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ellemj · 6 months

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What Am I To You?

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot: SMUT

Summary: You pissed your fuck buddy off and now he only has one question, but it takes a few orgasms to get the right answer out of you.

Warnings: profanity, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, facesitting, light choking, light breeding kink, no use of y/n, praise, spanking, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings. Thank you to @littlemiss-yeehaw for the ones listed above, she's a gem.

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: This filth came from a random 4am thought that created the dialogue in the first paragraph. I had to use it. Everyone should totally beg @littlemiss-yeehaw to post the horny lil sketch she started for this one-shot. Side note, should I start a tag list for people who want to be tagged in all fics I post? Idk, I'm still way too new to Tumblr to be running a blog like this lmfao. I need a team of advisors.

“Do you know who the fuck you’re talking to? Get on the bed, I’ll show you.” You stay where you are, standing in the doorway of his bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest in a show of defiance. “Get on the fucking bed, right now.” He repeats, pointing a finger at his bed. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s seconds away from dishing out a punishment, one that he’ll enjoy far more than you, so you shuffle forward and crawl onto the bed as he watches. Good girl.

You’ve been here before. You know what he wants from you. He wants you on your hands and knees, with no looking back over your shoulder to see what’s coming. So that’s how you settle yourself, on your hands and knees, staring down at the soft, ruffled up bedding beneath you.

“What am I to you?” He asks, his tone scarily calm and even. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. What kind of answer is he looking for? You’re just fuck buddies. You use each other to de-stress after missions. It’s never been anything more, not once in the past two months that it’s been going on has there ever been so much as a hint that it could be something more.

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly. You listen intently as the familiar sound of Bucky’s belt buckle coming undone fills the silence in the room. A chill races through your body, dancing across the surface of your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“You don’t know…” Bucky tsks. You can’t see him, but he’s standing a couple of feet away from the foot of the bed, letting his eyes rake over your nearly exposed ass as he unbuttons his shirt. The little black dress that you’re wearing barely covers anything with the position you’re in, and he’s fucking thankful for it. In fact, if you hadn’t pissed him off tonight, he probably would’ve found some way to fuck you during the mission just because of that dress. But you pissed him off. “I’ll help you figure it out.” Bucky steps forward now, his warm right hand and cool, metal left hand both gracing the skin of your right ankle as he begins taking off your heels. He drops one to the floor before moving on to the other, and then he strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side as well.

“I thought we were just—”

“You don’t want to finish that sentence.” Bucky warns, effectively cutting you off and giving you a chance to save yourself. It’s beyond clear now that this isn’t just a fuck buddies situation to him anymore. It did start out that way though. Two months ago when you two stumbled into bed together, he proposed a friends-with-benefits type of relationship so casually that you would’ve thought he’d had plenty of them in his lifetime. It worked so well, with the two of you meeting up once or twice a week at either your place or his to blow off steam with good sex. It wasn’t until you were a month in that Bucky started to realize he hated the way you’d leave within half an hour of finishing each other off. He hated that you never slept over. He hated that you still had the freedom to talk to other guys, hell, you could even go out on dates with other guys if you wanted and he wouldn’t be able to say shit about it. Because this was nothing. It was just a casual agreement between friends.

Bucky trails his fingers along your calves slowly, taking his time as he decides what he’s going to do with you. Every other time that you’ve been together, he’s let it be a mutually beneficial thing. There was never a time where only one of you pleased the other, because that would’ve defeated the purpose of the arrangement. He would’ve been perfectly content with solely pleasuring you here and there, giving you everything while taking nothing for himself, but you always reciprocated and he never stopped you. But now, he’s going to do exactly what he wants. He’s going to show you what he is to you in the best way that he knows how: by making you come undone for him, by reminding you that no one else has ever or will ever make you feel the way that he can.

As Bucky pulls his hands away from your calves, you hear the sound of his pants dropping to the floor, the sound of his dog tags shifting around his neck and tapping against his bare chest with his movements, and then the sound of a deep sigh leaving his lips. Anticipation courses through your veins and mixes with adrenaline, creating a dangerous compound that only seems to encourage the wetness seeping into your panties. You shift on the bed, wiggling your hips and wishing you could clench your thighs together for even the smallest amount of friction. Bucky, of course, notices you moving and quickly gains control of the situation.

“Impatient, huh? Do you need something?” He questions slyly, letting his hands connect with your calves once again. You’re fooled by his gentle touch, your body not at all expecting his flesh hand to suddenly smack against your ass. “Answer me.” Holy shit. He’s never been quite like this with you before.

“I need you.” You answer, hoping he’ll give you anything in return.

“You don’t even know what I am to you, yet you need me?”

“Bucky…” Your voice trails off as his hands glide further up your legs, past the crooks of your knees and along the sides of your thighs. When both of his hands reach the curve of your ass, he begins pushing the hem of your dress up around your waist. The silence is deafening.

He wasn’t planning to be so rough with you, but as soon as his eyes land on the tiny black thong that was previously hidden beneath your tiny black dress, his hands start functioning on autopilot. A low groan rumbles past his lips as he pulls your panties to the side with his vibranium hand and shoves two fingers into your cunt, without a single breath of a warning.

“BUCKY!” You cry out, arching your back and trying to pull away from him. He moves his vibranium hand to grip your left hip, holding you firmly in place while his fingers are still buried knuckle-deep within you. Giving you little time to adjust, he begins sliding them in and out, in and out, giving himself a chance to feel how wet and tight you are for him. Fuck. It’s going to test every bit of his resolve and self-discipline to get through what he plans to do to you tonight.

“That’s it, say my name.” He encourages you, pumping his fingers in and out at a steady pace. When he leans in and attaches his lips to your clit, you fist the bedding in both hands and squeeze your eyes shut. Breathy moans and curses fall from your lips as his tongue circles over the most sensitive part of your body, all while his two fingers are curling inside of you. You’ve never been one to go careening toward an orgasm with little-to-no effort, but Bucky is skilled. That familiar knot is twisting tighter and tighter in your lower stomach as he relentlessly toys with your pussy. He can tell you’re already close to your first orgasm of the night, and as much as he wants to withhold it until you admit that he means something to you, he wants to see you come undone for him even more.

“Bucky, I’m close.” Your voice is breathless, all of your energy is focused on actively denying yourself of your release. For the briefest second, you wonder why your body won’t just go ahead and cum, but then you realize that you want his permission. You want him to tell you to let go, to cum on his fingers and lips. Bucky fucks his fingers into you a little harder and deeper, reaching a spot that has your eyes rolling back in your head and your toes curling. Another loud moan from you has Bucky digging his vibranium fingers into your hip with enough force to leave bruises. He knows you’re right on the edge, and it takes him only a second to figure out why you’re not letting go. He pulls his head back for a moment but lets his fingers continue their work.

“Do you want to cum for me, baby?” He asks. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice that sends heat rushing to your cheeks. You nod your head fervently and he chuckles at your neediness. “Who gets you this wet? This desperate for release?” Fuck.

“You, Bucky.” You moan out your response as he pulls his fingers nearly all the way out and slides them back in at the slowest pace yet.

“Who else?” He demands to know, picking up the pace once again.

“No one, only you.” Your answer is honest and it earns you his mouth back on your clit. He sucks and licks at it like his life depends on your impending orgasm. He gets you right back to the edge within seconds, before breaking away from your clit momentarily just to say cum for me. Your orgasm washes over you in an instant, your pussy clenching down on his two fingers as you unintentionally grind against his mouth. He flattens his tongue against your clit and lets you take everything you need. After a few more seconds of immense pleasure, the legs and arms that have been so dutifully holding you up are threatening to collapse.

“What am I to you?” Bucky repeats his question from earlier, but still, your answer is the same.

“I don’t know.” Your voice is quieter now, weaker since the first orgasm took so much energy out of you. Bucky shakes his head, though you can’t see him from your current position. He didn’t think you’d have a better answer after just one orgasm, but he’s going to give you a chance after each one anyway.

“Lay on your back.” Bucky commands. You do as you’re told. As you finally make eye contact with him, he can see the thankfulness in your gaze. You were getting tired of holding the same position. Bucky steps forward and places one knee on the bed, his hands sliding up your thighs. His fingers snag along the waistband of your thong before he begins pulling it down your legs. You bend your knees to make it easier, and he slips it off gently before dropping it on the floor with your heels and his clothes. He climbs onto the bed now, your legs instantly spreading to let him between them. He crawls over your body and the new sensation of his warm skin against yours is delicious. You wish he would’ve taken your dress off already. When you feel the outline of his hard cock, still covered by his boxers, pressing against your wet, sensitive cunt, your eyes flutter closed and your legs instinctively wrap around his hips. You’ve always been a sucker for this, for having him pressed against you so close yet not close enough. It’s always made you a bit feral and Bucky’s fully aware of that. A knowing smirk spreads across his features as he puts a little more weight into your position, pressing his cock against you a little harder. When you open your eyes and look up at him, he has to remind himself that he can’t just give in a fuck the shit out of you right now. He has an end goal.

“Why do we still have clothes on?” You ask, referring to your dress and his boxers. Bucky chuckles lowly starts circling his hips against you, drawing a soft hum from your pretty lips. He dips his head down and starts leaving light kisses along the side of your neck. He knows that’s a weakness of yours too, his mouth anywhere on your skin. It’s one of the first tactics he deploys when he wants to fuck but he isn’t sure if you’re up for it or not.

“Do you want our clothes off?” Bucky breathes the question against the skin just below your earlobe and you find yourself having trouble concentrating. He can feel you nod, but he doesn’t actually give a damn about what you want right now. He’s not a monster though, so he’ll give you half of what you want. He pushes himself off of you in one swift movement and stands on the floor beside the bed. You turn your head to watch as he slides his boxers down his legs and kicks them off. They join the pile that consists of the rest of his clothes, your heels, and your thong on the floor. When he returns to his position on top of you, you stick out your bottom lip in a pout over him not removing your dress. He’s quick to lean in and suck that bottom lip in between his teeth, biting down on it lightly before slipping his tongue into your mouth. He always tastes so fucking good, though you can never pinpoint what he tastes like. It’s just him. Honestly, you’d let him spit in your mouth if he wanted to.

Bucky kisses a lot like he fucks, with so much passion that it makes your heart race and your mind reel. It makes you think about how mediocre every other kiss with any other guy was, about how kissing was just a minor part of foreplay until you started kissing him. Now kissing is everything. Your hands travel up his sides and settle on either side of his face as you fight to deepen the kiss. When you suck on his tongue, he groans into your mouth and pulls back. You love the way his lips and nose get pink when he kisses you like that.

“No more kissing.” Bucky rasps. You let out a whine that makes his cock twitch. He loves hearing how needy you are for him, but it’s especially enjoyable when he hears how needy you are just for him to kiss you. He starts grinding his now bare cock along the folds of your pussy with just the right amount of pressure, focusing his efforts on your clit. He probably should’ve used his mouth and fingers again for this one, because he’s far too close to cumming just from feeling how wet you are against his shaft. His cock collects your wetness more and more with each thrust of his hips, and for a second he thinks about just letting the tip slide in. He won’t do it though, not yet. He won’t put his cock inside of you until he’s ready to make you cum for the third time.

“You’re being a tease tonight.” You pout, letting your hands find his hips and using your grasp there to pull him harder against you. He stills himself and you let out a frustrated sigh. Why isn’t he giving you more?

“You’re being greedy. You already came once, you should be saying thank you.” Bucky retorts, pushing himself up with his hands and sitting back on his knees between your legs. Your eyes are quick to zone in on his cock, just as his flesh hand is wrapping around it and giving it a firm stroke from the base to the tip. God, you’ve always loved seeing him touch himself. He doesn’t do it in front of you often. Normally the two of you are quick to get down to business and just fuck, but there have been a few very memorable times where you get to see him stroke his cock right before he guides it inside of you. Your tongue darts out, wetting your bottom lip, and for a second Bucky imagines that same tongue all over his fucking cock. No. This isn’t about him tonight. This is about finally making you see what’s been right in front of you all along.

“Please.” The word leaves your lips so softly, so gently, that Bucky’s hand hesitates around his length. He’s never heard you beg before. You’ve never had a reason to, he always gave you what you needed, before you had to ask. A dark feeling settles within his chest as he realizes he likes it.

“Please?” He repeats the word, as if he doesn’t understand the meaning. You see the way his gaze changes from one of lust to one of pure desire. He wants more.

“Please, Bucky. Fuck me.” You give him the most innocent look you can muster up as you lay there in his bed with your pussy exposed and nearly dripping onto his bedding. He tightens his fist around the base of his cock and scrunches his eyes closed, clearly trying to talk himself down from blowing his load way too fucking soon. If he sits there and looks at you any longer, he won’t last, he won’t be able to make it to his end goal tonight. The only thing he can think of to keep himself on track is something that’ll easily obscure his vision of you.

“No, you’re going to sit on my face.” He says roughly, positioning himself on his back next to you. He looks over at you impatiently, he almost looks offended that you’re not already changing positions for him. You’re quick to sit up and swing a leg over his torso, straddling his chest but not making any contact with him yet. “I said my face, sweetheart.”

“I know, but—” You’re about to point out that he’s already eaten you out once tonight and you haven’t even had the chance to reciprocate, when he abruptly grasps your thighs and pulls you over his head. “Fuck.” You mumble the curse word out as he easily pulls you down, your cunt making contact with his mouth as he dives in. You can’t form a single thought as his tongue delves into you. He fucks you with it almost as thoroughly as he did with his fingers just a few minutes ago, thrusting it in and out while your clit brushes against the tip of his nose. His hands slide back to grip your ass and you have to brace your hands on the headboard to keep from putting your full weight on his face. He can feel your resistance and he hates it. He lifts you up an inch just to chastise you.

“I said sit on my fucking face, not hover over it.” He pulls you down again but this time he brings his right hand in to rub harsh circles against your clit as his tongue continues its work on your entrance. You’re panting and breaking out in a sweat within a few seconds. You still haven’t fully sat on his face, so he’s going to give you one more punishment and see if you’ll give in. His vibranium hand moves away from you and the swings back once more, slapping your ass so hard that you fall forward a bit, your cunt landing firmly against Bucky’s mouth. He hums against your pussy in approval, and the sound sends vibrations through your core. Fuck. You’re going to cum a second time and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. When he sets just the right pressure and pace with his flesh fingers on your clit, and his tongue starts lapping into you like eating pussy is his fucking career, your orgasm hits you like a freight train. Your chest is heaving and your knuckles are turning white as your death grip on the headboard threatens to bruise your palms.

