#nevermore reader

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Sickness and Sprains (+ asthma)

Pairings: Reader x Weems (platonic)

Word count: 3K

Summary: You're sick and it triggers your asthma badly which leads to getting injured as well. Weems helps you out.

TW: Asthma attack, injuries, sprains, swelling, general sickness stuff

A/n more of me projecting in my fics, (i hate my asthma but it did get me out of sport in high school so that was great)

Being sick was miserable. But it was even more so while you tried to pretend nothing was wrong. Going to all your classes despite the ache in your bones. The tightness in your chest that begged for a hit of your asthma puffer. But you couldn’t. You left it in your dorm and there had been no time between classes to go back and get it. Damn did you feel some massive amount of regret about that.

Your asthma was always at its worst when you were sick and this chest infection that had made a home under the lapels of your nevermore blazer was certainly giving your lungs a run for their money. Each breath ended in a small wheeze, and you were stifling coughs as your felt the ragged and shaky intake of air in your lungs with each breath. You were only half paying attention to the botany teacher who was stood at the front of the room lecturing. You were merely pretending to take notes yet the page in-front of you was as blank as the glassy look in your eyes.

You were exhausted. Waking up in the night coughing and hitting the puffer just to fall back into a restless sleep. You were pretty sure based off the heat you could feel cooking you from the inside out that you had a fever. But you would be damned to do anything about it. Asking for help was simply not in your nature.

You absent-mindedly fiddled with the cap of your pen still staring out the huge glass windows. You must have not been paying attention or time slipped away from you because the next second you were dismissed from class. You stood righting yourself as you swayed slightly, and Enid shot you and odd look, but you turned on your heel and left before she could say anything.

Walking through the hall was hard enough on a good day with the amount of people. But when it hurt to breathe sitting down, being suffocated in a hallway while walking seemed a very real possibility. In a dazed state you kept knocking into people slightly muttering a brief apology and going back to trying to stay upright.

After a moment of walking with your eyes trained on the floor you ran straight into someone. Before you could see who, it was you felt yourself fall backwards and your wrist connected with the wall behind you. And good god did it hurt. Pain flared down your arm as you felt hands on your elbow to stabilise you from falling all the way to the floor. What little air you had managed to keep inside you very unhappy lungs was knocked from your chest leaving you wheezing something awful. You felt strong arms wrap around you as the slight vertigo of the fever made interpreting what was going on rather hard.

You rested your head on the nearest thing and after a minute registered based on the rhythmic movements that someone was carrying you. You wheezed deeply and rested your head against the persons chest. Trusting them seemed like your only option right now. It took a minute for you to realise your bag was over one of their shoulders and another minute to register who the person was. Your cheeks flushed slightly. Principle weems was carrying you bridal style through the halls. Luckily the rest of the students had gone to class, but it was just your luck you had managed to collide with the one person in the school with all the power.

Blinking you still felt the harsh ragged wheezing ratting your lungs and you tensed in her arms coughing into the crook of your elbow. Pain shot through your chest sharply before numbing back to the dull ache of a chest infection asthma attack hybrid you were growing to know quite well. After another minute your breathing was getting worse, the wheezing was sharper, and it felt as if someone was stabbing you between the ribs. Mouthfuls of air seemed to have less and less of what you needed in them, and it seemed like it just wouldn’t stay inside your lungs.

Your wrist was still burning and in your fevered haze you hoped someone would bring you your asthma puffer.

You felt your body being gently set down on something soft. The couch in weems office. You rested your head on a pillow and watched her blurry form retreat. You make a noise of protest not wanting to die alone and you watched her lips move but heard no words. After a moment you shut your eyes trying to control the breathing. Your right arm cradled your left wrist and slowly the sound came back to the world. The crackling of the fire was what you heard first before you could hear and make out what weems was saying.

“That’s it Y/n deep breaths. Nice and slow. I’ve almost found it. You're doing such a good job darling.” You could hear her rummaging in the desk drawer of her office before she made a noise of success and moved back to your side. You felt her lithe fingers gently hold the back of your head as she pressed a puffer to your lips. She was still speaking.

“Now take a deep breath in.” She said exaggerating her own breathing.

“And out.” She said. “And in.” This time when you drew a breath she pressed down on the puffer and the medicine shot into your lungs.

“Hold.” She said and waited for a bit before gesturing for you to breathe. This time you were simply panting, the wheeze almost gone. Weems lent forward and brushed a stray curl from your eyes.

“There she is.” She said and you managed a weak smile. “Do you need another round with it?” She asked holding up the small blue device. You shook your head, and she patted your thigh before setting the puffer down next to the couch.

“Im going to go and get a first aid kit, some ice and a thermometer. Stay here for me, ok?” She said and you nodded again.

Your head still swimming slightly you stayed seated. After what felt like not enough time she returned with the things. She gently placed an ice pack wrapped in a cloth over your wrist and at first you hissed at the cold contact on the sore skin but sighed after a moment. It helped dull the pain slightly.

“Alright sweet girl. Can you open your mouth for me. I’d like to take your temperature. You felt a bit too warm for my liking when i had you in my arms.” She said pressing a thermometer to your lips. You parted them and she placed the stick inside. “Under your tongue.” She said and shut your jaw with a finger on the underside of your chin.

“Now. I know that wasn’t a regular old asthma attack. I have seen many of those in my years teaching and not many have managed to scare me quite as much as that one did. A+ for effort but next time let's try to keep breathing. It's quite important believe it or not.” She chucked. She placed a hand on your knee and looked into your eyes. “Whats going on darling? It’s not like you to not watch where you're going now is it?” She said and you looked absolute miserable. All the exhaustion of keeping up the pretence was ebbing, and you were left with nothing but pure exhaustion.

“‘M sick.” You muttered around the thermometer and weems clucked her tongue and the stick beeped. She gently removed it from your mouth and looked mildly surprised by the number displayed.

“101.9 far too high.” She said disapprovingly. “Here take these.” She said and handed you two small white tablets and a glass of water. You complied and only winced slightly as the water stung the sensitive flesh of your throat which had been irritated by the coughing. Weems began to gently lift the ice pack off your wrist to inspect the swelling and gently press on parts of it. Apologising profusely when you would wince or suck a sharp breath.

“Do you have any idea whats wrong darling?” She asked and you nodded wearily.

“Chest infection.” You said.

“Have you seen the nurse?” She asked raising an eyebrow.

“No time. Busy.”

“Darling there is always time for your health. Studies come second.” She said patting your knee. Gently she replaced the ice on your wrist. “Im almost certain it's not broken darling, but it is badly sprained. You’ll need to keep icing it over the next few days. I’ll excuse you from classes for the day provided you stay nearby, preferably in my office so i can keep an eye on you. The nurse is not here today she called in sick.” Weems said frowning. “Have you eaten today?” She asked. And you nodded.

“What have you had darling?” She asked skeptically.

“Just some jam and toast and some juice.” You replied. She frowned.

“Is your throat sore at all?”

“Just from the coughing.”

“I’ll bring you some cool water to sooth your throat and if you feel up to it, please help yourself to some biscuits. I’ll have the cook send someone up with some broth for lunch later.” She said standing and brushing invisible lint from her skirt. You nodded feeling exhausted.

“Sleep if you need. Im here if you require anything.” She said once she had returned with the water. You took a tentative sip relaxing a sigh as it soothed your throat. It wasn’t long before your eyes began to close, and you felt the glass being pried from your fingers. You didn’t fight her on it, simply succumbing to sleep.

Weems returned to her desk, typing on her laptop and sending off some important emails. She paused every once in a while, to gauge the wheezing as you slept, to give her an indication of if you required anything.

It was about two hours later you woke up feeling cold. You whined softly unsure of where you were. You heard a chair move and saw the face of Principle weems couching beside you. You grinned lopsided.

“Oh dear.” She said looking at your flushed cheeks and slightly damp curls. She placed a gentle hand to your cheek before moving it to your forehead and humming in disapproval.

“I fear your fever had risen.” She said fetching a thermometer and shooting you a worried glance as you giggled deliriously.

“Darling, under your tongue.” She said popping it into your mouth.

You smiled a goofy smile and did as you were asked. You both sat looking at each other until it beeped. Weems seemed to be looking for anything further that was ailing you but only found the constant wheeze of your breathing and sweat soaked form looking slightly parched.

Once she removed the thermometer she frowned again.

“W’s wrong?” You slurred.

“102.7 we need to get that down.” She said and gently passed you some more meds and a water. You took them gratefully and she left for a moment before returning with a small basin and a washcloth. You watched curiously as she dipped the rag into the water before wringing it out and gently wiping the sweat that had beaded on your face.

With careful and precise movements, she wiped down your cheeks and forehead. Once she had finished her ministrations, she dipped it once more and wrong it out before gently placing it on your forehead where she left it to rest. You hummed in content at the cool feeling on your face and weems left for a moment to bring you the broth she had kept warm on a silver tray.

“Isnt sil’r li’e bad for the wolves?” You asked still loopy and gesticulating wildly. Weems raised an eyebrow.

