAS IT. You can't have one thing be held up as possible proof without debunking it or, I don't know, at least addressing how stupid that is.

Wait, did they even explain how everyone got sick? Or why was the military hit first? Or why there weren't huge swatches of the immuno-compromised population that came down with the virus first?

DON'T ASK, JUST CONSUME PRODUCT.

I'm only half-way through.

Spartan virus.

Oh, so Monica Reyes told her about the virus. Off-screen. ...So Monica's scene was still a waste because it established nothing important in two or three minutes, then kept necessary information off-screen so Scully could relay it later on x2 speed. ...Got it.

Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazy. And stupid.

Stupid.

"I'm on the king's throne, it's soft like the king"/"On the contrary--" ARE WE IN MIDDLE-SCHOOL??? "MY INSULT IS BETTER THAN YOURS"? "I'M CLEVERER THAN YOU BECAUSE I USED THE SAME WORD BUT TWISTED IT A DIFFERENT WAY"?????? WHAT IS THIS.

CC's trying to have his Grand Inquisitor Talitha Cumi moment but forgot it was David Duchovny, not himself, that managed to pull off those concepts... because they were DD's ideas and interests. And because he was, I dunno, not cringe about it.

Welp, we've skipped past Dostoevsky and gone straight to Leroux. Or more likely Webber, since he popularized Phantom of the Opera.

I'm so.

My Struggle II isn't even angering because all of it is rehashed Wattpad: early elementary and middle school creative writing exercises. At least something's HAPPENING. It's just... eye roll worthy.

CSM's still lustin' after Scully?????? Bro just won't let it go.

Okay, I'm gonna say it: CC's setting this guy up to be a virile patriarchal figurehead-- as in, be fruitful and multiply. Mulder's become his Cain son (cursed by God) and he intends to build a new legacy through Seth, i.e. Jackson, I presume; or a second miraculous baby from Scully. BECAUSE THAT'S THE IMPLICATION, btw.

Scully's alien DNA's gone. It just comes and goes when the plot needs it to, huh?

Tad's back. Microwave radiation as far as Europe. Cute.

The lights go out. Scully remarks they're already in the dark. The lights come back on. Scully has a ground-breaking idea. Subtle.

Einstein's up-close makeup is also crusty and gross. Sigh.

THEIR SAMPLE OF SCULLY'S ALIEN DNA WAS TOO SMALL??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? THEY DIDN'T FACTOR IN THE POSSIBILITY OF NEEDING ENOUGH TO TEST ON/WITH AND TAKE A LARGER SAMPLE FROM THE GET-GO OR SOMETHING????????????

Oh, Mulder didn't even bother to leave CSM's place?? (In South Carolina, btw. That's a callback for us Earth 2 theorists, as the writers referred to us fans via TLG and Mulder in Blood.) Mulder just gave up and laid back on CSM's comfy chair to die?????

MULDER DIDN''T LIMP BACK TO SCULLY'S SIDE TO DIE WHEN HE KNEW CSM WAS IMPLYING HE WOULD SCOOP HER UP-- NOT EVEN TO WARN SCULLY, AND JUST DECIDED TO LIE BACK AND DIE???????????????????????????????????????? WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS "GET UP AND FIGHT" REALIZATION in AMOR FATI?????? WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM ALWAYS GOING BACK TO HER BECAUSE SHE MAKES HIM A WHOLE PERSON????? WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM DOING THE IMPOSSIBLE TO WARN HER SHE'S IN DANGER????????????????????????????????? WHERE IS MULDER, AND CAN SOMEONE PLEASE GET A REFUND FOR EARTH 2 MULDER AND SCULLY?

Miller found him. Just. Peachy.

Why did I just get a flashback to Bill Mulder's death? Probably because Mulder Lite is saving older gen Mulder. UGH.

Little Mulder Lite has more grits and guts than his predecessor. That's... that.

CSM-- who was just chillin' as Mulder lay fully consumed by the majesty of impending death on a comfy cushion-- lets 'em go, I guess.

The scientists are just rehashing dialogue. That's all they do this episode, unfortunately.

CSM literally waddled out after them to see Mulder off and tell Mulder Lite to say "Goodbye" from him.

...

.....

........

How far The X-Files have fallen.

That's a fancy car. Guess Miller, too, has a stack of cash we Earth 2 theorists can headcanon that his parents left him after some tragic fate. Whatevs.

Look at the pathetic mew mew-- the absolute wet, sopping beast-- in the passenger seat. Glad it's not Mulder-- that would be demoralizing, ha ha ha....

Only about 7 minutes left.

Wait.

WAIT.

WAIT, WAIT, WAIT.

Scully's giving everyone alien DNA. How's that gonna--

And also: they already have alien DNA. They were all born with it. It's junk DNA in their system. We learned this from the ORIGINAL SERIES.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

Tad, I do not CARE.

Scully just stops someone from causing havoc and chaos because she... begs them? To go to the hospital? And promises them help is on the way?

Lady, they don't know who you are. And if these are disaffected rioters and looters, they're not gonna listen to, let alone believe, you.

WAIT.

THEY HAVE A VACCINE?????? JUST LIKE THAT??????? IN A MATTER OF HOURS???????????????????????