“Fuck, I’m cumming. Oh my god, Bucky!” You cry the words out so loudly, yet your voice sounds so far away in your own ears as your orgasm short circuits your entire nervous system. After a few seconds, you realize you’re grinding lazy circles against Bucky’s mouth, and he’s letting you. “Shit.” You mutter, using all of your remaining strength to try to dismount his face. He grasps your thighs to stop you, and then places a long, gentle kiss right against your clit, sucking on it in the slightest bit as he pulls back. Then, he lets you go. You collapse on the bed next to him, your breasts threatening to spill over the low-cut neckline of your dress from tonight’s activities thus far.

“What am I to you?” Bucky asks a third time, rolling onto his side to face you. He gazes at you with a much gentler expression than earlier as he brushes a few loose strands of hair away from your face. He thinks you look so damn perfect like this. You always glow after sex, but after two orgasms you could be mistaken for the fucking sun.

“Bucky…” Your voice trails off as you desperately search your brain for the answer he’s looking for. He obviously doesn’t want you to say that he’s your fuck buddy, and maybe he isn’t. You probably shouldn’t feel as jealous as you do when he ends up on missions with Sharon instead of you, that’s not very fuck-buddy-friendly of you. You also probably shouldn’t hate the few minutes after sex when he’s catching his breath in bed while you’re pulling your clothes on, hoping he won’t be annoyed with how long it takes you to get out of his apartment. Maybe you’re more than fuck buddies. But still, you don’t know what to call it. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure.” Bucky repeats slowly, as if he’s tasting the words. His facial expression remains gentle, but the light in his eyes darkens. “Take off your dress.” He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You push yourself up and sit on the side of the bed before pulling the dress over your head and letting it fall to the floor. You haven’t even had the chance to lay back down when he starts moving to sit right behind you, letting his legs come around either side of you so your back presses against his chest. Ah, you see where he’s going with this. The wall that you’re both now facing has a tall standing mirror, giving you the perfect view of your naked body in front of his in the dim light of his bedroom. “Look at yourself.” Bucky coos, cupping your chin with his flesh hand and tilting your head up the tiniest bit. “So fucking pretty.”

His words have you blushing for some reason. Of all of the times you’ve been naked in his bed, you don’t recall him ever saying sweet things to you just for the sake of saying them. Maybe he thought them, you wouldn’t know, but he sure as hell never said them. It sends a wave of warmth throughout your body, and your already pink-tinged cheeks take on another layer of blush. With almost no effort, Bucky places his hands on your hips and pushes you up to a standing position. He then tucks his legs between yours and then grips his cock in his hand. He gives it a few slow pumps before angling you above it and then guiding you to sit down. Right on his fucking dick. The moan that leaves your lips as your head falls back against his shoulder could’ve come from amateur porn. The penetration feels as if it’s happening in slow motion, as you take one-fourth, then half, then three-fourths, and then…his entire fucking cock inside of you.

“That’s it, baby, all of it.” Bucky begins peppering kisses across your neck and right shoulder, but his eyes are locked on the mirror, staring at where the two of you are connected. “Whose fingers make you cum?” He asks, as his right hand skims down your side, straight to your clit. He uses his middle and ring fingers to start gently massaging your already-sensitive clit. You lift your head to meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Yours.” You answer quietly, slowly beginning to slide up and down his length. You’re only moving an inch at a time, not yet adjusted nor ready to fuck his cock how it deserves to be fucked.

“Good girl.” Why does such simple praise from him make you feel like you’re having a mini orgasm on the spot? Jesus. You start fucking half of his cock now, lifting yourself up and then sitting back down, but not daring to pull off anywhere near the tip. “Whose mouth makes you cum?”

“Yours.” You say again, a little louder this time as the pleasure begins building low in your stomach once more.

“That’s right, you’re doing so good for me, baby.” Bucky picks up the pace with his hand. His work on your clit is making stars flash in your vision and your pussy continuous clench around his cock. “And who do you let cum in this perfect little pussy? Huh? Who does this belong to?” He asks, his eyes once again drifting down in the mirror until they land on where his cock is disappearing inside of you. He groans as you sit fully down on it again.

“You, Bucky.” You moan, now fully adjusted to his thick length. You start bouncing on it, unable to control yourself any longer. Bucky’s having none of that. He quickly slides his flesh hand up your stomach, between your breasts, and wraps it around your neck. He isn’t choking you, he’s merely gaining your full attention with an authoritative move. You freeze, your eyes locking onto his in the mirror as you sit there with his entire length inside of you.

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you, and then I’m going to cum inside you so fucking deep that you might end up pregnant.” His filthy words give you as much pleasure as any touch, any kiss, any physical thing he could ever do to you. Your pussy tightens around him at the promise that he’s just spoken. “Now tell me, why would you be here right now, letting me do that? What am I to you?”

“Everything.”

Finally, you gave him the right answer.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #bucky barnes x you #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes smut #smut #mcu smut #marvel smut #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes

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artist-issues · 1 year

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And another thing.

The original The Little Mermaid is about understanding. One of the main plot devices is that the witch takes what from Ariel, ladies and gentlemen?

Her voice.

Ariel did not leave the sea “for a boy.”

Ariel left the sea to be understood. Because for the whole first part of the movie, we’re shown hints of what her life is already like, and how she’s tried to be understood but nobody’s listening or communicating.

She’s introduced by describing a ship as amazing and wonderful, while her fish friend clearly does not understand and wants to get out of there.

Even her best friend doesn’t share her love for another world.

Her first interaction with her father, count how many times he’s speaking over her.

He has this prejudice against humans, and because she’s disobeyed him, he won’t listen to any of her evidence that they may not all be bad.

Even when she has a voice and a cavern full of proof that humans aren’t all barbarians, her father won’t listen to her, so he can’t understand.

And the truth is, she doesn’t have that much proof. She knows that humans are clever and make “wonderful things,” and that’s what she bases her belief in them on. But those beautiful objects, and her pretty ideals, are not enough to make her abandon her family and culture and world.

When she sings and talks about why she wants to be Part of That World, it’s because she wants to understand it. And, subconsciously, Ariel also hopes to be understood up there. Where they make cool devices, and maybe daughters can stand instead of being reprimanded. There’s this hope for freedom and being known associated with the surface.

But it’s not until she meets Eric that those ideals are really, actually, proven true.

Ariel sees Eric out on the sea exploring instead of staying in a palace on his birthday. He gets a gift from the closest person to him, and it’s clear that even the closest person to him doesn’t understand his tastes—he doesn’t want an over-dramatic statue of himself. He sticks to his ideals in an argument that somewhere out there, is the right girl for him. But he doesn’t have to leave the argument in frustrated tears. In the end, he risks his life to not only watch out for his friend, but nearly dies going back to a burning ship to save his dog.

Eric personifies everything Ariel has always idealized about the Human World—AND he might understand her.

In her one observation of him, she finds out that he, a human, is:

A Prince, but nobody can tell him what to do.

More interested in activity and exploration than palace ceremony.

Unable to relate to his closest companions.

Handsome—beautiful, not a savage.

Criticized for “silly, romantic notions” but sticks to the idea of something wonderful out there in the great beyond.

Brave, self-sacrificial, and compassionate to animals.

Eric is, all at once, everything Ariel always hoped a human could be, and yet still so like herself. They have twin souls.

She’d rather be exploring human ships, he’d rather be out exploring the sea. She believes the surface world is good and beautiful, he believes in the girl of his dreams, no matter what anyone says. She has nobody who gets excited about new adventures, and he has nobody who gets excited about new adventures.

When she sees him, she falls in love not just with his upstanding character, or even the human world he represents—she falls in love with the hope that he might understand her in away nobody under the sea does.

Then the ironic thing is, she’s got to make him understand who she is and what she should mean to him without a voice. And unfortunately, that’s really hard because he is suddenly associating his dream girl with a voice and a magical rescue.

As close as they may get when she finally does meet him face to face and gets herself human legs, Ariel and Eric can’t be together until he knows who she is, for real. After all, how can love be true without understanding?

And we’re not DONE with understanding. Because even after he learns what and who she is and still commits to her and saves her and loves her, Ariel’s back to having a tail. She’s back to being in a world where he can’t be.

Except now, Triton is the one who understands. He finally sees what they’ll do for each other—and that Eric, ”savage, spineless, harpooning fish eater with no regard” saved his daughter. He sees that they love each other and are each worthy of the other’s love.

It’s not until Triton understands what Ariel has known and felt all along that he gives her human legs the right way.

That’s the point of Disney’s The Little Mermaid. “True love is found in understanding and sacrificing for one another.”

Triton had the sacrificing idea down, but he didn’t have understanding. Eric had understanding, but he didn’t have the chance to sacrifice for it.

Ariel has both. She understands that Eric’s world is not only barbaric, but beautiful, and she’s willing to sacrifice her tail to be understood in that world.

That is what this movie is all about. And because they’re probably willing to sacrifice critical scenes, like the Prince saving the day (which is important because it provides Triton with a new understanding of humans) or the girl leaving the ocean to be with the boy (which is important because what she really wants is to be understood) the creators of the Live Action Little Mermaid are going to miss the point and ruin the movie.

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mikavlcs · 1 year

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Ricochet

Pairing(s): Wednesday Addams x fem!telekinetic!reader, platonic!Bianca Barclay x reader

Summary: An outburst ruins Wednesday’s relationship with you. The journey to reconciliation is long and hard, but she eventually finds her way there

Warnings: same as last time, ooc!wednesday

Word count: 6.2k

Notes: here is the semi-highly requested wednesday pov of my first story! i recommend reading the first part because i skim over some events to avoid repetition. hopefully you guys enjoy<3

Masterlist | Reader’s Pov

Wednesday was furious. No, she was well beyond fury at this point.

There wasn’t a word in any man-made language that could describe how fucking angry she was.

She had been throwing herself into her investigation for months now to try and find her stalker. He disappeared after the initial text at the end of her first semester, reappeared at the beginning of the second semester to taunt her for a few days, and now he had gone silent again.

Months of searching for clues and chasing leads only for them to go cold. Months of intellectual and emotional turmoil for absolutely no results. It was taxing.

Tonight was her last chance. The only hint she had left about her stalker’s identity. And it was a dead end. She had hit another brick wall while her stalker undoubtedly laughed from the shadows.

Her frustration couldn’t be put into words. It could only be felt as she stomped through the halls to her dorm. She could tell Thing felt it too by the way he lay still in her bag as if any movement would set her off. For all she knew, it would.

Her dorm came into view along with your withdrawn form. Instinctively, her eyes were drawn to your face, and she could tell by the drooping of your eyes and furrow of your brows that something had happened. Any other day she would be more than willing to listen to you and offer what little comfort she knew how to give, but right now she wanted to do anything but.

Electing to ignore you, she entered her dorm and threw her bag to the floor, barely registering Thing scampering off to her closet. The soft click of her door closing told her that you had followed her inside. Her fists clenched.

She wanted—no, needed you to leave. The white-hot anger in her chest was building steadily and she felt like a ticking time bomb. Any little thing would be enough to make her explode, and she wasn’t sure what she would do in the aftermath.

She prayed you would just leave her to suffer through her failure alone but you were far too kind for that. Instead, you spoke up.

“Do, um… do you need anything?”

During the many times Wednesday looked back at this moment, she could never pinpoint what exactly it was about the question that upset her. All she knew is that it was enough to detonate her.

The outburst itself was hazy to her, even while it was happening. She vaguely remembered turning around and yelling, but mostly she recalled the rush of relief she felt after expelling so much anger, how much lighter she felt.

But the moments afterward, she could still see clear as day.

The shock on your face, and the unmitigated hurt that crept in after. The tears in your eyes. The way her own relief mutated to horror when she realized what she had done.

She had turned her own world upside down in mere moments and she couldn’t collect herself enough to right it before you rushed out the door.

The only thing she could do was call out your name before the door slammed shut.

Wednesday was frozen. Somewhere, she could hear Thing feverish tapping something to her, but she paid him no mind. She couldn’t, not with the way her thoughts were racing. A million different things ran through her mind, but one thought kept rising to the surface.

She had hurt you.

She hadn’t meant to, but intentions meant nothing in the aftermath of a tragedy. And now she had to face the consequences.

Sleep eluded her completely that night.

She laid in bed for what felt like an eternity, replaying your conversation and yet it seemed as if she blinked and suddenly sunlight was shining through the window. She shook herself out of her reverie and got ready for class.

Thing was noticeably absent. He was most likely upset with her for what happened. She couldn’t blame him, not when she felt the same.

Throughout her first class, she couldn’t help but watch you. You were notably more quiet and almost standoffish, avoiding people more than usual. She hadn’t seen you smile once the whole day. It pained her to think that her words had wounded you so deeply.

She kept her eyes on you all day, monitoring you discreetly. Or so she thought. During your last class, you turned and glared at her with such rage, such vitriol that she had to force her eyes away.

She was used to being the target of people’s resentment. It usually overjoyed her to see how negatively she was able to affect people with her mere presence, but it was different this time. This time, it was you, and seeing you look at her with so much anger made something bubble up in her chest.

Guilt.

Guilt so devastating, so overpowering that she couldn’t at least try to act on it.

An hour was all she allowed herself before she went to your dorm.

The walk was familiar, one she could do in her sleep, but this time she was aware of every step she took. Every inch closer to you made her tenser. Her mind was turbulent, in complete disarray. She was anxious, she realized. She had no clue what she was going to say.

Thing had yet to make an appearance so she couldn’t fall back on his guidance or companionship. She was left to deal with this alone.

For the first time in her life, she had no idea what was going to happen next. And as much as she tried to deny it, that scared her.

And it turned out that she was right to be scared because you refused to listen to her. You didn’t even open the door. She couldn’t be upset with you, she knew this was her fault. But she had to try.

“Listen,” she started again, “it is truly urgent. I…”

There was so much she wanted to say but nothing came out. An apology was sitting on her tongue, waiting to be said, and yet the idea of really facing what she did and opening up to you held her back.

“Thing has something important to tell you.”

The words tasted bitter in her mouth. Shame bloomed in her stomach.

Coward.

A hard scoff sounded from the other side of the door.