“It's not real silver darling.” She said and placed the tray on your lap, adjusting the pillows and cloth so you were sat more upright. Your hands shook making it very hard to get any of the soup into your mouth. Weems placed a soft hand over yours.

“Let me.” She said and slowly began to spoon feed you the soup. Between mouthfuls you gave a small pout which weems had to fight not to smile or roll her eyes at. Once the soup was all gone, she placed the tray back on the coffee table and adjusted you once more.

“Rest now. Your body needs it.” She said brushing the hair from your eyes with her fingers and once more adjusting the crooked washcloth.

Your eyes seemed to close on their own as you drifted off once more still glassy eyed and mildly confused. You felt a hand rubbing your arm gently until you were fully under the guise of sleep.

The next time you woke it was dark and your body felt stiff. Wriggling more upright you stretched reviling in the relived tightness of your muscles. You heard the click of stilettos and weems appeared once more.

“How are you feeling?” She asked pressing her hand to your cheek. “Your fever has gone down.” She noted and you nodded blearily.

“I feel better.” You said punctuating with a cough. She looked at you and raised a brow.

“I need more than that from you Ms L/n.” She said and you blinked.

“My throat doesn’t hurt as much but my chest still aches. It feels tight and it rattles when i breathe. It's not as unbearably hot in here as before so I guess thats good.” You said softly. Weems nodded.

“Yes. I suppose it is.” She said and tapped your cheek. “Open.” She said and slipped the thermometer under your tongue.

The two of you sat in a comfortable but slightly stiff silence waiting for the beep. When it did you knew the routine now well enough to let weems remove the stick from your mouth herself. She hummed a seemingly happy hum.

“100.2 it has gone down.” She noted and gave you and approving nod. You beamed and let out another small cough. She frowned. “Time for more meds.” She noted and handed you some more pills. You took them unassisted this time and weems handed you the puffer.

“Don’t think i didn’t notice your breathing being shallower. One hit, is all i ask.” She said watching closely as you administer the medicine into your lungs and sighed after, your airway feeling less tight and chest feeling more open.

“Good.” She said plucking the blue device from your open palm and placing back on the coffee table. She peeled the rag from your forehead and patted your arm.

“Let’s take a peek at your wrist.” She said and gently removed the ice she had been periodically placing there whilst you slept.

Your arm was resting on a pillow to elevate it and she gently examined it with soft pressure applied by her thumbs and fingers to gauge the swelling and pain. Once more she apologised when reaching any tender areas before giving a nod and replacing the ice.

“It's very much still swollen but I believe it will be ok. I'd like you to wear a sling and wrist brace to restrict movement and rest it until i deem fit.” She said and noted the bruise that was forming there. “Now, other than that are we feeling much the same?” She asked and you nodded. She hummed and stood.

“I’ve some work to attend to but need anything and I’ll be just over there.” She said pointing to her desk. You nodded and began to doze lightly as her heels returned to her desk. Not even meaning to you fell asleep to the sound of her keys typing.

It was safe to say weems was quite the nurse. When you woke the next day, you felt miles better than before and stood making your way to the bathroom. Once you had finished you made your way back to the lounge.

“What are you doing?” As voice said startling you and you felt, and arm wrap around yours to stabilise you.

“N-nothing i needed the bathroom.” You said and weems hummed and gently led you back to your makeshift bed.

“Let’s take your vitals and see what we’re dealing with today.” She said and gently deposited you back where you had been for the past 24 hours.

She took your temperature, pleased your fever had broken in the night. She examined your wrist and listened to your breathing, satisfied it had less of a wheeze than the day before. After this she stood and walked over to her desk, you watched her curiously. After a moment she found whatever, she was looking for and retuned to your side. She crouched in front of you and gently took your injured wrist. She guided it into the brace she had procured from her desk and explained how she had found one from the nurse's station earlier that morning. After adjusting it and making sure it was correctly applied to restrict movement she told you to rest some more, and you did.

Over the next few hours your improved greatly before weems dubbed you fit to do slightly more strenuous activity’s. She had Enid bring you the classwork you missed and the two of you worked side by side for the afternoon, weems typing away on her computer and you studying whatever classes you had been taking. After a while you paused spinning your pen between your fingers.

“Principle weems?” You asked and she looked up pausing.

“Yes dear?” She said.

“Thank you.” You said and she smiled.

“Anytime darling.”

MASTERLIST

[poisonlove]

My request for Wednesday,

I didn't find any hair on your shirt

And?

Who's the bald girl?

This, but Wednesday does an investigation and concludes it's Bianca. And Reader has to deal with that.

A funny, fluffy fic!

If you don't feel like it, just ignore this please!

Keep up the good work! <3

Stupid jealousy | w.a

A/n: i hope i understood the request, Enjoy! Pairing: Wednesday Addams X reader

Y/N slowly pushed open the door to Ophelia Hall, her heart light and a smile on her lips.

“Hey…” she murmured enthusiastically as she entered the room shared by Enid and Wednesday, letting herself be enveloped by the unmistakable contrast of bright colors and gothic shadows.

Her eyes immediately searched for Wednesday, her girlfriend, always immersed in the writing of her book The Adventures of Viper de la Muerte. Wednesday’s posture was rigid, shoulders tense, fingers moving swiftly over the keys of her typewriter.

From where Y/N stood she could see her girlfriend’s profile: a small upturned nose, thick but well-groomed eyebrows, full lips pressed into a thin line as if weighing her words carefully. Her brows were slightly furrowed, a frown on her face—the only sign of humanity in an otherwise controlled expression.

Her long black hair was usually braided into two plaits that fell over her shoulders.

“Hello” Wednesday replied in a neutral tone, eyes fixed on the typewriter.

Y/N raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in confusion, the crease on her forehead marking the puzzlement painted across her face. What’s wrong with her? she thought, confused. She’s been like this for a week, she realized. She blinked and her eyes drifted to the left side of the room, immediately noticing the absence of her girlfriend’s energetic roommate.

She closed the door behind her and walked toward the middle of Wednesday’s room.

“Is something wrong? You’ve been like this for a week,” Y/N asked, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she voiced her thoughts.

She sat down awkwardly on Wednesday’s bed, the mattress sinking gently beneath her weight. A barely audible sigh escaped Wednesday’s full lips, her muscles tense like violin strings. Y/N tilted her head to the side and watched her girlfriend curiously, the muscle on her neck bulging like a silent warning. Wednesday stopped typing, and the clacking of the keys that had filled the room moments before abruptly ceased. The atmosphere shifted in an instant: heavy, charged, as if something unspoken was hanging in the air.

Wednesday Addams rose from her chair and slowly turned to face her girlfriend. Jaw clenched, expression seemingly calm, but it was her eyes that sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine: dark, impassive, a vortex of fire and curiosity. Y/N swallowed loudly and moved awkwardly on the bed, leaning back to create some distance between herself and Wednesday’s restrained fury.

With slow, deliberate steps, Wednesday approached, the rhythmic stomp of her Dr. Martens echoing on the wooden floor—the only sound in the room thick with silent, palpable tension.Y/N’s eyes widened, surprise and confusion painted on her face as Wednesday stopped in front of her. Wednesday’s right hand rested on Y/N’s shoulder, helping her to lift herself slightly as she swung her leg over Y/N’s lap, eyes locked on hers. A trembling sigh escaped Y/N’s lips as she felt Wednesday’s weight on her. Instinctively, Y/N’s hand slid to Wednesday’s side, fingers tightening around the dark gray fabric of her uniform, pulling her closer.

Wednesday kept her serious gaze while the tension in her jaw softened just slightly.

Y/N’s heart hammered fiercely against her ribcage, blood thudding in her ears, breath catching just barely, her eyes flickering over Wednesday’s face, lingering a second too long on her lips. She swallowed loudly and blinked, trying to dispel the fog of desire creeping into her mind and forced herself to focus on her girlfriend’s face.

Wednesday blinked, her upper lip curling into what looked like a restrained smile. Y/N noticed the freckles scattered across her girlfriend’s nose, her black eyes gleaming with something unknown to her.

Wednesday’s right hand slid from Y/N’s shoulder and slowly snaked down to her tie, fingers curling tightly around the fabric. Her left hand rose dangerously close to Y/N’s face, fingers digging into her cheeks, black lacquered nails gently scratching the skin beneath. Y/N’s breath hitched; her insides twisted pleasantly beneath the firm but tender touch.

She tilted Y/N’s chin downwards, fingers applying gentle pressure to her cheeks.

“I don’t see a single hair on your uniform,” Wednesday said in a cold, monotone voice, a trace of curiosity and fury evident in her tone.Y/N blinked in confusion, her eyes darting quickly over Wednesday’s face, trying to decipher what she was thinking.

"and?" whispered y/n

“Who’s the bald girl? What did you do with Bianca?” she murmured venomously, her voice so low and threatening it could scare anyone to death—but not Y/N.