Also, Tad O'Malley just got a text and that's how everyone found out? Who texted him? Miller? How did Miller know? Did Scully tell him? What? What, what what, WHAT.

...Is the hospital using Scully's DNA now to make more vaccines? Is that why she's free to run around the city? Free to meet Mulder and Miller and help them? UM.

UM.

Are there even any reported deaths? Legitimately asking that.

It's all so illogical I'm not going to try to parcel it out.

This episode is brought to you by a man who believes only six weeks have elapsed since My Struggle I. More knucklehead comedy after the break.

Scully meets up with them at the bridge.

Mulder says... Mulder says: "He saved your life. Old Smokey. I suppose I should thank him."

...Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. Yes, it's a quip. At least it's supposed to be one: Mulder, irreverent to the last. EXCEPT HE MIGHT BELIEVE IT BECAUSE THE WRITING'S SO LAZY WE'RE NOT SHOWN WHAT HE ACTUALLY THINKS OR FEELS.

SCULLY takes ONE look at him and thinks, "Ah, snap, he needs more than what I brought, snap. A vaccine might not save him, snap." HELLO, how do you know that, ma'am. How does she know that, writers? IS ANYONE AWAKE IN THE WRITING ROOM?

PLEASE GIVE ME A SHOW OF HANDS BY WAVING YOUR HIGH SCHOOL DIPLOMAS.

Embarrassingly lazy.

OH, SUDDENLY SCULLY NEED TO FIND WILLIAM. Not because she has guilt for him, not because she wants to atone and make things right, not because she wants closure.... but BECAUSE MULDER NEEDS HIS STEM CELLS, PROBABLY. WHAT???????????????

EVEN IF YOU DO, SUDDENLY, FIND WILLIAM ASAP,

MULDER WILL BE DEAD

BY THEN.

Oh, look: lens flares. Because that's what's important.

UFO's here, I guess.

Uh.

Also.

Um.

Wouldn't it be funny if that was William and he was riding down to join his parents after the aliens reclaimed him at some point, like Gonzo's alien family in one of the Muppet movies? I wouldn't put it past the show in all honesty.

What a ghastly but whimsical mess. Aspirational child's first major writing project. It's kind of sweet through that lens.

And then you remember who wrote this and die a little inside.

Let's consolidate this madness:

The Syndicate gained alien technology from the aliens (it's in the name) in the 50s. The aliens were peaceful creatures, I guess, who didn't really want to cause anyone problems.

Colonization didn't happen in 2012 because the aliens weren't going to colonize because humans were going to destroy the planet through global warming.

Mulder knew Colonization wouldn't happen before 2012, which means his depression didn't stem from that. He just got uber depressed (and diagnosed with the wrong depression, ahem ahem) and... yep.

Scully left before Mulder's depression got really bad. There is no mention in canon how bad it got, ONLY that she feared it would be worse and left. The best explanation we're given (in S11) is that she had to work on herself, too.... So, I guess that means leave your depressed-but-not-really-but-maybe-but-not(?) partner without giving us, the audience, a plausible explanation for that break.

Scully is surprised she has alien DNA... despite her knowing she had alien DNA since the original run; and despite she and Mulder knowing everyone has junk alien DNA in their system.

Mulder has alien DNA, so he shouldn't have gotten sick here. Everyone has alien DNA, so they shouldn't have gotten sick here.

Monica Reyes joined CSM to survive and tells Scully about the Spartan virus and... dips? Her scene served no purpose other than to show us formerly-exploded CSM. The meaty information necessary to the episode was given off-screen.

Scully jumps from wild conspiracy to other wild conspiracy without proof.

CSM sends a guy to save Mulder and that guy... tries to kill Mulder? Such a stupid tv/movie trope.

Mulder never disconnects/turns off his phone while driving to get vengeance on CSM... and Scully never thinks to check if his phone location was on.

Mulder drives to CSM's just to collapse on his couch and give up.

The writers wanted a parallel to Amor Fati where Mulder lies "dying" with "the devil" outside his door, and tried to recreate that motif (or straight up rip it off) when Miller arrived: CSM was literally on the other side of the door from where Mulder was dying, again.

CSM just lets Mulder and Miller leave despite wanting to see Mulder die. 'Kay.

Scully manufactures a vaccine in a matter of hours...? From her DNA?

Scully takes one look at Mulder and assesses he's too far gone and thinks she needs to find their son to use his stem cells on Mulder to save him. ...How would Scully know this, given her particular practice, current vocation, and lack of expertise?

While Scully flails and loses her mind (and core character traits) in My Struggle I, Mulder slumps over and gives up in My Struggle II. It's not out of character for him to do so in extreme situations (ala Little Green Men-ish and 3 and One Breath and One Son) but it has to be JUSTIFIED.

Also: the conspiracy theorist is ultimately right all along. He's just mistaken about his chemtrail theory-- it was the government weaponizing vaccines instead. Yippee.

CONCLUSION

Nancy Yi Fan wrote a better and more engaging story at 11-years-old than Chris Carter (and Glen Morgan-- he signed off on this) did in his 50s or 60s.

Lazy.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

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