“Yeah? Well, tell Thing that if he ever needs to talk about something then my door is always open to him.”

The finality in your tone told her what she already knew: she had failed.

The conversation had reached its definitive end, but she didn’t move. Her feet were planted in the hall outside your door, at odds with herself about what to do next. Part of her wanted to speak up, to tell you the truth. And yet another part of her, the one she let lead her through most of her life, wanted to just leave and avoid confronting her feelings completely.

She stood outside your door for minutes on end, a war raging between her emotions and her pride. But in the end, her pride stood victorious, and she walked away, heart heavier than it’d ever been before.

The following weeks were long.

She didn’t bother trying to talk to you again after her disastrous visit, knowing it would end the same way. You made it clear that you didn’t want to talk to her, so she wouldn’t force you to do so.

Despite that, she couldn’t bring herself to fully withdraw from you. After months of your constant presence, your sudden absence from her life was surprisingly difficult for her to deal with.

It felt as if everywhere she looked, there was an empty spot where you would usually inhabit. On her bed during her writing hour, the seat next to her in class, the space beside her at her lunch table—all places you should be. But you weren’t anymore.

There was an emptiness in her chest that she didn’t think even the joys of torturing Pugsley could fill.

So she resolved to keep watch over you from afar. She told herself that it was to make sure that no one hurt you or that you didn’t do anything stupid. But she knew better, and so did Thing.

He wasn’t on board with the idea at first, still mad about what Wednesday had said, but after she brought up the group of werewolves that bullied you, he hesitantly joined her. But they both knew this wasn��t about some stupid mutts.

Still though, he preferred to spend more of his free time with Enid, and she allowed it for the time being.

Enid herself had also been acting a bit differently. She was still bright, bubbly, and all-too friendly with Wednesday, but it was clear she knew something happened. The werewolf would cautiously avoid talking about you to Wednesday, quickly changing the topic whenever your name came up in conversation during lunch or class.

Sometimes, she’d catch herself staring for just a little too long and when she turned her attention back to what she was doing, she’d see Enid giving her a certain look. It wasn’t exactly pity, but it was close enough to make her vehemently uncomfortable. She tried to glare, cold and deadly, but her roommate had long since stopped being afraid of her, so she just let it be.

After school, she would look for you. Only to make sure you were safe, of course. If she wasn’t able to go for whatever reason then she sent Thing to keep an eye on you.

You spent a lot of time in the library for the first week, but then your schedule abruptly became more erratic.

She saw you head into the woods a few times after your last period and though her curiosity was peaked, she never had the heart to follow you. Some things deserved to remain private.

Days were long and arduous, but weeks passed, nonetheless.

Exactly one month after you stormed out of Wednesday’s dorm, Wednesday saw you use your powers for the first time. And it happened at lunch of all times.

She was sitting at her usual table, idly listening to Enid and her friends gossiping about something she didn’t care about. Her textbook lay open in front of her, completely neglected. She brought it along to try and distract herself from thinking about you.

Needless to say, it wasn’t working very well.

Her eyes were drawn to your solitary figure across the quad but she resisted. She had to study and she wasn’t entirely sure she could handle seeing you now. Especially given what day it was.

It had officially been a month since Wednesday’s outburst, an entire month without you.

She wished she could say it got easier with time, that the ache lessened with each day but that would be a lie. In fact, it was the exact opposite of Wednesday’s reality. Each day was more torturous than the last, the hole in my chest growing wider every day you were gone.

But she couldn’t think about that—about you now. She had studying to do. She was only two weeks ahead in her classes when she was usually at least a month ahead and that bothered her. So she forced her eyes down to the passages of text and made herself focus on her studies. And she succeeded.

Nearly.

A familiar, obnoxious voice cut through the noise, instinctively making her tense. She looked over and her fingers twitched.

Adrian. The pathetic werewolf that loved to make your life at Nevermore hell.

She couldn’t make out what he was saying but he was looming over you, his equally inept friends sneering behind him.

Her fists clenched. But they relaxed when her gaze settled on you. Because, unlike every other time she had witnessed this, you weren’t scared or resigned. No, you looked more annoyed than anything, either staring up at him blankly or ignoring him entirely in favor of your book. The sight made her brows raise slightly.

No matter how hard he tried to taunt you, you gave him no leverage—just a dead-eyed stare. Instead of just giving up, he riled up even further, his voice raising to a yell that echoed across the quad. The students began to quiet as they took notice of Adrian’s tantrum and Wednesday’s patience was quickly running thin.

She shared a look with a worried Enid, who looked ready to pop her claws out at any moment. Thing had also crawled out of her bag up onto the table, the three of them silently agreeing to step in if things went too far.

He reached for the knife on your lunch tray, and she had enough. She didn’t care if you hated her for interfering, she was going to kill him.

She went to push herself up when suddenly, Adrian froze. There was seemingly no reason for it, he simply stopped.

Puzzled, Wednesday observed the scene before her, trying to put the pieces together. They fell in place only moments later. Her mind flashed back to a few months before, when you finally mustered the courage to tell her about the powers you inherited from your parents.

Telekinesis.

You were doing that to him.

She watched as you leisurely read your book, ignoring Adrian’s friend’s pleas to let him go. The whole quad watched on as you finally stood and approached Adrian, like a predator stalking up to its prey. You threatened him like she did so many times before and she was positively mesmerized by the sight.

The boys ran off the moment you let Adrian go in a depressing flurry of cowardly panic. Wednesday felt her lips twitch.

There was only silence in the aftermath. All eyes were on you and Wednesday wondered if everyone was as entranced as she was.

You didn’t seem to care either way. You said nothing, only used your powers to put the knife back on your tray and turned back to your book. Not a care in the world for the dozens of stunned onlookers you left in your wake.

Hushed whispers began to engulf the quad as minutes passed, but Wednesday paid them no mind.

In front of her, Enid giggled and, much to her embarrassment, Wednesday nearly jumped at the sound. She had forgotten there were other people with her.

“That was amazing,” Enid gushed. A chorus of different positive answers rose from around the table and Wednesday couldn’t help but agree with them.

It was amazing. You were amazing.

Sure, she knew about your abilities, but she had never actually seen you use them—no one had until today. But now that she had, she was obsessed. That must have been why you spent so much time in the forest, she realized. To practice using your telekinesis in private. Suddenly, she wished she had followed you.

For the rest of lunch, she was left to marvel at what she had seen, dark eyes never straying from you as you read.

The incident remained on replay in Wednesday’s head for days.

It appeared that the rest of the school was in this predicament as well. Enid, of course, raved about your actions on her blog, informing anyone that hadn’t been in the quad of your power. Adrian and his pack of dimwits disappeared, much to Wednesday’s unending amusement.

Good riddance.

Overnight, you became the biggest gossip of the week. All eyes were on you and Wednesday couldn’t help but notice the similarities between your current situation and her when she first arrived at Nevermore.

She witnessed the students part like the Red Sea when you walked down the halls between classes. Loud conversations quieted to whispers as you passed and rose back up in volume when you left. Rumors, both bad and good, began swirling around you.

(Enid took it upon herself to try and disprove the bad ones on her blog. Wednesday just glared at anyone she heard gossiping about you. It was incredibly effective.)

The best part was that you didn’t care, at least not outwardly. Only a month ago, you would’ve hidden from this much attention, but now you seemed not to even notice. Disinterest was a good look on you, she noted.

The only downside of this was that it made any efforts to get close or approach without you instantly noticing her much more difficult. Wednesday didn’t want to risk it since she now knew that she had gotten a glimpse of your abilities.

She didn’t think you would use your powers on her, but it was still something she had to consider. So she elected to wait for a natural opportunity to get close to you.

And that opportunity came in an unexpected place: Botany class.

Wednesday despised Botany class. Both because it brought up bad memories from last semester and because the new teacher, Mr. Emerson annoyed her. Badly. His general happy demeanor and gratingly chipper voice made her want to commit unspeakable offenses. Worst of all, the overexcited imbecile loved group projects.

When he announced that he would be assigning another one, it was met with a predictable amount of displeasure from the class. Usually, Wednesday would be among them, but not this time.

One of the only tolerable things about Emerson’s group projects was his tendency to pair students with similar grades together. Given Wednesday’s immaculate grades, she was always put with someone with similar educational prospects.

You weren’t normally one of those people since you always had average grades in the subject. But your scores had risen over the semester, meaning the chances of you being paired with Wednesday were high.

Wednesday sat up straighter in her chair. This was possibly the best situation she could have found herself in now.

You being bound to her by educational obligation meant that she would be given ample opportunity to finally talk to you. It was perfect.

She impatiently waited for Emerson to announce the pairings, eyes instinctually drifting back toward your table.

For just a moment, she dared to believe that the stars would align for her here—just this once.

Then Emerson announced that you would be paired with her ex-archnemesis, Bianca Barclay.

Her jaw clenched as she stared into the space in front of her, not bothering to acknowledge her partner sheepishly approaching her table. She was foolish to waste her time with something as flimsy as hope.

She grimly watched you and Bianca nod at each other. You seemed satisfied with the news, probably because you hadn’t been paired with her.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if some part of you was as dissatisfied as she was.

Something unexpected happened after the project.

Wednesday had noticed you were spending time with Bianca but thought nothing of it. You two were partners after all. It was most likely just for the class project. Then, with no apparent reason to Wednesday, Bianca was suddenly everywhere with you.

She sat next to you in class, you joined her table at lunch, you could both be seen hanging around campus together after classes. She had even dropped Wednesday as her fencing partner to partner with you.

It hit Wednesday unexpectedly hard.

It was utterly maddening to watch you use your powers to get a pen Bianca dropped in class or see you laughing together without a care in the world at lunch.

And it was even worse because Wednesday knew she had no right to be upset about it. You weren’t hers anymore, so she had absolutely no say in whom you chose to spend time with. She knew that. She really did.

But something about seeing you so close to Bianca of all people—someone she couldn’t exactly call a friend but also certainly wasn’t an enemy—was too much for her.

Watching the two of you in fencing class was especially difficult. You had never been the best at fencing, having little to no interest, but now you seemed engrossed in the activity as Bianca helped you get into the on guard position. Her hands were on your arms and legs as she got you into position and Wednesday could do nothing but grip her sabre in her ire.

The other students avoided her, and they were smart to do so because she likely would have found a way to maim them now, even with their protective gear on.

She lasted about three classes before she cracked.

You were smiling and laughing in a way she hadn’t seen for nearly two months now and while she was glad to see you in higher spirits, she did not like that you were happier because of her.

As soon as the bell rang, she was on her way over to you, her determination and anger likely apparent in every step she took.

For a brief moment, your eyes met hers and Wednesday felt electricity course through her veins. It had been so long since you had truly looked at her. The eye contact was invigorating. But unfortunately, it didn’t last long because Bianca followed your line of sight and immediately jumped into action.

She watched Bianca drag you away, a new, unpleasant burning sensation making itself known in her chest. As if she had ingested acid and it was eating away at her insides slowly.

It was jealousy, she realized with an internal jolt.

She was jealous. Of Bianca fucking Barclay.

The epiphany nearly made Wednesday break out into hives. This had gone on too long, she decided. Whether you wanted to see her or not, she would find a way to make this right.

It took Wednesday nearly three days to reach an embarrassingly simple conclusion.

She had been searching for a previously unthought of solution. Goody was a witch, so she thought perhaps an incantation or spell of some kind would be of use.

When, in reality, the answer had been in front of her the entire time. Or, more accurately, it had been staring at her from atop her desk.

Wednesday was a writer (still unpublished, but that wasn’t important) so it made the most sense for her to translate her complex feelings into written words.

The letter took two days to finish. She dedicated as much time to it as she could, even putting aside her novel for the days it took to complete, but she struggled much more than she anticipated.

Narrating Viper’s woeful adventures and hardships was easy, but something about transcribing her own feelings and thoughts into words evaded her. It just didn’t come naturally to Wednesday, and it showed.

Countless attempts ended up crumpled in her overflowing garbage can. She grimaced at the amount of paper being wasted, but it needed to be perfect. And eventually, she wrote one that was as close to perfection as she believed possible.

The moment the letter was finished, she put it in an envelope and called Thing to help her deliver it, ignoring the inquisitive look Enid was giving her from her side of the room. She didn’t want to waste another second.

She made the trip to your dorm in record time, pausing before your door. You were rarely in your dorm after classes these days, but she wanted to be safe.

She knocked. No answer. She nodded at Thing, who was resting on her shoulder, and extended her arm for him. Thing crawled down her arm and grabbed onto the doorknob but hesitated. Wednesday gave him a look.

“You wanted me to apologize, now I’m apologizing. I’m not going to take anything, I will simply leave the envelope on the bed and we will leave. Breaking and entering isn’t even a serious crime anyways,” Wednesday muttered, fishing the lockpick out of her pocket and giving it to the appendage. “Now hurry up, we don’t know when she’ll be back.”

With that, Thing got to work, fiddling around with the tool until the lock clicked, and the door opened. He hopped off the knob as Wednesday walked inside, immediately climbing up to your bed. Wednesday took a moment to look around the familiar room.

It had been a while since she’d been there, but it looked relatively the same. Little things were moved here and there but it remained mostly true to her memory. She took a step toward your bed when something on her right caught her eye.

On the wall just above your desk was a piece of paper. It was rather crudely hung onto the wall by what looked like a pen.

The reasonable part of her told her to leave it alone, but the detective within her couldn’t dismiss a possible clue.

She crept forward and braced her hand on the wall, careful not to touch the paper as she swiftly read through its contents. The letter, it turned out, was from your parents and it was appalling. How any parent could say such abhorrent things to their child, she didn’t know but it made her want to pay them a visit and test out her favorite torture methods on them.

Wednesday read through it again, committing every word to memory to quote back when she got her hands on your parents, but her eyes kept getting caught on one word.

Pathetic.

It was repeated a few times in the letter, making it stand out but it resonated with her for another reason. Because when she read it, she was taken back to that night when she hurt you so badly and she realized why that insult made her pause.

She had said that. She had called you the same thing your parents did.

Startled, Wednesday stepped back, her mind racing. This explained a lot—the recent change in your behavior, your willingness to use your powers, why you avoided Wednesday so intensely.

Suddenly, the letter in her hands felt inadequate. With this new information in mind, Wednesday made a decision.