Y/N’s lips stretched into a smile before she burst out laughing, the incredulity of the question amusing her more than she ever expected. Wednesday jealous of Bianca? Y/N mocked. Ridiculous. Small tears formed at the corners of her eyes as she gently pulled away from Wednesday’s grip. Wednesday tilted her head, eyes locked onto Y/N’s with an almost animalistic ferocity.

“Don’t laugh, Y/N.” Her voice was a whisper sharp as a knife. “You don’t know how dangerous I can be when you underestimate me.” Her fingers tightened slightly on the tie, her piercing gaze daring Y/N not to break.

Y/N stopped laughing, a disbelieving huff escaping her lips as she leaned forward. Their faces were close, breaths mingling, blood racing wildly from the proximity, stomach clenched in a knot as she dared to invade Wednesday’s personal space. Y/N’s eyelids softened as she looked into Wednesday’s eyes. Her hand tightened on her girlfriend’s side and she bit her lower lip, amused.

“I never thought I’d witness a jealous moment from the formidable Wednesday Addams,” she whispered, “and relax, darling, I’m not underestimating you—it’d be stupid of me to do so.”

She tilted her head, the tip of her nose brushing against Wednesday’s.

“Just don’t kill her, okay? There’s absolutely nothing between me and her,” she murmured, eyes fixed on Wednesday’s full, inviting lips.They were close, yet somehow still distant—their desire and Wednesday’s need to preserve her personal space making Y/N hesitate.

“you better not,” Wednesday whispered before pressing their lips together in a sweet, desperate kiss.

[b1lli3sgirl]

New series!!

"Call my name"

Wednesday x fem! Reader?

(Maybe GN reader)

Wednesday Addams

"I'd let the world burn for you"

Wednesday, the cold, gloomy, emotionless girl who'd never see herself falling in love, meets you, a quiet, shy, very much not emotional girl. She doesn't understand you; your power isn't something you mention. She has to pull it out of Enid. When the two of you finally get close she'd never imagine falling in love with you. You fell deep enough in love to show her the lengths you'd go to protect her.

Y/N Y/M/N Y/LN

"There's nothing you could do or say I can't escape the way I love you"

Finding love wasn't something you had planned for your four years at Nevermore. Your plans? Figure out your powers, how to control them, and abuse them. You wanted to use these powers to your advantage, yet you couldn't even understand them. Some type of reality morphing that had the horrible side effect of dreams- no. Nightmares. You hated them. Your power was meant to be shitty reality morphing that you couldn't control. That was subtle you'd had the scarily realistic dream. A dress that wasn't a dream or a nightmare. No no. It was a vision. You wanted to stay quiet and distant while trying to figure out said powers. That was until you met Wednesday. So much for not falling in love. Cause you did. You fell hard. Hard enough to become a sacrifice.

Enid sinclair

"She wolf in disguise"

Who could hate such a sweet girl? Nobody. Not when she had you. Before Wednesday came to Nevermore, you were her "protector," as she put it. You were a silent person, a paper that nobody really knew much about. Therefore, you had some sort of power. People knew you could morph reality with pen and paper, but they didn't know if you couldn't even control or use said power. When Wednesday came she was mysterious. Mystery causes curiosity, curiosity causes fear, fear causes power and power causes obedience. Enid was sweet and bubbly, you never knew how she hadn't gotten strangled by someone yet. She was sweet, vulnerable, and easy to hurt. You kept an eye on Wednesday to make sure she wouldn't hurt your sweet Enid. She didn't. But if she did you'd be sure to figure out your power.

Warnings: fluff, angst, violence, blood, violence, alcohol, reader is low-key emotionally unavailable, very typical warning honestly I get bored and creative

Chapters:

01. Mystery girl

02. Chapter two

03. Chapter three

04. Chapter four

05. Chapter Five

[onlybeeewrites]

What are the Odds (2/ )

Pairing: light Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!reader, Haymitch Abernathy x Lenore Dove (mentioned/referred), very light Wyatt Callow x Fem!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR SUNRISE ON THE REAPING!, light violence, mentions of death

What are the Odds series: Previous

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. This was all one terrible nightmare. And soon you’d wake up next to Burdock. With your Ma’s cooking in the air while she hummed, Pa sitting in his chair by the fire. and everything would be okay.

But a part of you knew this was a nightmare you’d never wake up from. This was a living nightmare featuring you and your friends. Your peers. Innocents that had done nothing wrong, being punished for those who simply wanted to be free.

The still shock clung to you like the coal dust that stained your home. It sunk into your skin, into your lungs, into your bones. You felt it in the weight pressing down on your chest, in the ringing in your ears that muffled everything else.

The world had moved on without you, the anthem playing, people speaking, names being read. But you were stuck. Frozen in the moment your name had been pulled from that bowl. But you refused to allow the Capital to see it.

Your schooled features were all you allowed them to see. The inner thoughts and panic were all your own. A silent weight that sunk deeper and deeper.

Though you were still trying to process it. Who could truly blame you? Out of all the kids in District 12, they had picked you.

District 12 was not that large. Twice as many tributes, twice as many names, twice the deaths. The odds had been worse this year, you knew that. You should have been prepared for the possibility. And yet—

You had never actually believed it would be you.

Or Haymitch. Or Louella. Or Wyatt.

People you knew. People you had laughed with, fought with, lived with. People you grew up with? How were you supposed to survive? How were you supposed to get home?

How awful. How absolutely awful this whole thing was.

You barely heard the conversation as Drusella, who remained you of a canary, wrapped up the hole thing. The square started to empty, though it seemed they were all hesitant to go. As if it would be the last time they saw the four of you—which you supposed it was.

That was until a sharp voice cut through the haze of your mind, causing you to snap back to the present.

“You.”

The man—Plutarch, you think—pointed at Louella first. Then he hesitated, scanning the rest of you before his gaze settled between Wyatt, Haymitch, and you.

“And you,” he finally decided, his finger landing on Haymitch.

Your escort took a pause, then with a flick of his wrist. Dismissive. Like none of you were even people to her. Just names. Just bodies to be moved. Animals to corral.

“Fine. Make sure they’re on the car for the train in five minutes.” She said as she pulled out a cigarette and left the stage, heading out behind the Justice Building.

Then, everything moved too fast.

The Peacekeepers pulled Louella and Haymitch away first, leading them toward the crowd, toward whatever sick Capitol production they were staging. Maybe they wanted a shot of their tearful goodbyes. Maybe they were filming a show of strength, proving how easily they could take your people and turn them into sacrifices.

But you didn’t care about that.

Because the second rough hands clamped around your arms, the second cold metal cuffs snapped around your wrists, it hit you.

They weren’t going to let you say goodbye.

“No, wait,” you gasped, jerking back, your pulse spiking. The panic ran through you like ice water. The Peacekeepers barely reacted, just kept marching forward, starting to pull you along like dead weight.

The cuffs bit into your skin as you twisted against them. “Let me come! Let me say goodbye! It’s the least you can do!”

They didn’t slow. If anything, they moved faster.

“No, please—please!”

Your feet dragged against the dirt, the heels of your boots skidding as you fought against their grip. But they were stronger. Larger.

No matter how hard you dug in, they kept moving. Through the entrance of the Justice Building. Past the halls lined with closed doors—doors that should have been open, should have had your family behind them. But you wouldn’t get that. No final words, no last embrace.

Only this. An unforgiving last glance at your family in the crowd from the stage.

Only the cold hands forcing you forward, out into the back of the building where a black truck sat waiting idle for the four of you.

“Please, just let me—”

“Shut it.”

The first warning.

You twisted harder, your heart slamming against your ribs. Your wrists throbbed where the cuffs cut into your skin, but you barely noticed. All you could think was no, no, no, I can’t leave like this. Not like this.

“I just—please—I just need a minute! Just—“

“I said shut it.”

The second warning.

Then came the pain.

The stun baton cracked against your ribs, and your whole body lit up with agony. Electricity surged through your nerves, burning from the inside out.

Your legs collapsed before you even registered what had happened. The breath was punched from your lungs, your muscles locking up as you hit the gravel beneath you.

Your head spun. The world flickered in and out of focus for a moment.

And still, they didn’t stop. They didn’t give you a moment to pull yourself back together.

Hands yanked you up again, too rough, too fast. The cuffs dug deeper as they forced you forward, your body struggling to keep up. Your limbs felt useless, trembling, weak. The only thing keeping you upright was the strong grip that caught your arm before you could fall again.

Wyatt.

He was cuffed too, his face tight with but showing no emotion. But he didn’t fight them, though. Didn’t waste his breath. He just held on, his grip steady, solid, anchoring you in place as the Peacekeepers shoved you both toward the truck.

He helped you inside, guiding you when your legs refused to work, your mind still lost in the haze of pain.

Then the doors slammed shut behind you.

Darkness.

No goodbyes. No last words.

Not for you, at least.

Not to your Ma or Pa. Not to Lenore Dove, who used to sing with you by the old fence line. Not to Burdock—your brother, your blood. The person who had been by your side through everything.

Your heart broke and you squeezed your eyes shut. Your head leaning back against the cool metal of the truck.