“Change of plans. We’re leaving,” she marched to the door, envelope held so tightly in her grasp that it began to crease. Thing remained on the bed, confusion apparent in his stance. Wednesday looked back, exasperated. “I will tell you what’s going on later. Come on.”

Thing hurried off the bed and over to Wednesday, taking his rightful place on her shoulder as she walked out of your dorm.

Enid was gone when she reentered their dorm, likely off with Yoko and Divina. Wednesday was admittedly thankful for her absence. As much as she had grown to care for the multi-colored werewolf, she could still be a lot at times and she needed peace right now.

Silently, Wednesday stationed herself in her chair in front of her typewriter. Thing jumped off her shoulder and rounded on her, about to ask what was going on, but one look at her face had him running off to her bed.

Wednesday never liked unexpected developments in her cases and that remained true now. Your parents’ letter took her completely by surprise. It recontextualized everything.

The damage she had done was unforeseeable and she saw now that a letter alone, no matter how beautifully written, would be insufficient. You deserved more than a piece of paper after what she’d done.

Wednesday looked down at the envelope in her hand. It contained so much of how she felt and yet it simultaneously said so little in the grand scheme of things.

Because even apart from her regrets, she had so much she wanted to tell you now. She wanted to tell you how proud she was to see you stand up to Adrian and his friends, how incredible your abilities were, how good you looked while using them. But before she could do any of that, she knew she owed you an apology—a real one.

One delivered from her own mouth rather than through stationery.

But you were still avoiding her like the black plague. Approaching you herself had already failed. Deep down, she knew what she had to do. If she wanted an audience with you, she would have to do something she despised.

Ask for help.

A firm knock cut through the silence of the hallway.

Wednesday waited patiently, sparing another look around the corridor to make sure nobody she knew was around to see her. The sound of approaching footsteps brought her attention back in front of her.

The door opened to reveal a casually clothed Bianca Barclay, whose expression instantly hardened at the sight of Wednesday.

“What the hell do you want, Addams?” Bianca asked, an aggression she hadn’t been on the receiving end of since her first semester present in her tone. Wednesday paid no mind to it.

“I have an important matter to discuss with you.”

Bianca laughed. “No.”

The siren began to shut the door but Wednesday shoved her foot in the doorway to prevent it from closing.

“Move, Wednesday.”

Bianca tried to kick her foot out of the way. Wednesday didn’t budge.

“No. I need to talk to you,” Wednesday said, moving to make eye contact with the taller girl once more. Bianca tried to push the door closed. When she gained no traction, she sighed.

“You’re not going to leave me alone about this are you?”

“No,” Wednesday deadpanned.

Bianca stared for a moment, then opened the door. Wednesday strode inside and stood by Bianca’s desk, hands poised behind her back as Bianca sat down on her bed.

“What do you want, Wednesday?”

“I have a feeling you already know what I’d like to discuss with you,” Wednesday stated, unblinking eyes boring into her former adversary. Bianca was giving Wednesday a hard glare. Not nearly menacing enough to compare to Wednesday’s own, but an admirable effort, nonetheless.

“You know she doesn’t want to see you.”

“I simply need to speak with her.”

Bianca snickered mirthlessly. “Yeah, because that went so well the last few times, right?”

Wednesday bitterly swallowed the myriad of insults on her tongue. She supposed she deserved that. And pissing Bianca off further wouldn’t help her case.

Bianca was about as resistant as Wednesday expected her to be. The siren was almost as stubborn as she was.

The logical part of her knew what needed to be done, no matter how much she dreaded it. In order to get her counterpart to listen, she would have to do something downright deplorable: tell Bianca the truth.

She took a deep breath. God, emotions were embarrassing. But even just the chance to talk to you again made it worth it, so she pushed the lingering humiliation down and opened herself up. Just a little bit.

“Listen, I know that I hurt her badly. What I did—what I said has haunted me in the weeks since it happened. My intentions are not nefarious. I truly just want a chance to apologize to her in person,” Wednesday’s fists clenched, fighting every instinct to roll her eyes as she forced out a final, “Please.”

Bianca stayed silent even after Wednesday finished her plea. Seconds turned to minutes and Wednesday was nearly about to walk away when Bianca sighed and pulled out her phone. Wednesday’s brows furrowed, curiously regarding the siren as she typed something out.

Bianca set her phone down and met Wednesday’s questioning gaze. “I asked her to meet me at the library tomorrow at 4:30. You better give her the apology she deserves.”

“I will,” Wednesday asserted, resolute. Bianca nodded.

“Good. Now get out, I have things to do besides listen to your begging.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched, but she spun on her heels without comment. She paused by the door, turned back. “Thank you, Bianca.”

Surprise flashed in the siren’s eyes but her expression remained stony. “This is your only chance, Addams. If you fuck it up, I’m not helping you again.”

Wednesday gave her a sharp nod and left the dorm.

Wednesday was at the library thirty minutes before your scheduled meetup.

She tasked Thing with keeping the door locked and standing guard. Wednesday herself lingered behind some shelves in a corner of the library, awaiting your arrival.

The seconds felt like hours as she stood in waiting, the hard bookshelf against her back grounding her. She felt as if all of her nerve endings were attached to live wire. Wednesday couldn’t remember the last time she was this nervous about anything. Perhaps she never had been.

You showed up at 4:20, early as always. She used the extra ten minutes to further prepare herself for the conversation. She couldn’t mess it up this time. This was her only shot.

At exactly 4:30, she walked over and revealed herself to you.

It started as catastrophicly as she feared it would, but somehow, she got you to stay. You gave her five minutes of your time and she wasn’t going to waste it.

So she swallowed her pride, tore down her walls, and apologized to you with everything she had. Her speech went above and beyond what she initially wrote out. Once she started, she just couldn’t stop. The floodgates were open, and all of her emotions came pouring out to you.

By the time she was finished, she could only hope that she didn’t go over the allotted five minutes.

You were quiet after she finished speaking, enough to daunt her. She offered you an out, convinced you would take it and never talk to her again. But that wasn’t what happened.

Against all her expectations, against all odds, you forgave her.

One more chance was what you told her and she took those words to heart. This was her last chance and she refused to squander it.

In the moment, she had no real reaction to your forgiveness, she couldn’t muster one truthfully. The intense bout of emotional honesty had drained her. When she finally regained a modicum of her composure, she hesitantly wrapped her arms around you, resting her head over your heart.

Later, she would be embarrassed by the tears that gathered in her eyes when she felt you return the embrace, but in the moment she couldn’t bring herself to care.

The feeling of your arms around her erupted a wildfire within her and for the first time in months, she basked in the flames.

Eventually, she let go of you and you both reluctantly left the library with promises to see the other the next day.

Thing eagerly approached her the moment she opened the door, tapping out “what happened?” the whole way back to her dorm but she stayed quiet.

Expelling so many emotions in such a short amount of time drained her. She decided to just tell Thing and Enid at the same time so she wouldn’t need to talk any more than she had to.

Enid was ecstatic that you were back on good terms, as was Thing. The hand wasted no time scurrying off to your dorm, giving Wednesday a gentle pat on the way out. Enid on the other hand jumped on Wednesday, wrapping her in a tight hug. Wednesday rolled her eyes but allowed the contact. If Enid noticed the extra five seconds Wednesday waited before shoving her off, she didn’t say anything.

The next day, she woke feeling lighter than she had in a while.

It was a Tuesday so unfortunately, your schedules didn’t intersect much. She went about her day as usual, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit distracted.

She was finally on her way to lunch—on her way to see you—when someone fell into step beside her.

‘I heard your talk went well,” Bianca said, perfectly matching her strides. Wednesday nodded.

“Indeed. I suppose I should thank you again for your assistance.”

Bianca said nothing. The siren stopped just before they reached their destination, pulling Wednesday to a halt as well. Wednesday looked up at the taller girl questioningly.

“I’m happy for the both of you. Really, I am. But, Wednesday, if you hurt her again, I will use my siren song and make you tear your heart out of your chest with your bare hands.”

Wednesday’s lips twitched, slightly impressed by the threat. She stepped toward the siren.

“If I ever do, I will tear it out myself. No siren song required.”

Bianca stared for a long moment then nodded, and they went their separate ways.

Wednesday stepped into the quad and saw you at her table, listening to Enid’s overly excited rambling about something. Thing sat on the table between you two, apparently also invested in whatever gossip was happening.

Your eyes met hers over Enid’s shoulder and you gave her a small smile as she rounded the table and settled in her usual spot beside you.

“Wednesday,” Enid exclaimed in greeting, “you’re finally here! You have to hear about the drama going on with the Fangs. It’s insane. I’m working on a post for it now-“

Wednesday immediately tuned her out, instead focusing on the way your thigh lightly pressed against hers. Her eyes were drawn to the hand resting in your lap. She fought the urge to reach for it, not wanting to cross any boundaries.

You saw her eying your hand and subtly placed it on your thigh. An offer. Wednesday graciously accepted, gently linking your pinkies, the ghost of a smile on her face.

It wasn’t the same, and it likely wouldn’t be for some time, but what mattered was that you were back by her side. And as long as Wednesday could help it, you would never leave it again.

#take a shot every time i use the word watch #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x you #jenna ortega

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rosetterer · 8 days

Note

bucktommy + summer heat + tommy tinkering around with his car, being sweaty, his glistening muscles on display + buck watching tommy, sitting on the porch, wearing sunglasses, sipping a cold beer, licking his lips, being completely unhelpful (read: deliberately obtuse) whenever tommy asks him to hand over some tool from the tool box that is right next to buck

I loved this one! Here's a link to AO3, where you can read the prompt fill or you can just continue reading it right after the link:

heat - rosetterer - 9-1-1 (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

------

heat

by rosetterer

The surface of his glass, set out on the small table right next to him, has pearls of condensation decorating it. It’s a warm day, warm enough that Buck is more than happy to stay in the shade on the porch, drinking his cold beer and watching his boyfriend do all the hard work.

Now, Buck knows about cars. He knows the basics of fixing one, especially when it comes to firetrucks, but the vintage kind of cars that Tommy owns and likes to fix up for fun are beyond his capabilities.

Of course, Tommy did suggest that he could teach him but they have a day off and Buck doesn’t feel like having to learn anything. He’s comfortable with his boyfriend’s sunglasses on his face and not doing anything at all.

Well, that isn't exactly true. Tommy did carry the toolbox, which is stained with oily fingerprints and small splatters of red paint, from his garage and set it right next to Buck on the porch, mumbling something about him being his little helper for the day, which definitely didn't make Buck feel some kind of way.

Buck takes another sip of his beer and sets the glass down on the table before tilting his head a little bit to get a better look at his boyfriend, who is deep in thought, leaning under the opened hood of the car, fingers stained with oil and his skin glistening in the sunlight.

It’s difficult not to look. The pair of shorts that Tommy is wearing are cut off right above the knee and hug his thighs in a way that is just a little unfair. The white tank top is clinging to his body because of the sweat and the little bit of water Tommy poured over himself half an hour ago. It is all just… so good.

”Baby, can you find the feeler gauge for me?” Tommy asks him then, standing up straight and using his wrist to wipe the gathering sweat from his forehead to avoid getting any of the oil on his hands on his face.

Buck reaches into the toolbox next to him and starts looking through the very not-organized tools. He pushes aside what he knows is the feeler gauge and grabs a screwdriver instead.

He holds it up with a small smile on his face, ”You mean this thing?”

With his hands now resting on his hips, Tommy sighs at him but his eyes are absolutely sparkling. He walks up the three steps leading to the porch and comes to stand right in front of Buck. He rests his hands on the arms of the chair and leans down.

”That is a screwdriver,” he tells him, even though they both know that Buck very much knows this. ”This…”

He reaches into the toolbox and holds the feeler gauge in front of Buck.

"Is a feeler gauge," Tommy continues and takes the screwdriver out of Buck's hand. "A screwdriver is used to tighten or loosen screws. The feeler gauge is used for measuring shit. I'm going to use it to check the clearance between the engine valves and their seats."

Buck nods as if he's listening and watches Tommy throw the screwdriver back in the toolbox. Then he reaches for something else but Buck can't bring himself to look away from his boyfriend's flushed cheeks and the drops of sweat once again gathering on the edges of his face.

"And these," Tommy starts after a moment and throws a bunch of random zip ties into Buck's lap with a small wink. "Can be used for a whole lot of things, Evan."

Buck's mind shortcircuits. A kiss is pressed onto his lips and for a short moment, he catches a hint of Tommy's scent, a mixture of sweat and the deodorant he saw him put on this morning. It doesn't help the state of his mind whatsoever.

Tommy moves away from him, stepping backward with the feeler gauge in his hand, and laughs wholeheartedly. He takes hold of his shirt and strips it off, throwing it to the side before making his way back to the car.

And Buck… Well, he could really get used to this.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fanfiction #prompt fill #thank you anon #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 abc #rose answers

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roetrolls · 2 months

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Loose Reins

Zerkev is just about sick of dealing with clowns. Putting up with Yumeno’s useless ass was bad enough, but this? This is something else.

“I should kill them both right now,” the Marauder spits, his vision practically blurred with the heat of his rage. In front of him, the Dominion cocks his head, a finger resting against his cheek and the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

“Just them?” he asks, amused. “How merciful.”

In a flash, three golden prongs are leveraged at his throat. The giant allows his glowing gaze to drift, briefly, to the trident in his overseer’s hands.

“You crossed the line,” Zerkev growls through a throat full of gravel, expression dangerously cold. “A smarter man would be begging on his knees for my forgiveness.”

“A younger man, maybe. I fear I’d struggle to get up again.”

“Is this a joke to you, Mahkir?”

“A joke? Never. Amusing though, certainly.”

Zerkev’s face darkens, almost imperceptibly, but the purpleblood is keen enough to spot it. He straightens slightly in his throne, shifting away from the weapon with as much subtlety as he can manage. Imposing as Harlan’s stature may be, it is not his presence that sucks the air from the room.

“Take your weapon,” the general orders.

Harlan regards him curiously. “Is it a fight you want, Pravus? I thought you smarter than that.”

“Take. Your weapon.”

Wordlessly, the Dominion follows his command, reaching over his seat’s left side to close his bulky fingers around the club that lays propped against its base. He twirls it idly in his hand and moves to rise, empty right fist gripping the throne’s arm for leverage.