For the first time since they called your name, the fear finally, truly sank in. You allowed it to. Better now without the cameras. Better to do it now until every moment from here on out is recorded and shown on screen.

The truck’s interior was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a small, barred window near the ceiling. The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of rust and oil. You sat on the cold metal bench, wrists bound in front of you, the sting from the stun baton still resonating through your ribs. Wyatt sat beside you, his own hands cuffed, his expression unreadable as he stared at the floor.

But it was company. You’d known Wyatt from school. Knew that he was different than the rest of his brother’s, or even his father. The way his brain worked was fascinating. But now? Now he was a welcome comfort of company as you both faced the same death sentence.

Minutes passed in oppressive silence, each second stretching longer than the last. The weight of what had just transpired pressed heavily upon you, making it hard to breathe. Your mind raced, replaying the events over and over, searching for some way this could all be undone.

The truck’s rear doors swung open abruptly, the sudden influx of light causing you to squint. Two Peacekeepers stood silhouetted against the brightness, their grips firm on Louella’s arms as they hoisted her into the vehicle. She stumbled slightly, her eyes wide and glassy, a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. The doors clanged shut behind her, plunging the three of you back into semi-darkness.

Louella took a shaky breath, her gaze darting between you and Wyatt, before landing back on you. “Are you both… okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded numbly, not trusting your voice to remain steady. Wyatt offered a curt nod as well, his jaw clenched tightly. But didn’t respond.

You weren’t alright. None of you were. You were all going to be dead this time by next week. How were you supposed to comfort Louella? Were you supposed to lie and make a promise you couldn’t keep?

Another agonizing minute crawled by. Then another one before the doors opened once more. This time, it was Haymitch. He was ushered in more roughly than Louella had been, but the tension in his posture was evident. His eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of something passing through them before he settled onto the bench opposite you.

The four of you sat in silence, the weight of your collective fate hanging heavily in the confined space. The truck’s engine roared to life, and with a jolt, you began moving, the vibrations rattling through the metal floor beneath your feet.

As the vehicle rumbled over the uneven roads of District 12, you couldn’t help but think of the families left behind, the goodbyes that were stolen from you. The image of your parents’ faces, etched with worry and grief, flashed before your eyes. Burdock’s teasing smirk, now a distant memory, felt like a cruel reminder of the life you were being torn away from.

The journey to the train was brief. The truck came to a halt, and the doors were opened once more. Bright daylight flooded in, revealing the imposing structure of the train station. The Peacekeepers gestured for you to exit, their expressions impassive.

One by one, you stepped out, the cuffs around your wrists a constant reminder of your captivity. The train before you was sleek and opulent, a stark contrast to the grim reality you faced. Its polished exterior gleamed under the sun, a symbol of the Capitol’s excess and control.

Though the next few parts were a bit of blur. All you remembered was being shoved forward onto the train platform and then into the train.

The next thing you had known was the four of you were sitting in chairs. Wyatt was next to you, Louella across, and Haymitch was diagonal.

Your mind kind of shut out for a moment as Drusilla rambled on in annoyance at the four of you. She had mentioned something about mentors.

Since District 12 had no live mentors, they would be assigned one from one of the other districts. Spares for the outliers. You remembered the last victor though. She wasn’t spoken about often. But you knew enough to know that whatever actually happened, wasn’t something they your family spoke about often.

It was a grief that moved on. But no one forgot her name. Not you. Not Lenore Dove. Or your uncles. You knew exactly where the missing covey girl was.

But one thing was for certain.

The four of you would be completely on your own.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The train hummed beneath you, steady and ceaseless, a lullaby for the damned. You lay on the upper bunk of your shared room, facing the wall. Your knees drawn to your chest beneath the Capitol-issued blanket. The room was dim, lit only by the soft green glow of a control panel near the door.

Louella’s breathing was slow and even beneath you, curled up on the lower bunk, her arm draped over the edge like a doll left behind. Across the room, Wyatt was sprawled on his back in the bunk opposite, one foot hanging off, rather loud snores occasionally catching in his throat.

“That’s going to get him killed,” you think to yourself. In the arena. If Wyatt snored like that? He would be dead quicker than given the chance.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Every time your eyes closed, they were filled with images of home—of Burdock calling after you in the square, of Ma’s quiet smile, of the reaping stage, of Woodbine’s body hitting the ground, the gunshots, the crying.

Your fingers twisted the ring on your middle finger. The small copper thing was smooth from wear, the edges dulled by years of being fidgeted with. It had belonged to your grandmother. You’d taken to spinning it around your fingers when you were little, back when bad dreams were your biggest fear.

Now, it was a tether, something to remind you that you were still here, still real. Something to keep you grounded.

Across the room, you noticed the faint shift of movement from the corner of your eye.

Haymitch.

He was sitting up in his bunk, elbow resting on his knee, turning something over in his hand. The light caught the object just right, flickering softly against the polished metal. You squinted, blinking past the shadows.

The flint striker.

Lenore Dove’s present.

Your breath caught slightly. You didn’t know why it surprised you to see it, but it did. Maybe because your cousin had been so excited to give it to him.

“Pretty with a purpose,” she had said to you when she told you of the idea. She had been so excited. She was so in love with him. A love like that was something you were so jealous of. Though you were unsure if it was because of the genuine love that they had for each other, or if it was because who Lenore Dove was in love with.

Haymitch looked up, catching you watching. He didn’t flinch or tuck it away, just held your gaze for a long moment in the dark.

You whispered first.

“She gave it to you,”

His voice was rough, low, barely above a breath. “Yeah, this morning. Before the Reaping,”

You smiled faintly, shifting to lie on your side, one arm tucked beneath your cheek as you whispered back, “I’m glad. She wouldn’t stop talking about it. It came out really pretty,”

He gave a quiet huff, something like a half-laugh, barely audible. “Yeah?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah she came up with it months ago. Working out the design with Tam Amber. Watched over his shoulder and everything when making it,” you say though the memory was hard. How excited your cousin was when she had thought of the perfect gift for her guy.

Haymitch let out a soft hum as his thumb ran over the smooth surface again. As if hearing what you said made it even more dear to him; if that were even possible.

Silence settled again, soft and strange—not heavy, not uncomfortable. Just… quiet. The kind that only people who’ve lost the same thing could sit in. He had always understood you, just as he understood Burdock.

You traced the edge of your ring again, absently. “I thought I’d be more scared than this.”

Haymitch glanced over at you, his face unreadable in the dark. “You are scared,” he said, not unkindly. “You’re just not showing it. You’ve always done that. Even when we were kids. Putting on a brave face. But once you’re alone…then you’ll allow yourself to feel,”

You nodded a little, almost hating how well he knew you. Your tells. Your habits. Straight down to knowing how you’d handle situations like this. “You know me too much, Hay,”

He looked down at the striker again, turned it once more in his hand. “Yeah I know. Makes two of us though,”

You swallowed. You hadn’t expected that to matter as much as it did. But something in your chest unknotted, just a little.

The train hit a slight curve, the walls groaning softly. Louella shifted below you, mumbling something in her sleep. Wyatt rolled over.

“Do you think we’ll…” you started, then stopped.

“Live?” Haymitch finished, blunt and quiet.

You nodded.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know I’m not going down easy. There are twice the amount of tributes. Twice the careers. The odds aren’t exactly looking great for us,”

You watched him for a second longer, then whispered, “I know. But we have to at least try, right? Or at least try and get Louella home..”

His thumb flicked over the striker, “Yeah. One of you girls,”

“Louella,” you corrected.

But Haymitch’s grey eyes flickered to yours again, “No. One of you girls. Your family needs you too, sweetheart. I know Ma and Sid will be taken care of when you get back.”

And there it was. That irritatingly sweet nickname he always called you. It started out as a condescending nickname a year or two ago. Everyone kept saying how sweet you were. How you were so willing to spare your own food to those who were hungry. To help out along the Seam, whether with laundry, or cleaning, or medicine.

But to Haymitch you were a menace. Which is why he couldn’t believe it when he heard someone referring to you as the sweetest girl in the District.

Though as you both grew older, it kind of stuck. And still, it gave you butterflies every time he called you that. You wondered if he’ll ever stop, not that you would want him to. But what did Lenore Dove think of it? Did she care?

“They have Burdock. And Burdock has Asterid. Sure, they’d grieve. But they’d move on. They’ll help your Ma and Sid. And eventually Burdie and Asterid will have some kids. The Everdeen will be alright without me, Hay.”

“You say that now. But you’re more depended on than you realize. They’ll grieve you harder than you’ll ever know. I know that for a damn fact,”

“Just promise you’ll look out for Louella. At least I can hunt. But she’s…” your voice trailed off softly as you couldn’t put it into words. You couldn’t say how she was a frail girl. A poor girl, from the poorest District in Panem. A twelve-year old with no experience even holding a weapon.

You could defend yourself. But Louella needed someone to keep an eye on her. And you would make sure to do just that. Louella needed to be the one who got home. She had no much ahead of her.