Then, before he can stand, he is forced back by the triad of spikes that Zerkev plunges through his bicep, piercing both skin and muscle in one single, practiced thrust. Pink light bounces off the golden surface once more as Harlan turns his eyes to the injury, the mild bewilderment they carry masking any hint of the pain he must be feeling.

“I see,” he sneers before turning his focus back to the seadweller.

“Where did you find him?”

“Oh? Was I meant to be involved in your little manhunt?”

He can feel the fury pooling in his gut, but Zerkev maintains an eerie calm as he turns the trident, a half inch at most, and watches the clown grit his teeth in response. A warning.

“You involved yourself,” he hisses coolly, “when you sent your dogs after my child.”

“Such a strange practice, parenthood. Hard to imagine you of all trolls denying the natural order of things so egregiously.”

“I did not ask for your commentary.”

“You’re not here for a chat?”

Zerkev growls, fins flaring in agitation, and Harlan breaks into a grin. It’s rare to see such emotional displays from the Marauder, and even with the man’s weapon lodged in his arm, he is clearly delighted. They both know how transparent--how vulnerable--he has just made himself.

“What are you here for, Pravus? Do you know?”

“I am reminding you of your place.”

“How is that going?”

It takes everything in Zerkev’s power not to twist his trident in response. As much as Harlan deserves the goring, rewarding him with such a strong reaction would serve only to grant him more power. The Marauder exhales through his nose and squares his jaw, certain that his knuckles have gone white beneath his gloves.

“You are on very thin ice, Mahkir,” he warns him instead, fighting to keep his voice level over the thrum of blood in his ears.

“So I can see.”

With a snarl, Zerkev lunges forward and grabs the behemoth by the collar, yanking hard to bring the clown’s face level with his own. Harlan’s eyes widen slightly, surprise momentarily wiping the smug expression from his face.

“I understand this may be beyond what a heartless bastard like you can comprehend,” the seadweller grits, “but I want you to listen to me, Mahkir. Very. Carefully. If you ever touch my son again, I will kill you.”

His quiet intensity is enough to startle even Harlan, and the clown opens his mouth silently in search of a response.

“You hear me, you overgrown brute? No fancy threats, no dramatic vagueries; the next time you come for one of mine, it’s your head.” He jiggles the trident for good measure, his tone eerily calm for the promise it carries.

Harlan regards him carefully, still hunched awkwardly in Zerkev’s grip, then that cantankerous smile emerges once more. “You know, the past twelve sweeps make far more sense to me now.”

Confusion and wariness creep onto the seadweller’s face in tandem. Harlan continues with a hum.

“I’d assumed it was merely your usual neuroses, but… Blood of all things? That is a rather glaring weakness, isn’t it?”

The Marauder’s stony expression drops, and Harlan pulls out of his slackened grasp to sit up straight again.

“I’d have cut my losses the moment I learned of it, personally. Terrible liability.” He taps a finger against his chin, his casual, musing tone a stark contrast to the threat behind his gaze. “So easy to leverage.”

The comment, as simple as it is, is exactly enough to push the general over the edge. He can almost feel it as the final straw lands upon his back, and with fangs bared, he at last gives in to the impulse that has plagued him since he entered this wretched chapel:

Hurt him.

A growl bubbles from Zerkev’s chest as he wrenches the trident in Harlan’s arm, inviting three thick streams of viscous purple blood to ooze from the wound as he gives the staff a vicious, painful twist. The Dominion masks his grimace with a snarl, free arm shooting across his chest to grip the pole and hold it still.

“Your audacity is mind-boggling,” Zerkev hisses. “You want to play extortion, Mahkir? Fine.”

Satisfied for now with the violence he has inflicted, he tugs the trident free from his underling’s flesh, leaving the giant to clamp his dominant left hand over the gaping holes now bleeding freely in his arm.

He should have known better than to threaten the snake himself. Harlan thinks himself invincible, and any harm Zerkev could promise the man would be easily dismissed. Making a real, actionable threat is going to require a different approach.

“If Mallum ever comes to harm, by your words or by your actions,” he scowls, “I will personally see to it that no grub bearing your name will leave the caverns again.”

The Dominion’s lip twitches, pulling back into a lopsided snarl that broadcasts exactly how easily this new angle has burrowed beneath his skin. Zerkev, however, is too busy seething to appreciate the triumph.

“That glorious symbol of yours will be nothing more than a marker-- a note to the caverns to cull on sight and exterminate your pathetic spawn like the pests they are.”

Now it is Harlan’s turn to growl. It rolls from his chest in a low, menacing wave, blanketing the church with the noise. His rumbling permeates the senses, seeming almost to grow louder as the scene begins to shift.

Shift?

Sunlight trickles past the curtains in a thin, shining stream, guiding Zurven’s eye across each of the sleeping forms slowly coming into focus beside him.

There is no trident in his hand-- only Veylin’s delicate fingers laced loosely with his own. The sound that all but shakes their walls is merely Benjin’s gentle snore, oddly soothing despite its volume, and perfectly in place within the dimly lit bedroom.

The oracle sits up sluggishly, still blinking the sleep from his eyes and squinting through the dark to look at Mallum dozing on the bed’s outer edge. Zurven watches his chest rise and fall, gills fluttering in time, and takes a deep breath of his own.

He’s going to throttle that idiot.

#zerkev writing #harlan writing #guest star!#zurven #writing #harlan mahkir #the dominion #zerkev pravus #the marauder

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ickmick · 7 months

Text

Novelvember week 1

prompt: used an incorrect quote, I put it at the end of the fic!!

duo or ship: tango/grian (with a hint of scar as their third)

The sound of rockets is fairly common at The Frozen Citadel, as Hermits swing by frequently to play Decked out 2. However, fireworks themselves are not so common. So when Tango hears them clearly from the belly of his creation, the blaze investigates.

Tango finds Grian crash landed after trying to use fireworks mid flight. They get a laugh, and kisses are shared before cuddling inside.

ao3 link

pssst... this is just a close up! wanna see the full two (2) drawings? look here! <3

"Annnd… that should work better," Tango mumbled to himself, stepping back from the tweaked redstone. Decked Out may be complete, but there's plenty of upkeep to manage. That and he wanted to increase the difficulty in later levels just a smidge. They're meant to be harder, yet his players were having a breeze.

He nods a bit, as if agreeing with his own thoughts. Soul flame tipped tail flicking, the blaze paces to both sides of the contraption, scanning it for imperfections. Just gotta be sure it works, and all that.

As he's turning away to put away his spare redstone, there's the distant sound of fireworks going off. But not the usual flight rockets of someone arriving to play. Instead, it sounds like full on regular fireworks. The semi familiar noise of loud pops of color following its release are obvious enough.

Furrowing his frosty brows, he tries to listen for it again. "Is somebody celebrating out there or something…? What the heck?"

When the sound comes again, ending with an equally muffled scream, his eyes widen. Tango immediately takes out his rockets and takes flight, dodging contraptions and closely built walls from memory as he types out a message on his comm.

[Tango] is someone outside the citadel?

[ImpulseSV] not that I know of

[GoodTimeWithScar] nope!

Landing outside the massive icy structure, he puts his communicator away after a few more negatives from others. Scar expresses concern beyond a surface level, and so Tango quickly promises in a whisper to let him know what happened if he finds out. It's clear the man knows more than he says.

This was definitely weird, but maybe it's a prank. Or a Hermit paused to do a bit and just happened to be here? The blaze looks around, making a hum of confusion as he searches. Why did they scream, though?

Walking to glance over the edge of the entrance, the dungeon master is surprised to find one of his partners sulking in a pile of snow. The avian had his arms crossed, wings splayed awkwardly underneath himself.

"Uhhh, hey Gri, whatcha doin' there?" Tango smiles a bit, head tilted a bit as he plays off his concern.

The shorter man looks up at him, sighing. "What's it look like? I crashed." His tone was bitter, perhaps a bit annoyed as he threw his hands up. But then he weakly smiles back, a hand moving to straighten his glasses on his nose. The sight soothes Tango slightly, who relaxes upon the realization that Grian must be fine if he's playing up the drama. "I ran out of rockets, so I used the fireworks Scar gave me yesterday."

"Doesn't seem like it was very helpful, yeah?" Snorting, he leans his elbow on the ledge of the walkway, cheek rested in his palm as he watches his partner get up and shake snow from his wings and hair.

"No, no it wasn't." Grian confirms, trying not to snicker as he climbs up the slope to try and get up onto the half wall the other was behind At some point, he grumbles to himself and looks up into the others blue eyes, frustrated by the slippery surface. "Mind giving me a hand?"

Laughing loud enough to make the avain scowl somewhat fondly, he nods. "Oh sure, come here." Tango leans down over the wall, reaching a hand out to Grian.

It clearly hadn't been the expected offer, but he takes it anyways. And with the combined effort of Grian jumping and Tango leaning backwards with a good chunk of his body weight, they manage to land in a heap on the snow packed, stone pathway. The brunetts wings puff up, his glasses coming off and skidding nearly a foot away from them.

Tango is laughing, hand still in the others as his free arm wraps around his waist. Not bothering to keep up the act for more than just another pout, Grian giggles a bit as well.

After they've both caught their breath, Grian sits up on his stomach, looking down at the man. His brown eyes narrow a bit, before his brows raise as if impressed. "Wow…"

What's that look supposed to mean? Cold tinged cheeks turning a deeper blue, Tango offers a melty smile, flustered. Unlike Scar, he hasn't seen Grian without his glasses before. "Wuh… What?"

"Pfft," the avian beams trying not to laugh. He reaches a hand blindly to cup Tango's cheek. "You're so blurry."

Blinking up at Grian in surprise, his whole face flushes. This time it's from embarrassment. "O-Oh! Really?"

"Yeah, like you're just a blue blob." It's incredibly funny to the shorter man apparently, less so for Tango. But at least someone's amused, giggling and leaning closer and squinting.

Ice cold wind ruffles through their hair- or, for Tango, brushes over his ice frosted hair- and Grian ends up leaning close enough that he can nudge their noses together. They both laugh a bit, expressions softening. "There you are," the avian jokes, voice quieter.

"Yep," Tango hums, squeezing his hand, "here I am."

Despite not being particularly heavy- avian genes, or something- Grian shifts so that his free hand holds him up a bit. "I have to be ridiculously close to see you clearly," he hums, voice quiet.

"Sounds like a you problem," the blaze teases, pulling him back in gently. A small reminder that the other doesn't have to strain himself. "It's pretty convenient for me, though."

This time it's Grian's turn to blush, flustered by the raw affection in his partner's voice. "Really now? How could my invading your space to see you be convenient?" He keeps up the joking manner, shaking their joined hands lightly.

"Well, I get to see your cute face real close up," Tango says without hesitation, grinning at the little chirp the avian makes. "And it's easy to do this."

Moving his hand from Grian's waist, he instead cradles the back of his head and pushes it closer so he can lean his own head up a bit. And then he presses a chaste kiss to his lips, able to feel just how warm the other is. After it, they stare silently at each other, one smug and the other awed. Every time Grian is kissed is like the first time, in that he always gets incredibly flustered. It's cute.

A moment later, he hums and whispers against Tango's lips, "good point."

The blaze snickers before being pulled in again, Grian having given up on taking some of his weight off him. He tugs the dungeon master in as close as possible, hand grabbing at his robes as they kiss again.

It lasts longer, and after Tango glances over at the citadel. "Let's get out of the cold, yeah?"

Grian was admittedly shivering, but he still hesitates before nodding. "Alright."

Glasses picked up off the icy floor, the two go inside with the smaller tucked under his partner's cape and against his side. At some point between making tea and pressing soft kisses to Grian's cheek, the blaze remembers to message Scar. With their third assured of everyone's well being, Tango curls up with Grian, content with cuddling the cold avian to keep him warm.

week two's fic

heres the IQ! so maybe grian didnt 'seductively' take them off but... its fine!!

i havent posted a fic on tumblr in ages... and it was only once before, on an old account... so forgive if its formatted weirdly!!

this fic was actually so fun to write- i love it a lot. i hope you do too!! (and i hope next week i get my post out on time... =w=)

anyways... peskyblaze lives rent free in my head and therefore im stuffing it into everyone elses brain too!! /silly

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seraphiism · 1 year

Note

hello! congrats on 1k kay! you really do deserve it~ as for your dreamscape event (if it’s still open), how about dusk with lavender & ⭐️ xiao? thank you vv much! i hope i did not forget anything else ehe~

- blue

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

( you are the only people i'd surrender my softness to )

chara : xiao fandom : genshin impact quote cr : noor hindi a/n : HELLO BLUEEEE thank you sm hehe !!! <3 late xiao birthday fic !!

・❥・[ dreamscape event ] ༊*·˚ ⌛fluff • ⭐️ xiao • 💐 lavender : serenity

xiao has always found birthdays to fall in line with human tradition, the many years in his life turned blur and haze in the depths of a life filled with chaos forevermore. he does not pay any mind to the special day, finds it to be as ordinary as any other time in his life : a moment in passing , a fleeting memory that will soon be lost in translation.

the yaksha does not quite remember when he started looking forward to his birthday: was it two years ago-- three, even? his brows furrow ever so slightly in recollection of your first encounter. you were so incredibly stubborn, relentless in attempt to become acquaintances with someone who had almost forgotten what it meant to cherish another-- and how incredibly determined you were in declaration of confessions, anxiety dissipating the moment you noticed the pink hues settle on his cheeks.

xiao sighs, eyes closed as he feels the cool winds blessing his skin. time is such a very strange thing-- the way it feels like he has known you for a lifetime despite the few years it has been. to speak of love is something that brings him into a state of embarrassment, but there is a strange gentleness that resides in the heart, dulls the pain of karmic debt unleashed.

another inhale , a heaviness that settles in his limbs. xiao feels himself losing the battle against sleep, head resting so comfortably on your lap. seldom does he sleep, but in your presence, he is much more prone to it. he doesn't like to admit it, but there is a calm in your existence and it quells the pain, allows tranquility to slip into his life. he cannot fall asleep here, not now, not when you're--

"don't open your eyes. i'm not done yet!"

he frowns at the panicked tone yet doesn't move a single inch despite the way your hand covers his eyes instinctively. he wasn't going to-- not when you had asked so politely earlier, telling him that it was a surprise for his birthday. it was just a mere thought after all, yet somehow you had picked up on it. it is almost frightening how well you have learned to read him.

"i'll fall asleep soon."