Haymitch stared at you for a moment, the flint striker between his fingers, “Fine.” He finally had said, “As long as you don’t try to be some hero and pull some self-sacrificing bullshit,” he then tucked the striker back under the collar of his shirt, arms behind his head.

“Alright.”

You turned back toward the wall, ring still on your middle finger, twisting softly.

Neither of you said another word, but sleep came a little bit easier after that.

[bunnytongues]

My type in women btw

[202crowqueen]

Gosh I love Prospero…

Like obviously I love him for the aroace rep but I also just love him and as a fast passer (no spoilers obviously) I just keep loving him more

~ Gotta love sticking to the moral code ~

Look at this absolutely brilliant dude he loves espresso because he’s tired of everyone’s nonsense

[imfierylilac]

The relationship with these characters feels like

Being in a relationship with Prospero feels like:

Quiet, gentle care

Advice about your health and constant worry for your well-being

Warm tea and shared reading time

Quiet dates in the library

Like autumn rain outside while you're safe at home under a cozy blanket

Soft, careful touches — rare, but full of love

Being in a relationship with Duke feels like:

Touches. A hand on your waist, hugs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. A constant desire to be close.

Long, passionate kisses in hidden corners of the Academy

Playful teasing and endless flirting

Sweet nicknames spoken with a captivating French accent

Performing magic tricks just to watch your eyes light up with wonder

Breaking Academy rules

Sneaking across rooftops at night after curfew

Being in a relationship with Pluto feels like:

An oversized warm coat big enough for both of you to hide inside

Late-night talks about dreams and the meaning of life

Calmness after a long spell of anxiety

Kisses on old white scars

Blushing cheeks

Long, tight hugs and cuddles

Fingers tightly interlaced

[queerfanfiction]

Love Notes (Ch. 7)

Larissa Weems x musicteacher!Reader Finally an update!

AO3 link

“Is it actually you?” Larissa’s voice sounds hoarse, her breath hitching slightly. You’re not sure if it’s due to her tears by the fountain earlier or if she is disappointed in the reveal. Her hands tremble at her sides, fingers curling as if to grasp onto something solid. Her blue eyes glisten with unspoken emotions, flickering between disbelief and cautious hope. There’s a vulnerability in her posture—a slight slouch of her shoulders, as though the weight of the moment has softened her usual poise.

Braving the unknown and attempting to control your own voice, you reply, “Of course.” You pause a moment, letting the warm, nutty aroma of the Weathervane wrap around you. “I’m a little surprised you never asked me directly. There were so many times I thought you had found me out.”

Silence.

The other woman seems puzzled. It’s the closest emotion you can track from her features—slightly furrowed brows, eyes distant and focused downward, staring into space. After a long moment waiting for a response from Larissa, or even a change in her facial expression, doubt gnaws from within your chest. Nervous explanations threaten to escape your lips, each word clawing at the back of your throat, desperate to fill the heavy silence. Your fingers begin nervously tracing the rim of your mug while your mind races, replaying every interaction that could have betrayed your secret, every glance Larissa might have misread. You think back to that day in Nevermore’s library when Larissa’s gaze lingered a moment too long on the notebook you hastily shut, its pages filled with annotations about her favorite songs. Or the time in the corridor when her lips curved into a puzzled smile as she caught you humming a tune she had once mentioned in passing. Every glance, every hesitation—it all feels like a series of missed revelations.

The weight of her unspoken thoughts press down on you, and you fight the urge to blurt out all your anxieties. You feel your cheeks warm and word vomit bubbling up to shield your own potential hurt. You take a shaky breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions threatening to spill over.

“I know you’re probably shocked… I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable for you or if you’re disappointed. I promise I haven’t been preying on our closeness or friendship. I admire you so much, and I didn’t want to push you away and lose our friendship by saying anything. I understand if you feel betrayed. I guess I took the coward’s way out not confessing sooner.”

As you speak, Larissa’s confused look turns into a frown. She brings her eyes up to yours, and you try not to become shy under her gaze. Thankfully, determination wins out over worry, and you hold firm when meeting Larissa’s eyes.

“When you were poisoned, I vowed to take a chance—to finally let myself get close to you.” You let in more emotion than intended while confessing the next part. “You were almost gone, Larissa. After the nightshade incident, I saw how much it affected you. How much you carry, day in and day out, to keep Nevermore running. I just… wanted to let you know someone noticed. That someone cared."

Catching you off guard, Larissa finally utters, “What about the florist?” She needs to methodically respond or bring up each point to clear her head of the mess inside.

“What do you mean what about the florist? James?”

Now it was Larissa’s turn to question herself. “I thought you two were an item.” Larissa attempts to keep her voice from sounding accusatory or too affected.

A shocked kind of relief comes over you as you process Larissa’s worry and justification. In response, you tease, “He was helping me plan the surprise for you. Or did you think I could magically summon flowers as one of my powers?”

A blush touched Larissa’s cheeks. She wasn’t used to being wrong, and certainly not in a way where others might poke fun at the circumstance. “No… I…” Larissa hesitated, her hands twisting nervously at the fabric of her gloves. Her usual poise was nowhere to be found. “I suppose I let my imagination… run away with me.”

You tilt your head, a small smile playing on your lips despite the tension. “Larissa Weems? Jealous? I didn’t think you had it in you.” A smile threatens at your lips.

The blush on Larissa’s face deepens, andshe straightens her posture, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. “I am not jealous. I simply… misinterpreted the situation.”

“If you say so,” you tease gently, though your heart is pounding.

Larissa’s eyes meet yours again, and the vulnerability in them makes your teasing fade immediately. She’s still uncertain—hesitant in a way you’ve never seen before. Her voice is quieter this time as she asks, “Why me?”

Your features soften, and you reach forward over the table to take her fidgeting hand in yours. “Why not you? You’re brilliant, headstrong, compassionate, and… gods, Larissa, you’re captivating. I couldn’t keep this to myself any longer. You deserve to know how extraordinary you are.” You continue to explain, “Even though I had been wanting to, Enid is actually the one who tipped the scales in favor of me confessing. She’s quite perceptive when she wants to be. Must be the gossip blog eye.”

Larissa’s lips part slightly, but no words come out. The emotions in her eyes are too numerous to name—hope, doubt, fear, and something that looks a little like longing. She’s searching your face for something, though you’re not entirely sure what.

Before you can gain clarity on her thoughts, she asks, “How did you do it?” Larissa gestures to the wall where you appeared in the Weathervane.

You knew Larissa hadn’t known about your ability to phase. You didn’t technically disclose that in your interview process for the music professor job. “Ah, well, it’s never come up in our discussions about music. It’s matter manipulation. It’s actually why I am able to create music so easily. I’m technically manipulating the sound waves in the air.”

You pause briefly, gauging her reaction before continuing. “It’s more than sound, though. I can phase through solid objects by breaking down my molecular structure and slipping between the spaces in matter. It’s… not as simple as it sounds, unfortunately. It requires immense focus and control, and if I’m not careful, I could destabilize the matter around me.”

Larissa’s brows furrow in fascination, her earlier confusion replaced by awe. She glances between your hands and your face, a flicker of wonder breaking through her usual composure. The weight of the revelation settles in her expression, a mix of admiration and disbelief. “You’ve been living with this… and using it so effortlessly,” she finally murmurs, her voice soft, almost reverent. “That’s incredible. You’ve been using this ability all along to create those… those beautiful compositions?”

You nod, smiling warmly at Larissa’s words. “Yes. Each note, each harmony, is carefully crafted by manipulating the vibrations in the air. It’s like painting with sound.”

A soft chuckle escapes her lips. “No wonder your music feels so alive. It’s a part of you.”

The sincerity in her voice sends more warmth through you, and you lower your gaze, feeling a little shy under her praise. “It’s not always easy,” you admit, unsure of how to proceed. “Sometimes, it’s overwhelming—hearing and feeling everything at once. But when I focus, it’s like… everything falls into place. Especially when I was creating the playlists for you. I wanted them to be perfect.”

Larissa’s other hand reaches out, her fingers squeezing yours. “They are perfect. And so are you.”

Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, the world seems to pause. The sounds of espresso shots being pulled and customers chattering fades into the background, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment of understanding and connection.

You sense Larissa’s curiosity growing as you two sit together for a few moments, her focus sharpening as she begins to grasp the depth of your abilities. “How far can it go?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. “Your powers, I mean. What else can you do?”

You take a moment to consider your answer, glancing at your hands as if they hold the key to what you want to say. “It’s… complicated. The more I practice, the more I understand. I can amplify soundwaves to create music that resonates on an emotional level. But I’ve also used it to calm people in panicked states—to harmonize the vibrations around them and bring peace to their bodies. It’s like tuning an instrument, but on a much larger scale for people’s limbic and nervous systems.”

Larissa’s eyes widen. “You can… calm people? Affect their emotions?”

You nod slowly. “Not in a controlling way, but more like… aligning their energy. Kind of like how humming and singing can stimulate one’s vagus nerve. It’s subtle, and I’d never use it without consent. But yes, I can help others find balance.”

Her expression shifts, a mix of admiration and intrigue. “And the phasing? Could you… could you go anywhere?”

“Not quite anywhere,” you say with a small laugh. “There are limits. It’s exhausting, and certain materials make it harder—denser metals, for example. But I’m learning. It’s as much about knowing my limits as it is about pushing them.”

Larissa’s hand tightens slightly around yours, grounding you in the moment. “You’re extraordinary,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “I hope you know that.”

Your cheeks flush, but you don’t look away. “Coming from you, that means everything.” For the first time, you feel completely seen—not just for your powers or your music, but for everything you are. And in Larissa’s eyes, you see that same vulnerability mirrored back at you.

After a moment, Larissa exhales shakily. “This is… a lot to take in.”

You nod, not sure whether or not to remove your hand from hers. “I understand. I’m not expecting an answer or anything right now. I just… I needed you to know.”

Larissa’s leg underneath the table brushes against yours. The touch is featherlight, but it sends a jolt through you. “Thank you,” she says softly, her voice almost trembling. “For everything.”

You rub her hands gently with your thumbs and offer her a small smile. “Always.”

Looking into your eyes thoughtfully before returning to the drinks in front of you two, Larissa suggests, “Shall I get us seconds, and you can tell me all about it?”

For the first time since the conversation began, you feel hope bloom in your chest. Whatever happens next, you’ve taken the first step. And that, you think, is enough for now.

You nod, but before Larissa can move, the door to the café opens abruptly, letting in a gust of cold air. A familiar face enters—a student from Nevermore, wide-eyed and clearly distressed.

“Headmistress Weems,” the student says, their voice shaky. “We need you. Something… something strange is happening back at school.”

Larissa’s expression sharpens immediately, the warmth between you momentarily replaced by her authoritative demeanor. She glances at you, an unspoken question in her eyes.

“Let’s go,” you say, already standing. Whatever was happening at Nevermore, you had no doubt you’d face it together.

—

The drive back to the school is tense, filled with the low hum of Larissa’s thoughts as she grips the steering wheel tightly. The student sits in the back, shifting nervously. You glance at Larissa, and she’s already deep in her role as Headmistress, her jaw set and eyes focused on the road.

As you arrive at the gates, you notice an eerie glow coming from the east wing of the campus. Students are gathered outside in small clusters, whispering nervously. The air is charged, static almost crackling as you step out of the car.

“What’s going on?” Larissa asks a nearby teacher, her voice calm but commanding.

The teacher, a young man with wide eyes that you’ve seen around the corridors, stammers, “I-it’s the greenhouse. Something’s happening inside. It’s… alive.”

“Alive?” you echo, stepping closer.

The teacher nods, visibly shaken. “The plants are… growing out of control. They’ve broken through the walls and windows. I don’t know how to stop it. All I could think to do was evacuate.”

Larissa turns to you, her expression grim and serious. “We need to contain this. Can your powers help?”

You nod, adrenaline already surging. “I’ll try.”

After ensuring other faculty secures the other entrances to the area, you and Larissa head toward the greenhouse. The closer you get, the more chaotic the scene becomes. The vines thrash wildly, scraping against the greenhouse walls with a screeching sound that sets your teeth on edge. Shards of glass crunch beneath your feet, mingled with the earthy scent of disturbed soil and an unnatural, sickly-sweet aroma. You two have to take pains to not trip over bits of broken stone across the ground. The air hums with tension, punctuated by sharp cracks as the plants force their way through wooden beams. A low, guttural groan emanates from deep within, as if the greenhouse itself is alive and in pain, urging you to hurry. Vines continue to twist and writhe, stretching toward the sky as if searching for something.

“Stay behind me,” Larissa instructs, but you shake your head.

You swallow a scoff. “We’re doing this together.”

As you step inside, the air grows thick with the scent of earth and something sweet, almost cloying. The plants seem to sense your presence, their movements becoming more erratic. You close your eyes, focusing on the vibrations around you, tuning into the chaotic energy of the greenhouse.

“I’ll work on de-escalating,” you say loudly over the noise, your voice steady despite the tension. “But I’ll need your help if they fight back.”

Larissa nods, her confidence unwavering and her eyes narrowing. “Let’s do this.”

You extend your hands like a conductor, feeling the vibrations of the plants, their restless energy like a discordant symphony. Slowly, carefully, you begin to harmonize with them, sending waves of care and concern through the space. The vines hesitate, their movements slowing as if listening.

But then, a new surge of energy ripples through the greenhouse… stronger and darker than before. Something else is here, something angry.

“There’s a source,” you say urgently, your voice strained. The pulsing energy of the greenhouse thrums in your chest, a heavy, discordant beat that resonates uncomfortably. You can feel it lashing at the edges of your senses… a strange, dark rhythm that grows stronger as you focus on it. It’s as if the source itself is alive, and with each beat, it radiates anger and desperation, sending waves of hostility through the writhing plants around you. Your eyes are closed in fierce concentration, searching for the cause. “Something is controlling them.” You grimace before continuing, “It’s overwhelming,” you add while opening your eyes and glancing at Larissa, “but I can pinpoint it.”

Larissa’s eyes scan the room, and she points to a dark mass in the center of the chaos, pulsating with unnatural light. “There.”

You look to Larissa and then to the area of her gaze; you inhale a deep breath and nod—steeling yourself. Together, you and Larissa move toward the source, determined to face whatever lies ahead.

The source in the center pulses erratically, its light shifting between crimson and black while the rest of the greenhouse seems to grow darker. The ground beneath your feet trembles as the plants around it writhe with renewed aggression, as though they sense your intent. Twisted, gnarled vines guard the pulsating mass of energy, reaching out at you two with sharp thorns. The closer you get, the heavier the air becomes, thick with the tang of iron and an oppressive, unearthly heat. Larissa grips your arm briefly, her expression steely but edged with concern.

“We’re definitely close,” you murmur, the vibrations from the source nearly overwhelming your senses. You focus harder, threading calming energy into the space, though the resistance is dangerously palpable. The mass—a gnarled root-like structure entwined with glowing tendrils—reacts violently, emitting a sharp, dissonant sound that sends a jolt of pain through your temples.

“It’s protecting itself,” Larissa says urgently, stepping forward. With a swift, deliberate motion, she pulls a small silver knife from the folds of her coat, its blade etched with ancient runes. “Do you trust me?”

You peer into the piercing eyes of this woman who has slowly transfixed herself into your life, spilling into and filling all the little gaps within it. Some that you didn’t even know you wanted filled. Breathlessly, you respond, “Yes.”

Satisfied and seemingly making a mental note of something due to the expression on her face, Larissa continues, “Can you disrupt it while I try to sever the connection?”

You nod, bracing yourself as you extend your arms again. The air around the mass is chaotic, a storm of discordant vibrations that resist your attempts to harmonize them. Sweat beads on your forehead as you push harder, weaving threads of order into the cacophony. After grueling minutes that seem like hours, the vines closest to the mass begin to falter, their thrashing movements growing sluggish.

Larissa moves with precision, her knife slicing through the tendrils feeding into the core of the mass. Her jaw tightens with determination, and a flicker of something fierce glints in her eyes. Each cut seems deliberate, as though she’s channeling every ounce of her strength and focus into severing the connection. You can almost sense her resolve, a quiet intensity radiating from her. This isn’t just about the greenhouse—it’s about protecting the students, the school, and perhaps even you. She doesn’t falter, even as the mass retaliates with bursts of angry energy. Each cut elicits a shriek from the greenhouse, the sound echoing like a wounded animal. The ground shudders violently, and for a moment, you lose your balance, falling to one knee. The source’s crimson light flares, blinding and searing hot, and you feel its fury lash out at you.

“Hold on!” Larissa calls out, her voice steady despite the chaos. Her final strike severs the last connection, and the mass collapses inward with a deafening roar, its light extinguished. The vines that had crawled around you during the encounter go limp, their aggressive energy dissipating into silence.

You collapse back, breathless and trembling, as the oppressive weight in the air begins to lift. The tension that had wrapped around your chest like a vise slowly eases, leaving you lightheaded but strangely calm. Your fingers dig briefly into the cool soil beneath you, grounding yourself against the lingering tremors in your body. Each inhale feels sharper, cleaner, as though the air has been renewed. Relief washes over you in waves, mingled with an almost surreal disbelief that it’s over as quickly as it began. Larissa kneels beside you, her face a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

“Are you alright?” she asks, her hand coming to lightly rest on the side of your face, brushing tenderly against your jaw.

You nod weakly, managing a small smile. “We did it.”

The two of you sit in the aftermath, the greenhouse eerily still. Outside, the muffled sounds of students and faculty stir as the danger subsides. You exchange a glance with Larissa, and for a moment, the world feels suspended once more—this time, in quiet triumph.

As the silence settles in the greenhouse, your gaze drifts back to the crumpled remains of the pulsating mass. The memory of its crimson and black glow lingers in your mind, vivid and haunting. What was it? You reach out instinctively with your senses, searching for any lingering traces of its energy, but there’s nothing—just an empty void where its chaotic presence once thrived.