"okay, well, don't do that. give me five minutes."

a quiet hum of acknowledgement. he listens, fights back the smile that threatens to grace his lips at your mumbles here and there. five minutes turns into ten, then--

"xiao," you begin, voice quiet and curious, "are you awake?"

he opens his eyes to the sight of your bright gaze, and this time, he does not fight the smile. you blink once, twice, almost caught off-guard at the tenderness in his gaze, but you lean down, kiss his forehead, laughing when that all too familiar blush surfaces.

he sits up, turns to face you, and watches in silent question at the way you hide something behind your back. there is a hint of nervousness that adorns your visage; you know he isn't one for huge celebrations, especially if they revolve around him, but with everything he has ever endured, you wish to celebrate the joy of his existence, the joy of your friendship, and the joy of a love beyond.

with slight reluctance and a timidness xiao is not at all used to, you bring your hands forth ; in your grasp lies a delicately crafted floral crown, brilliant hues of white and green from qingxin flowers. there's a bashfulness in the curl of your lips, and the yaksha wonders if your face is as warm as his right now. he swallows hard, eyes wide, and wonders if he is worth of such kindness.

"may i?"

he snaps from his train of thought, a sight panic surfacing in amber hues, and nods. with the gentle bow of his head, you place the crown on him, find yourself almost breathless when he looks up at you. you have always found xiao to be beautiful, but there is something so incredibly soft about this moment -- the gentle breeze, the sway of the trees that shield you from the orange glow of the sun, the way he looks at you like you have always been the one thing his heart has been searching for all these years.

it is all so overwhelming, the beauty in catharsis. you feel that familiar sting in your eyes, but you don't dare make him fuss over you, not on his birthday-- so instead, your hands cup his cheeks, devotion lingering beneath your fingertips, and you kiss him, ever so gentle, fall into the feeling of veneration.

"happy birthday, xiao." you murmur against his lips, and in the way he pulls you closer, you know that this will be one of many birthdays you will spend with him in a blissful future.

#genshin impact #xiao x reader #favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #.: event!fic.dream of me 🌿#.: writing

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cthulhu-calling · 1 year

Text

Wedding Bells II

Wanda Maximoff x female!Reader

Summary : Your best friend is getting married. You’re beyond elated. And he asked you to be his best man. But there’s a catch. The maid of honour is the woman you were with for two years. The woman you were going to get down on one knee and ask to spend the rest of your life together. The woman who cheated on you, smashing your heart into millions of tiny pieces. Can you truly make it down the aisle with her on your arm?

Warnings : fluff, angst, cheating

Author’s Note : This story has elements of cheating, maybe a graphic description further down the road. The reader is female and has no particular race or body type so feel free to imagine yourself (though I write with woc in mind).

I spent a long time staring at pictures of Kathryn Hahn's face to figure out her eye colour (not that I truly mind) so y'all better appreciate my dedication.

Word Count : 1265

series masterlist

Preparations for the wedding are in full swing, but you have surprisingly little to do. You never realised that most of the work is taken over by the bride’s side. You’re thankful for it, you suppose. You’re kept in the loop, sure, but you never actively contribute. You’re glad, you couldn’t imagine having to interact with Wanda regularly. That one voicemail was enough to drive you up the fucking wall. You never did end up replying to it. You thought about it a lot though. Even found yourself going back and listening to it but the initial anger was replaced by something else. Something you didn’t want to dwell too long on or God forbid you act on those feelings. It was best to keep your distance until it was absolutely necessary or unavoidable for you to interact with her.

Bucky and Natasha’s engagement party was this weekend. You were as ready as you’d ever be. You’d gotten a brand new outfit, an emerald green jumpsuit with a halter neck and mostly open back. The colour looked beautiful on you and you had just the right heels to pair with it. You were going to get your hair done professionally the day before too, putting it up high so that you could really show off your outfit. You were leaving no stone unturned. There was only one problem : a date. You needed one ASAP. You could ask your friend from work, Carol, to come along. You knew how much Wanda despised her but Carol tends to get a bit handsy when she has a couple of drinks in her, as the entire office witnessed at the Christmas party last year. So, she was not an option. You need to find yourself a date, fast. Peggy had offered to introduce you to her cousin, Sharon, and you’d jumped on the idea. She was a total smokeshow, that woman. You’d met her before, at Peggy and Steve’s wedding but back then you had no idea she was into women. You were going out to meet her at your favourite bar downtown for a drink. Casual, laid back. Peggy had already told her you were looking for a date and she seemed fine with it so that was half your work already done for you.

That evening, you meet Sharon for a drink and you must admit, she’s just as gorgeous as you remember. She stands up to greet you, pulling you close for a hug and you can smell the sweet perfume on her. The shorts she’s wearing hug her figure amazingly and her top is low cut enough to give a teasing hint of cleavage. She’s pure seduction with legs that seem to go on for miles and perfectly styled blonde waves.

The date seemed to be going well but honestly, you found something off about her. You tried to push the feeling down, thinking it’s because you’re still kind of stuck on Wanda but no, it kept bubbling up to the surface. And for good reason too. Alarm bells started going off in your brain the moment she asked what your financial situation was like. You wanted to tell her it was none of her business, or make some dumb joke about how that was a more third date kind of line of questioning but instead you told her just what she was itching to hear. God, you wish you had a spine.

“It’s okay, I get by,�� you shrug and the look of pure joy that takes over her face is blinding.

“How would you feel if I told you that I have a business opportunity for you that’s going to make you a lot of money?” she asks gleefully.

You should’ve ended the date then and there but your lack of a goddamn spine came through and you sat and listened to her whole spiel, telling her you were interested in selling nutritional supplements as a side hustle to make extra money and that you’d get back to her soon. She left pretty satisfied after that and it was safe to say that you hate yourself.

You were getting sick of this. Another failed first date. You plop yourself down on the bar stool and the bartender, and your friend, Agatha, greets you with a quirk of her perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“What was wrong with this one?” She asks, setting a tall glass of seven and seven in front of you, on the house, she says.

“Is it too much to ask to not get roped into an MLM recruitment on the first date? I mean, save that shit for the tenth date, at least,” you say as you take a rather large sip from your glass.

“It happens to,” she trails off before sighing, “Actually, it does not happen to all of us,” she finishes with a snort.

“I’m cursed,” you groan, sipping from the straw.

“You’re not cursed, you’re just special,” she says sympathetically, patting your hand before going to the other end of the bar to attend to another customer.

“So, who was she?” Agatha asks.

“Sharon. She’s my friend Peggy’s cousin. I didn’t even know she was into women,” you shrug.

“Hmm, maybe she was just trying to get a new member for her cult. What do they sell anyway?”

“Nutritional supplements or like gummies or something, I wasn’t listening,” you grumbel, biting the straw.

“Well, you need to wade through a sea of cheaters and recruiters to finally find the one. And you’re young, you have time,” she says. Agatha was older than you, by ten years at least. You were turning thirty this year and she seemed closer to forty, though you’d never ask her.

“Not really. I need a date for my friends Bucky and Nat’s wedding. My ex is gonna be there too,” you say, blowing bubbles into your drink.

“The one who cheated on you?” she asks, wiping down the counter.

“Yeah, and last I heard, she’s still with that old guy she cheated on me with,” you sigh, holding your head in your hands in despair. A warm hand encircles your wrist, making you look up. Agatha’s looking at you with a mischievous smile and you realise that you never noticed before just how pretty her eyes were. They were a pale grey and if you weren’t so close to her, one might even mistake them for blue.

“So, you need a date for this wedding to make your ex realise what she’s missing, right?” She’s outright smirking now, a twinkle to her eyes in mirth.

“Yeah, what are you suggesting?” you frown, confusion lacing your tone.

“I think I might have an idea of exactly who can help you,” she says and you must say, you’re intrigued. You’ve never heard her speak like this, so giddy, almost evil. She was easy going and while you weren’t extremely close to her, you knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t cause you any harm, not intentionally.

“Really? And who might that be? If you’re about to suggest a shrink, I have a rather colourful array of words to offer,” you squint your eyes at her, wondering where she’s going with this.

“Darling, no one short of the good Lord up above can help you but for this situation, I know who can,” she says as she lets go of your wrist, knowing that she has your full attention.

‘Well? Spit it out already,” you demand impatiently.

With a dramatic flourish of her hands, she says in a sultry tone “Me, darling, who else?”

#wanda maximoff x reader #angst #cheating #fluff #agatha harkness #sharon carter

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blackjackkent · 2 months

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Occurs to me that I forgot to get Karlach's first engine upgrade and almost let the tieflings wander off again without doing it. We know from Hector's run that she can survive not doing it until Last Light (although it did break the romance and I had to use console commands to re-enable it :P ), but I remembered in time so we might as well do it now.

And oh hey, while popping in camp to get her, looks like Gale has something to talk about! I'm sure it is something normal and not world-shattering at all.

After giving him another pair of magical boots to snack on, he looks at her with a very dismayed expression.

"Good gods," he murmurs. "It hardly has any effect. Mystra have mercy on us all." He shifts uneasily from foot to foot. "Listen - I need to speak to you. To all of you. It would be unconscionable of me to remain silent."

Rakha's eyes fix on him at once, attentively. It seems he finally means to give answers about this condition and what it involves - something she has been deeply frustrated not to receive already. "Go on," she says curtly. A slight pause, and then she adds slightly more quietly, remembering their shared experience channeling the Weave, "You're among friends."

There's only a hint of irony in the words. She knows perfectly well that Gale does not fully trust her, even now. But he is ready to talk, regardless, it seems.

He laughs softly through his nose at the comment. "I might just be about to remedy that," he murmurs. "You have to know... who I was. You have to know who I really am."

Rakha does not even know who she really is, let alone anyone else, but she says nothing, just nods.

"What I am," he goes on gravely, "is a walking shadow of the promise I once held. I'm... what one might call a wizard prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the Weave but compose it - much like a musician, or a poet."

She remembers the way he guided her into the depths of the Weave, pulled it through them and around them like a blanket. Yes. She can believe this. She nods again.

"Such was my skill," he continues, "that it earned me the attention of the mother of magic herself. The Lady of Mysteries. The goddess Mystra. She revealed herself to me and she became my teacher. In time, she became my muse, and later even my lover."

This gives Rakha some pause. He speaks very casually of meeting the goddess face to face - the source of power that she felt that night in the Weave. The deity whose face Gale held in the palm of his hand. Muse? Lover?

She remembers her raw, violent night with Lae'zel, tries to picture knowing that her partner controlled the very fabric of magic itself. It is difficult to conceive. "Are you telling me you made love to a goddess?" she asks skeptically.

He smiles slowly, a flicker of nostalgic glee. "Oh yes." Then his expression calms back into sober strain. "We enjoyed each others' company - body, mind, and soul. But even so, I desired more. You see... no matter how powerful a wizard we mortals can become, we never scratch more than the surface of the Weave. Mystra keeps us in check. There are boundaries she doesn't let us cross. Yet every time I was with her, I stood on the precipice, gazing into the wonders that lay beyond." His lips tighten in a frown. "I sought to cross her boundaries."

She focuses for a moment on the everpresent tingle of magic along her skin, her awareness of the fabric of magic as she experiences it. She tries to imagine what he might mean, of power beyond it, greater still. "How exactly did you try to cross those... boundaries?" she asks.

"I tried to convince her. I pouted, I pleaded, I swore my ambition was only to serve her better. But she only smiled and told me to be contented." He smiles bitterly. "As inconceivable as it seems to me now, I shared a bed with a goddess, and yet I wasn't satisfied. So I sought to prove myself worth to her instead." A pause. He sets his jaw with determination. "We come now to the crux of my folly. Shall I share the story behind it, or would you rather head straight to its sordid finale."

Rakha, of course, wants information more than almost anything and all but demands that he explain in fully.

He tells her of the empire of Netheril, and how it fell after its lord sought to usurp Mystra's power and in doing so, destroyed his people, himself, and the Weave itself. He explains how Mystra put the pieces back together - all but one - and how Gale himself learned of a missing piece locked away in an ancient Netherese tome.

"What if, I thought," he says. "What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the goddess?"

Rakha's eyes narrow. She has little context for much of the world, but the concept of hubris is not a difficult one to grasp. "What was the answer to that question?" she asks.

"The answer was to try," he answers, as she could have expected. "The outcome was to fail." Again that flash of deep, self-recriminating bitterness. "I was certain that this deed of raw power draped in romance would convince Mystra to take me by the hand and welcome me into her hitherto forbidden domains. I was mistaken."

He crouches down before her, extends a hand towards hers. "I obtained the fabled book and took it into my study. As for what happened next... here. Place your hand over my heart. Let me show you."

She squints cautiously at him for a long moment, then reaches out and places her hand into his. He pulls it at once to his chest; she can feel the heavy thump of his heart under his robes. And something else, too - a pulsing of the Weave, a sucking, drawing-in sensation pulling desperately, greedily at the fabric of magic around it.

Narrator: You feel the tadpole quiver as you realize Gale is letting you in. Into the dark...

The connection opens between them and with it comes a roiling mass of deep, black pain, dragging her headlong into his mind. She cries out, tries to jerk away, but her palm feels glued to his chest.

Narrator: You see through Gale's eyes, staring down the corridors of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. Its teeth, its claws - it's unstoppable as it digs through and becomes part of you. And gods... is it ever-hungry...

With a final wrenching effort, she pulls herself backwards, breaking the connection with a snap that resonates through her whole body.

Yank your hand away.

She draws back, stares at him from under hooded brows. It is as she first suspected some days ago - he too carries a hungry monster inside him, a creature of shadow that demands his action. He has mistrusted her, all this time - when he has known himself just as trapped by a force he does not control.

Or perhaps *because* of that.

He watches her as she draws away, his eyes fixed on her face. "Terrifying, isn't it?" he murmurs. "And that is only the beginning. This Netherese blight - this 'orb' for lack of a better word, is balled up inside my chest. And it needs to be fed. As long as I absorb traces of the Weave from potent enough sources, it remains quiet. Were it ever to fully destabilize, however..."

She can hear the threat in his voice and stiffens involuntarily. "Go on."

"I will erupt," he says flatly. "I don't know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but given my studies of Netherese magic, I'd say even a fragment as small as the one I carry... it'd level a city the size of Waterdeep."

Fear. It bursts through her immediately - and on its heels, anger. He has kept this from her, from all of them - the fact that he is a walking bomb wearing a man's face. And he has judged her for the monster in her head, when she did not make the choice to carry it as he did. He has endangered them all.