“Do you think it’s truly gone?” you ask Larissa, your voice barely above a whisper.

She follows your line of sight, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know,” she admits, her voice heavy with thought. “But whatever it was, it felt… deliberate. As though it had a purpose.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you recall the way the mass seemed to lash out, not just in anger, but in defiance. The way the violent energy seemed to resist every attempt to subdue it. “It wasn’t just growing wildly,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “It was looking for something.”

Larissa looks at you sharply, her brows knitting together. “Looking for what, exactly?”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I don’t know, but it didn’t feel random. That energy, it was… searching. Reaching.” You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. “Almost like it was trying to connect.”

Larissa’s gaze hardens, her eyes narrowing in thought. For another long moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of the ruined greenhouse surrounding you, punctuated only by the occasional creak of broken glass and rubble settling. Finally, Larissa rises, brushing dirt from her coat with a slow, deliberate motion.

“If it was searching,” she says quietly, “we need to find out what it wanted—and why it was here.” Her expression is unreadable.

You nod again in agreement, though unease still coils tightly in your chest. Whatever answers the mass held, you know they won’t come easily. “Do you think it’s connected to the school? Or something outside of it?” you ask, voice tinged with uncertainty.

Larissa tilts her head slightly, considering. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t natural. And the fact that it was here, on Nevermore grounds…” She trails off, her jaw tightening. “We can’t ignore it.”

The weight of her words settles heavily over you. The questions that the mass of tendrils leaves behind feel as tangled and complex as the vines it controlled. One thing is certain: the danger isn’t over.

—

Tagging: @lilsmeaux, @suckerforcate, @rickistheman, @tundra1029, @aster-loves-gwen, @justcallmelittleone, @poorwritingandstalecoffee, @lvinhs, @one-pining-queer, @kimiinou, @bobia13, @gwendolinechristieiscute, @kay-liah-scope, @readingtheentrails, @a-queen-and-her-throne, @weemssapphic, @ctrlamira, @im-a-carnivorous-plant, @winterfireblond, @gwendolinechristiesnumberonegirl, @enchantressb, @machi-avelli, @alder-saan.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for updates or have your tag taken off for future posts. :)

[daydream-cement]

Laundry Service (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x Reader

Larissa helps you out.

Author's Note: Short smut (600 words). This was originally about one of my oc's, but I couldn't resist adding the Headmistress in instead.

You stretched down into the washing machine. You couldn’t believe how hard it was to get to the bottom. You always felt as if you were average height, but as your fingers barely reached the last few socks at the bottom. 

When Larissa passed by the laundry room, she had to do a double take at the sight of you bent over into the washing machine. You were in your lazy Sunday clothes - tight leggings that showed off every curve and an oversized sweater that shifted out of place to expose your midriff. Your feet dangled off the ground as you struggled to snatch up all of the little pieces of laundry alluding you at the bottom of the washer. 

Larissa couldn’t resist coming up behind you. Her hands slowly moved to grip your waist, giving your body a light squeeze.

At first you jolted in surprise, but you soon realized it was Larissa from the familiarity of her hands on your skin, “Oh, honey! Can you help me?”

“Happy too.” Larissa cooed, curling her fingers around the band of your leggings and underwear. 

The shapeshifter was often reserved in her sexual pursuits of you, but that reservation was nowhere to be seen as she dropped to her knees, pulling your pants down with her.

You gasped, hands gripping the edge of the washing machine. Your cheeks flushed red as you exclaimed, “Rissa!”

“I'm helping…” Larissa husked as her hands palmed your ass for a moment before shifting her hands to cup it gently. She used the leverage of her hand placement to spread your thighs to access your cunt. 

You sucked in a breath when you felt the shapeshifter plunge her tongue into your cunt. 

Larissa was eating you with a starving fervor that had you mewling and humming in response. The rim of the washing machine was digging into your abdomen, but that was feeling like far less of a priority at the moment. 

In the few moments Larissa would come up for air from your cunt, she was gasping phrases of adoration - ‘I love you’, ‘You’re perfect’, and ‘You taste incredible’ were repeated over and over.

You couldn’t last long. Between the setting, the dominance, and and the sensation, all of the elements combined in a way that had you gushing on Larissa’s chin.

When the shapeshifter took to sucking on your clit, you had no ability to hold back any longer. You came with a cry, but just because you came didn’t mean the shapeshifter was about to stop. 

Larissa lapped at your cum until she was sure she had cleaned you up enough. 

When Rissa was satisfied, she pushed herself to stand, pulling your pants back up with her. She wiped her face and with a strong arm around your middle, Larissa pulled you from the washing machine and manhandled you into a position where she could seat you on the dryer. 

Larissa then moved away from your dazed form, leaning into the washing machine and yanking out the remaining laundry with a single hand. The shapeshifter tossed the few socks into the nearby laundry basket you had been using before turning her attention back on you, “I hope that helped, darling.”

Larissa turned on her heels, leaving you wide eyed, “Wha- Rissa?”

“If you need anything else, let me know.” Larissa called from the hallway.

“Rissa-“ You called, jumping down from the dryer, cut off by tripping over the basket of damp laundry. You were scrambling as you picked up the laundry from the floor and shoved it in the dryer, continuing to call Larissa’s name as you turned on the dryer and chased your wife down the hall.

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @weemswife , @smutuniversesblog , @opheliauniverse, @teashock , @enchantressb , @alex-nyx , @renravens , @whenyouhaveanobsession , @scream-queenlover , @shyladyfan, @lilfartbox1, @rubberduckiesbathing , @mcufanisme , @peanutbutterprincess, @larissaoftarthweems , @sicklygrlsicklygrl , @lvinhs , @myzzjolanda , @principal-weems09 , @xuukoo , @brienneswife , @dumbasslesbi , @oculusalien , @sweetderacine , @giogwensversion , @milciak , @gela123 , @thevillagegay , @katiemcgrathsbitch1 , @naomi-m3ndez , @mysaviorfalsegod , @h-doodles , @salems-spaghettios , @imgayforwoman69 , @bychrissi, @alexusonfire, @weemssapphic, @kimiinou, @hiiamkatana, @mountain-bikingwitch, @willowshadenox, @aemilia19, @mommyslittlebaby, @agathaandgwenslesbian, @gay-frogs08

[v3nusxsky]

Can you write Morticia x Larissa x Reader where reader (0-3) (also a shapeshifter like Larissa and shifts when she regresses) is their wife/little and when reader regresses they take her to a pumpkin patch and come home and carve the pumpkin and just loads of fluff and cuteness, please?

Pumpkins day out

*authors note~ AND IM BACKKKKKK! hey y’all okay so this is small intro to being back activly posting now I feel my life is in somewhat order and let me tell you I’ve missed you guys sm. I’ve read every comment ask and dm of kind words and I’m so grateful for y’all being so patient with me! Let’s get it started, imma tweak this one ever so slightly but I just wanna say I love when you guys tell me what you want me to write next as it helps keep me focused and insuring you guys are getting content you want :)*

Trigger warnings~ Agere? Little fem shapeshifter r, mommy morticia, momma Larissa (everything that occurs has been spoken about when r is in her age appropriate head space)

Prompt~see ask^^^^^

(Banner to be added)

Distressed muffled whimpers carried themselves into the principals office alongside the pitter patter of tiny feet indicating your presence was imminent. The two occupants being your wives or rather care givers in this head space. It’s not uncommon for the two elder women to wake before you especially after your late night antics that resulted in you slipping off to sleep in sub space. It was almost routine for you to wake up in little space. Being a shifter allowed your body to lean into your headspace meaning they were almost always greeted by a darling little girl ranging from infant to toddler ages.

Like clockwork your little body came barrelling in through the mahogany doorway and straight into your mommy’s awaiting arms. Her long flowy onyx dress providing the perfect sensory input to help calm your little state. Her words dripping in smooth silk as she stood to full height swaying you gently in her arms as Larissa watched on with an adoring smile. Her two loves looking ever so naturally them always brought her a sense of peace she could never recreate no matter how much she tried.

The fall always created a beautiful almost picturesque landscape of the Nevermore grounds at this time of year. The chill of autumn air being a welcomed change from the blazing heat as Augusts final goodbye. Students of Nevermore spending their time acclimatising to dorm life, new schedules and a whole new academic year. Far too busy to notice what wholesome activities were occurring in the office.

“Momma” you sniffed effortlessly breaking the blonde out of her own thoughts. “Yes little pumpkin” she whispered before attacking your cheeks with sweet kisses. Your infectious giggles causing Tish to let a small smile grace her lips as she found the desired outfit for the day. “Mommy momma me go gets jack-o’-lantern from patch” your excitement practically vibrating from your small frame. “Oh is that so little love? It can’t be that time already can it?” She pretended to ponder, searching her very organised calendar for your initials scrawled in a beautiful heart shape.

“Mommy” you whimpered as Larissa still continued to not see what was so clearly labelled causing the raven haired woman to tut in response, “don’t tease my sweet girl Larissa darling” before easily scooping you up and giving the order to get ready for your yearly traditions. “Momma was teasing baby, we are going to find our pumpkins don’t you worry little pumpkin” Tish reassured before loudly whispering about visiting the weathervane without the blonde if she wanted to tease you.