The beast growls in her head; she tries to shake it away, but the words slip out, angry, cold. "By rights I should kill you," she hisses.

He takes a step back. He is well aware of her ability and willingness to carry through on the threat - but he does not look afraid so much as terribly sad. "Perhaps that is what I deserve," he agrees softly. "But you deserve no such thing. To kill me is to unleash the orb." Another step back. "All of this... it must feel like a betrayal. Say the word, and we'll part ways."

It would be easy to let the beast slip free, to punish him, make him hurt for the injustice he has done to her. And she is sure the beast does not care one whit for any explosion that might follow.

But if he is right, then he cannot die, not here. And he cannot be sent away; in the wilderness alone, he would die almost as certainly.

And... he shared the Weave with her. No matter how angry she might be - that fact remains, flat and inescapable. He shared the Weave with her, and he shares the tadpole connection, and he is one of them, part of the small amount of the world that she knows, for better or for worse.

She looks inward, stares down the beast, and when it withdraws, she steps forward very slowly. Meeting Gale's eyes, she puts out her hand and rests it unmoving against his throat.

An unspoken message. I could kill you. I am angry, and the beast wishes it. But I. Will. Not.

Her hand falls to her side.

"We've come this far," she says curtly. "And we'll continue on together. This is how it will be."

He tenses at the touch, then slowly relaxes as she draws back. "That is... a great relief," he whispers hoarsely. "Oh, a great relief indeed. You..."

He pauses, then nods slowly, meeting her eyes, understanding what she has said - and what she hasn't, and what they share between them now for better or for worse. "You truly are a soul that steels my own," he says quietly. "From all my new-rallied heart, I thank you. I thank you all--" he adds, for the others have gathered around, listening with various degrees of concern. "I understand if you stand against me. I'm humbled if you stand with me. Either way, I will do my best not to let you down."

He steps forward, reaches out a hand and - when Rakha does not pull away - he rests his palm carefully on her shoulder. His eyes remain fixed on hers. "I stand at a precipice," he says. "But if you do not give up hope, neither shall I. I'll fight. I'll resist - as long as I can."

She nods slowly. Yes. We will resist - both of us with these dark beasts inside us. Perhaps... perhaps we will even succeed.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #ok really very pleased with the ending of this :O #unexpectedly dramatic lol

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ladylooch · 9 months

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That Night in Ibiza with Timo Meier

A/N: Still loving these two... and felt like we needed to see a lil more of their "non- relationship" before they got together.

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: hints of smut (tell me you're proud of me), swearing, angst

A tick is beginning to pulse in the corner of my right eye as I scan the contents of the menu in my hands. The rapid texting of Julian on his screen all damn day when we are supposed to be on vacation in Ibiza is rage inducing. He’s a high-profile lawyer in Zurich and acts like if he put his phone down, the whole world would crumble without him. As a successful business woman, I get the need to be available, but he brings it to an extreme. He is footing the bill for this trip, so I don’t feel I can complain that much.

I reach my foot out, stroking up his calf with my foot to draw his attention away from his iPhone.

“One more minute, babe. Then… I… am… all.. yours…” He trails off distractedly.

I suck my cheeks in, bringing my eyes back down to the menu. The dishes are various forms of world cuisine focusing on fish. Halibut sounds good, but so does the Blue Fin tuna smothered in an asian style sauce. I tap my fingers against my cheek, then smile at the waiter approaching with our bottle of wine.

“Oh, we didn’t order this.” Julian cuts him off before he can even speak. “We ordered the bordeaux.”

“Ah, yes sir. But another patron purchased this for you.” I lean forward, seeing my favorite, white wine from France.

“I don’t think we want this. It’s not that good.” I frown at Julian, feeling my eye tick increase even higher.

“This is great, thank you.” I insist, gesturing for him to pour us each a glass. “Can you tell us who purchased it?”

“Yes, the table by the pond.”

I turn, looking over at the built-in pond with a lazy fountain in the middle. My heart bottoms out in my chest when my eyes lock with Timo's. I glance away quickly, watching instead as Julian tilts a hand in acknowledgment. He has no idea who Timo is both in and out of my life. I clutch at my throat, biting my lip while the waiter pours us both a glass.

“We still want the bordeaux.” Julian assures the waiter as he moves to leave. “That’s weird. Why would he buy us this?” He looks at the bottle again, a disapproving scrunch to his nose.

I take a small sip of my wine, then drag my gaze back to Timo. He is no longer looking at me. Instead, he is leaned back in his chair, talking with the brunette across from him. She’s skinny. Beautiful. And looks expensive even from where I am sitting. I haven’t seen him since earlier this summer. I heard from Nico that he has been bouncing around the Med with his friends and family for the last month. He’s sent a few snaps along the way, but nothing consistent. Something odd and unfamiliar burns beneath the surface of my skin as the woman reaches across the table to fold their hands together. The discomfort has me raising the glass of wine back to my lips.

“Babe, we have the bordeaux coming.” Julian reminds me after my next gulp.

“I know.” I murmur, then set the glass back down on the table.

“Wait! Isn’t that a hockey player?” He asks… “It’s like… Teddy… or… Gino…?”

“Timo.” I say flatly.

“Yeah! One of the partners was wanting to see if we could get him signed for his promotional contract negotiations. I’m going to go say hi.”

“Ah! No!” I stutter. But Julian, being himself, is already gone.

All I can do is watch in awe as he strolls right up to their table. Timo looks beyond Julian at me, amusement flaring his nostrils as he bites his lips against a laugh. Timo nods enthusiastically, listening as Julian, likely, drones on and on about how successful he is and all the various legality aspects. Timo is a gracious listener, but seemingly tolerates his presence because it gives him the angle to look at me.

“We do paternity testing too!” Julian’s loud voice flows over to me.

I cringe as he laughs then skims his gaze along the brunette across the table from Timo. His eyes stay on her breasts and I sigh. I don’t think this vacation is worth what I’m putting up with. Julian was great in the beginning. Driven. Passionate. Sexy. But now, his personality is getting in the way of anything good in the bedroom. I find myself missing the other man in this room when we are together. I shake my head at the thought. No. I can’t go there… not with Timo.

“Em! Come here!” Julian suddenly waves his hand in my direction.

Fuck.

If I ignore him, he will drag me over there. So I bite my tongue against the awkwardness and stand.

“You didn’t tell me you knew Timo Meier?” He questions as I approach. He wraps an arm around my waist. It instantly feels like a vice with Timo sitting right there.

“Ah… thought it was implied because of my brother.” I smile to hide my irritation. “Hi.”

“Hi, Em.” Timo muses at me, smile and eyes soft as he scans my body. I try to move my eyes away but I can’t. They’re sucked in by his admiration of me. Julian hasn’t given me this much attention the whole trip. Timo’s hand is right there on the table, resting along the bottom of his empty wine glass. My fingers twitch, wanting to fold into where I know they’ll fit perfectly. Instead, I look away, draping an arm across Julian’s shoulders.

“Timo and Irina are having one last vacation before they return to California.” My gaze snaps, startled, back to Timo. What?

“Ah, no, only I am going back to Cali.” Timo corrects.

“So sorry.” Julian grins in an apology. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time tonight. But I hope to hear from you next week.”

“Yeah, I’ll give this to my team, and if they think it’s good, they’ll be in touch.” Timo holds up Julian’s business card, then tucks it into his wallet. I stare at his face, silently telling him to lose the card. “Great seeing you, Em. As always.” I glance over at Irina who looks like she hasn’t followed a word of our conversation. Her hand reaches out to Timo’s arm, trailing along his tanned skin. I resist the urge to remove her hand from him. He is not mine… and yet it feels like a betrayal.

“I’ll tell Nico you said hi.” I finally respond. Timo’s smirk falters off his face as I turn, walking back towards our table.

The rest of the night feels tense. Julian continues to text across the table from me. I am embarrassed, knowing Timo is watching from his relaxed position across the restaurant. The conversation between him and Irina is non-existent which seems to confirm my suspicion that they can’t communicate well. What is he even doing her with her then? I know. Naturally. And it makes me slam two expensive bottles of wine back to back. By the time we are done with dessert, I am desperately pushing back from the table to use the restroom while Julian waits for the bill.

I am not surprised to see Timo’s back outside the women’s bathroom when I am done. He glances over his shoulder at me, the smug smirk returning.

“Wow. What a catch.” Timo snickers.

“Oh stop. Like you’re one to talk.” I snort. “Does Irina even speak one of your languages?”

“Don’t need her to. I understand plenty.”

“Sure. Good for you.” I shrug beginning to walk away. Timo’s hand grips my wrist and he tugs me back into his chest.

“I have a room for us.” Shivers of pleasure rake through my scalp and dash down my body. My skin betrays me, pebbling despite the hot, humid air rolling off the sea. I feel the room key slide into my palm. “One hour.” He leans forward, skimming his lips along my shoulder in a discreet, loving gesture. Then he walks around me, sauntering back towards the resort with his hands in his pockets.

“That cheap wine from earlier is not siting well with me.” Julian groans behind me, catching me by surprise. “I’m going to call it an early night.” He rubs aggressively at his temples.

“Feel better.” I murmur, not taking my eyes off Timo’s retreating back.

“Are you coming with me?”

“No, I’m going to walk the beach.” I lie. He’s displeased but kisses my temple and heads towards the resort.

When Julian is gone, I flip the card over in my hand, seeing the room number 759 in black marker. I bite my lip, then grab my phone out of my purse.

Do you really need an hour? I text Timo. The ding of a new message comes through instantly.

No, I’m already here waiting for you.

The chime of the dishwasher cycle ending in the kitchen snaps me out of our memory. I had been working on a client proposal long after Timo and Lio went to bed. I reach for my laptop, shutting it. I bring my fingers up to rub at my eyes before pushing back from my desk. I turn the lights off in the lower level, then drag my tired body up the stairs. I poke my head into Lio’s room. He’s flat on his back, nook off to the side. The long lashes he got from his dad flutter with his dream.

“Sleep well, Lee. I love you.” I whisper, then tip toe out of the room.

In our master bedroom, Timo sleeps on his back as well. He is on top of the comforter, dressed in sweatpants and a plain white T. One arm is behind his head while the other reaches out to my side of the bed, seemingly searching for me. I walk over to him, crawling on top of his body, startling him awake. He inhales deeply as he comes to, then wraps his hands around my back. He glances over to the clock.

“You in here for good or taking a break?” He notes the 11pm time.

“For good.” His hand ghosts along my hair, stroking it back from my cheek as he sighs.

“Good. I want you all to myself.” His nose presses into my hair now too.

I reach for the remote, clicking the TV off to enclose us in complete darkness. Timo’s hands continue to rub steady strokes along my back. I turn my face, pressing my lips to the t-shirt over his sternum.

“Do you remember Ibiza?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m sorry I left before you woke up. I didn’t want to. You made me feel so… alive that night. It scared me. So I left like it meant nothing.” I trace a heart over his shirt, resting my chin on his chest. Even though we can’t see each other, I want him to hear my words. “Stupid me.”

“More like stubborn you. I love that about you.” He chuckles, his breath fanning against my face. “At least you recognize now that you were running.”

“Of course I was. Didn’t want to love you, but then nothing compared to you anyway so…”

“I’m sure Julian fucked you good, babe.” Only he could talk about someone else fucking me while oozing with his own confidence.

“Probably about as good as Irina.”

“Pillow princess.” One of Timo’s hands moves up to my pony tail. He pulls it out, tossing it onto the night stand, then rubbing his fingerprints into my scalp. I sigh, pressing my nose deeper into his chest. “Prefer my beautiful queen.” He says quietly. Gooseflesh breaks out along my skin from his touch and words.

“Love you, T.” I whisper, reaching up to hold the side of his neck. I stroke my thumb over his steady pulse.

“Love you too.” He mumbles in response. His hands tighten on me, then he rolls us. He tosses one of his beefy thighs over me, pinning me into the mattress, so we can fall asleep, comfortable and tangled in each other, like I wish we had that night in Ibiza.

#TM: Loving & Leaving #NHL blurb #hockey writing #Timo Meier Fan Fiction

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brighteyedbushybrowed · 1 year

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𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

A mix of smutty and non-smutty headcanons, I'll mark where the smutty ones begin. Last smutty headcanon has a little Papa themed treat for you, so enjoy! Also if you're a minor DNI, violating boundaries like that is gross okay?

They are AMAB non-binary in my headcanon at least. That's not to say no-one can headcanon them as being otherwise, that's just how I see them when I think about them and their gender and such.

Prefers to present as more masculine but also enjoys some androgyny from time to time. He v strongly feels that he doesn't owe anybody androgyny just because of his gender identity and the way he connects with gender.

This doesn't mean they never wear 'feminine' clothing. A big part of non-conformity for Mary is to say fuck you to the way society assigns gender to inanimate objects like clothing. They just have to be in the right mood to wear 'feminine' clothes because explaining to others his gender identity and how he expresses gender is so exhausting, especially if those people aren't willing to listen and take it in.

In terms of sexuality, Mary doesn't really put a label on his. He loves who he loves, fucks who he fucks, doesn't see the point in putting a definitive label on something as fluid as his sexuality. Don't try and push him to label it, he'll start getting snappy and irritated.

When it comes to relationships, they're a slow burn when it comes to opening themselves up emotionally. Sure, they'll kiss you and tell you openly that they love you and stuff like that but they have so many walls built up mentally that going beneath the surface level and getting to all of their thoughts and feelings takes time.

He's been hurt in the past - by friends and loved ones as well as partners - and because of that he's had to build up all these defenses to make sure he remains in control of the situation. Just be there for him, be patient, and let him open up to you in his own time. Show him that he can trust you by trusting in him.

They have a fluffy black cat called Destroyer Of All that they adopted from a local animal shelter. They saw the way people avoided it, saying a black cat was nothing but bad luck, and immediately felt a connection with the little creature.

Because of Destroyer, he practices electric guitar with headphones plugged in and the volume down so that he doesn't risk scaring his baby.

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖

I know you all want to know my thoughts on Mary's dick (none of you want to know but I'm gonna give my thoughts anyway because I'm a thirsty whore).

Their dick is long with an average girth. I'd say maybe around 8 inches, maybe 9 inches at most. It curves upwards a little and they're circumcised.

Mary has a frenum piercing that he doesn't wear as often anymore. It's not that he doesn't like it, he just doesn't wear it as much as he used to. Would probably wear it if his partner is curious about it and/or hints that they think it would look attractive on him.

Also has a tongue piercing. They got it during the early days of Repugnant because they thought it would be a great way to give extra pleasure to any groupies that wanted a quick fumble after gigs. Again, they don't wear it as much as they used to but will wear it on special occasions when they wanna make their partner feel even better than usual.

Loves rough and hard sex and that's what the sex is probably like between you both at the start of your relationship when you start being intimate. It makes him feel less vulnerable and like he still has control.

The first time they're slow and soft and tender leaves them shitting themselves afterward. All that hurt and fear of experiencing that hurt again is fucking terrifying and you'll have to reassure them and be there for them because they'll be convinced that you're just gonna up and leave now that things have gone beyond casual sex and dates and sweet "I love yous".

I've talked about this before, but pegging Mary (and in fact penetrating Mary in any capacity) is something that he'll have to gradually warm up to. He needs to completely trust in you and be eased into it over time because being penetrated and at someone else's mercy is a very vulnerable and personal thing for him. Once you get past that barrier and he lets down those walls, you know that you're both in it for the long haul.

Loves giving messy head. Will smear saliva and cum all over your thighs and lower abdomen with a smirk. Is also happy to teasingly lick cum up off your stomach while maintaining eye contact (if you're comfortable with eye contact ofc).

Speaking of cum, Mary is someone who produces a lot of cum when they climax.

Their favourite positions include doggy style, mating press, and having you ride them while they fuck up into you.

When he jerks off, he needs to do it two or three times to be fully satisfied. Sometimes even that's not enough and he'll keep going until he's oversensitive and can't stand to touch his cock anymore.

In the process of getting themselves ready over time to be penetrated/pegged, they bought themselves various toys. Their favourite one is a dildo shaped like a ghoul's cock with a "knot" at the base. Their second favourite is a tentacle, but they won't openly admit that to anyone other than you.

He never really received aftercare in past sexual relationships, so at first he didn't know what aftercare was. You had to teach him aftercare and it made him realise that all this time he'd been needing aftercare after sex and that was why he'd feel so shit after past encounters. Now he makes sure to perform aftercare every time you're both intimate with one another because he doesn't want you to feel the way he did and he doesn't wanna feel that way again either.

A few times in the past they've had sexual encounters with Papas. Terzo was the most frequent, but Copia is the most memorable. They told you once about how they had Copia crying on their cock, papal paint smudging from the tears rolling down his face as he praised Mary for how good their cock felt inside him. Sometimes you both touch each other and yourselves while talking about wanting to make Copia cry on their cock again with you watching (whether that happens or not is up to your imagination teehee)

#spicy content #mary goore #mary goore x reader #repugnant #the band ghost #smut #headcanons #mine

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kusagrasskusa · 1 year

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Fell! Sans X Sick! Reader - “Brompton Cocktail”

This is really different from what I normally write (nonstop Mortal Kombat X Readers lmao) but I wanted to do this because I love this song from Avenged Sevenfold. Obviously you don’t need to listen to it but if you’d like to, go ahead :) Just skip to 60 seconds in to figure out the exact point of the song I’m referencing.

TW: Death, sickness (cancer), drugs, and just a lot of sad shit

So, a brompton cocktail is a mixture of cocaine, morphine and antiemetics to reduce pain and induce euphoria that was used in the 1920s for cancer patients.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶⋆˙⊹❀♡❀˖⁺. ༶⋆˙⊹❀♡❀˖⁺. ༶⋆˙⊹❀♡❀˖⁺. ༶⋆˙⊹❀♡❀˖⁺. ༶⋆˙⊹❀♡

Humans are made up of cells, and because of which, they are susceptible to diseases like heart disease, diabetes, and most important of all rights now, cancer.

Monsters are made up of magic and henceforth have never had to deal with diseases like such, and so whenever Y/N had been in experiences weight loss, bleeding, and fever, no one knew what it could be.

She began to feel cough up blood, losing weight even if she eats more, and being incapable of breathing. You can imagine how her fiancé felt whenever he could do nothing but watch from the sidelines at her suffering, being so pissed off that he can’t do anything. Why was his beloved Y/N’s chest hurting so badly? Why can’t she barely breathe? Why won’t she eat anymore? Why can’t he do anything to stop it?

They were supposed to spent the rest of their lives together! They were supposed to reach the surface and marry on top of this damned mountain, they were supposed to get a house near a lake far away from anyone else so he won’t ever have to feel close to anyone again. Overcrowding in the underground has always been a big problem so Y/N was gonna show him what it’s like on the countryside with pets, animals, and possibly kids if technology developed enough. So why?

Y/N coughed, wheezing and gasping for air in the bed she laid in. Sans flinched and squeezed her hand, though a little hard.

“Sans,” she weakly whispered, “you’re stressed again.”

Sans softly chuckled, the edge in his voice coming out along with hints of tiredness. He’s been so tired lately and it was killing Y/N more than her sickness was, it seemed like. “Nah, I’m just thinking,” he replied, releasing her hand and repositioning himself on his seat. Since Y/N’s sickness, Sans had cleaned up his room beyond imaginable- no clothes on the floor, no dishes or food spilled across, nothing. Just a bed and nightstand with a lamp on it, and a seat by the bed. Y/N had oxygen being brought into her lungs via breathing tubes supplied by Doctor Alphys, who even she was too scared to be a bitch about given the state of Sans and surprisingly, Papyrus.

Although Papy didn’t like Y/n at first and tried many times to kill her in her sleep, she eventually grew on the family. His excuse for not killing her was that she wasn’t THAT bad at puzzles and people like that should be preserved. And sometimes she was a little funny too- and who’s gonna complain about free cooking? Y/N would introduce foods from the surface that may not had ever been seen before by them… Like toasted raviolli or macaroni! Though he likes spaghetti more, he didn’t mind the other two forms of Italian cuisine.

Actually, Y/N’s sickness had brought out a side of Papy that no one had ever seen before. Whenever Y/N had gone to see Alphys, Papy found Sans crying in his room. Normally he would say something like, “suffer in silence,” but he couldn’t help but sit down by his brother and just… be there. He pat his brother’s back and just sat there until he stopped crying. When Y/N heard of it, the thought hit her- perhaps Sans would be losing her, but he’d gain something he never had before, huh?

Sans sighed, thinking of the memory. “Humans really did get what they deserved, heh heh,” he said in a joking manner, but he meant it. “Humans deserve this for trapping us here. Even if you ain’t all that bad… and you’re basically a monster, heh heh… You guys deserve it.” Y/N raised a brow, weakly smiling after a moment has passed. “By why you? I mean, you’re a fucking angel among us pieces of shit! Maybe we deserve to be trapped here, but you don’t.. You don’t deserve this fucking disease. You guys deserve to get sick and diseased as a fucking karma, but you never did anything to deserve it…”

Her face was gloomy despite her smile and her eyes glimmered as Sans’s head turned to see them. “Hon, you don’t deserve this either,” she weakly replied, “and… I think I know what this is. And I know…” she paused, tears pricking her eyes, “I know a way to make everything better.”

You can imagine the look on Sans’s face whenever he heard her talk. He stood up from his chair and leaned over her, holding her hand tightly to his chest. “What can make you feel better?” He asked in haste, desperation- he truly was so fucking desperate. His voice was so cracked and unhinged, she knew it would hurt so badly to say this.

Y/N pressed her lips into a straight line, thinking about her response. Sans waited patently; his fiancé had to take a deep breath before replying. “Humans can contract a disease called cancer. Our bodies are made up of cells, similar to atoms but… Well, they contain about a trillion atoms per cell haha.. But the cells die so quickly and are reformed, but sometimes.. The cells will mess up whenever they are being created. This is what causes cancer in simple terms haha…”

Sans listened close, trying to understand what she meant. Of course monsters don’t study human biology but he could imagine what she was trying to describe. “Cancer,” she began, “at this point… baby, I love you, but my time is up.”

“No!” Sans yelled, scrunching his face as he hitched out his breaths. But the sad reality was that she was right.

“Sans!” She yelled back, tearing beginning to fall. She coughed out blood from her yell, taking a few large gasps for air- raising her voice was something she couldn’t do anymore, let along yell. Sans shushed her, brushing his skeletal fingers through her hair. A few moments passed of her catching her breath passed before she cleared her throat, continuing, “look at me. I used to be loud at shit at Grillby’s haha… Have some motherfucker wanna mess with the quiet human in the corner, and she’ll have the entire town of Snowden hear about it. But I can’t go above a whisper, baby…” she looked down at the covers and her shirt, drenched in blood from throughout the month.

“Dear, I can’t go on another day like this. You know that… So please,” her last work cracked as tears forcibly poured from her eyes, “I can’t feel my face, baby. I won’t struggle on anymore… This world is so cold, so wrong. I’m not running away anymore from the inevitable, and this pain I’ve been fighting has been going on for too long. There’s a price to pay when living and I’ve been paying it for too long.” She began talking in rhyme, which may sound cliche, but generally it’s safe to assume that’s when people are at their sincerest.

“I lost my final fight to disease, and I wanna feel alive again,” she breathed out, looking deep into the sockets of her fiancé. “There was a common ritual back in the 20s… A Brompton Cocktail,” she shivered, her face turning paler moment to moment. As if his anxiety wasn’t bad enough already, Sans seethed.

“What is-,” he spoke, “what is that?”

Y/N looked so sorrowful in her fiancé’s eyes. “A blend of cocaine, morphine and antiemetics… a shot of them in my veins called induced euphoria.”

Drugs was her final solution. And considering many residents are addicted underground… It wasn’t hard to find. But chit, he felt as terrible as she did almost as he called up Grillby, asking him for the contents he needed and the pay. This was it, huh? He didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t want to lose her!

He didn’t want to lose her.

As Sans returned home with the contents needed, he went into the kitchen and passed Papyrus. “Sans, the fuck!” Boss yelled upon seeing them. “You’re resorting to drugs now you sad piece of shit?” Sans scowled and rolled his eyes.

“No, asshole. This isn’t… This isn’t mine,” he replied though unfocused as he messed with the ingredients. Papyrus would have furrowed his eyebrows if he could, then the sudden realization hit him.

“Y/N!” Boss yelled as he quickly made his way out of the kitchen and up the stairs, “what are you doing!” Sans sighed, freezing in his spot. He remembered the words his girl, HIS girl spoke, as she asked for these. This was really fucking it? He would going to lose his happiness to drugs?

“I have the right to die how I wanna,” Y/N told him, and was now repeating to Papyrus. “And I’m going to take my life tonight, and leave how I arrived… So alive,” her dead, empty eyes sparkled upon the last word of her sentence. Papyrus didn’t have it in him to show that he was hurt, but he did the way he knows how to.

“If you do this, you fuck… you idiot, you’re gonna piss of everyone here. We all respect you! And Sans loves you!” He yelled, clenching his fists. “NormalIy don’t care about him, but if I have to deal with his ass moping around all day,” he trailed off, uncharacteristic for someone like him. But he couldn’t hide how distraught he really felt. “If you do this, Y/N, you’d be the most selfish bitch in the underground.”

“I can die with that in mind,” she replied in a joking manner the way Sans normally does whenever he’s feeling bad. “Can you be there for him? Just for a little bit?”

The request stayed with Papyrus as he sat out in the living room, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. The question of “is this really it” just replayed again and again in their minds of the skeletons, especially Sans’ as he brought the needle in the bedroom. Y/N’s pale smile- the whitest he’d ever seen her, was haunting. She looked a lot like him.. She had dropped so much weight, her skull was poking through her skin and her ribs were visible. Her skeleton hands were so weak and her skin so pale it that it scared him. Was this still Y/N? He couldn’t tear reality from a nightmare and whenever he poked the needle into her arm, it all came crashing down on him.

Y/N gasped as the needle poked into her vein, making her tightly close her eyes and breath out weakly. “I love you, Sans. I wish things didn’t happen this way,” she sniffled, looking into her fiancé’s sockets. He had been frozen in spot there for a moment before Y/n spoke up, making him come to reality. “I wish it could be me who you’d marry, but I won’t ever make it out of this, baby. But whenever I’m in heaven or hell, I’ll see you and I’ll be watching you meet someone else.”

“Shut up,” he whispered almost inaudibly. Y/N started to cry. Tears poured from her eyes and her voice hitched in an almost hysterical cry, but the coughing and blood coming out of her lungs made it so difficult for her to say what she wanted.

“I’ll watch you meet another girl and,” she coughed, growing nauseous as she almost screamed in pain. “It won’t hurt as bad as this!”

“Stop baby,” Sans silently pleaded.

“And when you and her marry, know this is what I wanted.”

“Shut up!” Sans exclaimed as he pressed down on the needle, forcing the drugs out of it and into her veins. She gasped, crying out harder as it happened. But within moments, her head began to turn and her face went limp aside from her wide eyes. Sans just stood there and watched. Watched his hands shake as he pulled the needle out slowly, how his girl’s face and body reacted to the drugs, how she began to laugh and smile and cry as she bleed to death from her lungs. As her body took the overdose, he watched she went from behind happy to just…

Limp. She stopped moving and her eyes remained opened, her mouth a little gap, and her face paler then before. Sans just watched it all. He was so scared, he couldn’t have said anything loving before she went. He couldn’t even say I love you.

Hours passed before Papyrus knocked on the bedroom door. “Sans?” He called out, his voice low while doing his best to hide his real emotion. “Is everything okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” Sans replied as if he wasn’t focused on answering. Slowly Papyrus opened the door, seeing his brother sitting in his chair, just looking at the body of his diseased fiancé. She must have died hours ago since her body was slowly beginning to change as nature ran its course. Her soul was open for taking and this would be the last one needed to cross the barrier, wouldn’t it?

But Papyrus knew he couldn’t do it. Even he couldn’t betray his brother like that. Not now, not with this soul.

“I never thought,” Sans started, “that this… this is how it would all end. She’s so beautiful, even like this. That fucking Brompton Cocktail made her as happy as I had seen her in over a month. And I couldn’t have even said goodbye or tell her I loved her.”

#Spotify #undertale x reader #underfell x reader #underfell sans #underfell sans x reader #underfell #undertale #Underfell sans x you #Underfell sans x y/n #sad :(

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