Unsurprisingly, the whole drive you sleepily clung to morticia as Larissa drove you all to the best pumpkin patch around Jericho. Only when the car stopped did your excitement hit you once again full force. All the pretty colours and leaves being scattered all over the ground, all calling out for you to come and jump around in. “Mommy” you whined as you attempted to wriggle out of the seatbelt by yourself with no success. “Momma” you pouted causing Larissa to chuckle and help get you out of the car where you happily held both their hands. Little giggles filled the air as you crunched the leaves under your little boots, eyes gleaming with pure joy. Both women lost count of how many times you’d run, jump and kick the crunchy fall leaves. Each time a squeal of pure joy and excitement left your little body. It almost broke their hearts to have to refocus your adorable self on the task at hand.

Naturally you had managed to burn yourself out of energy after all the running, jumping, kicking and arguing about which pumpkin you all needed to get. The task of selecting the biggest pumpkin the patch had to offer had taken over two hours with more playful arguments and moments where you’d ran after a falling leaf insisting on catching it for Larissa and Mortica . Now you ended up snuggled into Morticia’s chest being carried to the car with tiny fists rubbing at your eyes as larissa hauled your chosen one to the car. By now the chilled air had Larissa wanting to frequent her favourite place besides Jericho. All the way to the weathervane you snoozed and the two women bantered back and forth about how wrong they were years ago. Larissa had never managed to lose the nickname of stately sequoia tree, morticia remaining the lumberjack and you their precious pumpkin. Hot chocolates secured the women had some how managed to succeed in moving you and the pumpkin into Larissa’s office before arranging the supplies you’d need when you awoke.

Your obsession recently had been black cats so it was easy for the women to find a cute yet Halloween appropriate stencil for you to use. Together they helped you carve and gut the pumpkin while laughing and loving on you. Your little heart filled with a type of joy that you never had as a child. The atmosphere and love was not something you’d had the pleasure to experience until them either. “Fanks best day ever momma mommy I wuvs you” you mumbled as all three of you admired the work of art.

[poisonlove]

DEATH | w.a

Pairing: wednesday Addams X reader

A/n: this is absolutely Shit

Despite being only 17 years old Y/N had already risked her life three times, each time because of her roommate at Nevermore Academy Wednesday Addams. That petite and mysterious girl instilled a deep fear in her, yet her presence evoked an inexplicable attraction in Y/N. It was a complex feeling where allure mingled with a constant sense of terror, creating a palpable tension between them.

Their room in Ophelia Hall was shared with Enid Sinclair, the sunny blonde girl who had welcomed Y/N from the very first day. Despite the three of them, there were only two beds: a single bed on Enid’s side and a double bed on Wednesday’s side. Y/N had tried to sleep next to Enid but the werewolf girl (not yet transformed) snored and kicked in her sleep.

After a sleepless night Y/N decided to move.

On the second night Y/N attempted to settle on the cold floor next to Enid’s bed, keeping well away from the line Wednesday had drawn to mark her side of the room. The rumors about Addams were known to everyone and Y/N preferred to avoid ending up with broken bones... or worse. But even that night she couldn’t manage to sleep.

By the third night, Y/N would remember what felt like a thrill close to death.

“Move,” Wednesday hissed, appearing like a shadow at the edge of the bed.

Her dark eyes, devoid of emotion, pierced through Y/N with an icy intensity.

“Me?” Y/N asked incredulously, with dark circles telling the tale of two sleepless nights. Wednesday fixed her with an impassive expression, barely nodding in a decisive gesture.

With trembling hands, Y/N approached the double bed. She had always thought it strange that there was such a large bed just for Wednesday. Perhaps it didn’t matter to her. Perhaps.

“Stay on your side,” Wednesday ordered, her voice sharp as a knife. “If you dare to cross the line, I assure you, you will never disturb my sleep again.” Her words were cold and precise, sliding over Y/N’s skin like ice.

Y/N’s y/c eyes briefly fell on Wednesday’s face, which, like every night had her long straight hair cascading over her shoulders. She looked surprisingly... delicate in a way Y/N had never seen before.

Y/N nodded quickly and slid into the bed trying to ignore the tension that knotted in her stomach. She rested her head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

“Good night, girls,” Enid mumbled before turning off the light.

But even that night, her thoughts continued to buzz in her head. Unlike Enid, Wednesday lay still and silent. Even her breathing was barely perceptible. When Y/N glanced at her she saw that Wednesday was lying with her arms crossed over her chest, almost like a mummy.

She rolled over in bed, trying to ignore the strange tension in the air. The bed was comfortable but sleeping next to Wednesday felt like resting beside a threatening shadow. Y/N bit her lip and turned onto her side, inadvertently facing Wednesday.

Suddenly, two cold hands grabbed the collar of her pajamas and pulled her toward Wednesday’s face. The girl’s expression was cold, her eyes flashing with irritation while her loose hair framed her face.

“Stay still,” Wednesday said, each word laced with venom. Her breath faintly smelled of mint as Y/N found herself only inches from her. Y/N's gaze shifted momentarily to Wednesday’s tightly pressed lips. She nodded quickly, fear tightening her throat.

“If you move again, I assure you, you won’t open your eyes ever again,” Wednesday murmured, her tone barely a whisper but heavy with threat.

With a decisive motion she let go of Y/N and shoved her back toward her half of the bed. Y/N stayed there, wide-eyed, her heart pounding in her chest while Wednesday returned to her rigid position, arms crossed over her chest and eyes closed.

It had been terrifying. But behind that fear was something inexplicable that continued to make her heart race.

The second experience came a few weeks later.

Wednesday had had a terrible day, worsened by the fact that their friend Thing had been attacked by someone. The worry for him was palpable and Wednesday’s anger more tangible than ever. Y/N knew they were close to discovering the identity of Hyde and his master. And despite the time spent together, amid mysteries and dangers, risking their lives multiple times in the woods where Rowan had died, amidst the ruins and in the abandoned Gates house... Y/N could not overcome her fear of sharing a bed with Wednesday.

She had learned to remain still and motionless, almost holding her breath in hopes of not disturbing Wednesday’s sleep. But one night she could not avoid getting up: she needed to go to the bathroom.

She slipped out of bed silently, trying not to wake her roommate. The cold floor beneath her feet sent a shiver up her spine but it was still a relief to escape the tense atmosphere that dominated the room for a moment.

When she returned, she tried to be equally quiet. She placed a knee on the edge of the mattress to climb back in but suddenly a flash of steel brushed against her skin. A dagger embedded itself in the mattress just inches from her hand. The scream escaped her before she could hold it back, echoing in the silence of the room.

Enid, strangely, continued to sleep undisturbed.

Wednesday blinked awake, suddenly alert. Her black eyes locked onto Y/N, her face cold and impassive but her gaze intensely serious.

“What the hell was that?” Y/N gasped, her heart racing. But Wednesday didn’t seem remotely disturbed, as if her reaction was entirely normal.

“You interrupted my sleep. Don’t do it again,” she said, in a tone that left no room for argument. Not a hint of concern or apology, just that icy calm.

“I almost lost a finger!” Y/N burst out, her voice trembling with panic as she clutched her shaking hand still in disbelief at the dagger that had grazed her skin.

“I thought you were an intruder,” Wednesday replied, her jaw clenched, her sharp eyes piercing the darkness of the room. Her voice was harsh but showed no remorse.

Y/N stared at her, her eyes wide with shock. “If I had been next to you, you would have hit me!” she whispered, the fear evident in her voice. It was a chilling awareness: despite Wednesday’s dark allure being close to her always meant skirting constant danger.

Wednesday pressed her lips into a thin line, her expression one of frustration hardening her features. Her dark eyes remained fixed on Y/N, but fatigue weighed on her features: slightly swollen eyelids and deep shadows under her eyes were signs of a night that had been anything but peaceful. She ran a hand through her loose hair, a distracted, almost mechanical gesture in an attempt to shake off the weariness that burdened her shoulders.

“If I had really wanted to hit you, I wouldn’t have missed,” she finally said. Her voice was cold but there was a barely noticeable crack, a sign of how exhausted she was.

In that moment, Y/N realized the truth: Wednesday had calculated exactly where she would throw the dagger. It hadn’t been a mistake; it wasn’t a threat that slipped from her grasp. She had aimed to scare her but without causing her harm. The throw had been precise, deliberate, and she had narrowly avoided Y/N’s hand.

Y/N held her breath allowing the awareness to wash over her like a sharp blade. Behind that apparent indifference, behind the cold voice and controlled gestures, there was a particular way of showing concern. A warning, yes, but also a sign that, deep down, Wednesday didn’t truly want to harm her.

She cared about her.

The third time came the night after the chaos.

Y/N lay in bed, still aching from the injuries sustained during the confrontation. Her side was bandaged, a dull pain pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. Beside her Wednesday was rigid and silent, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. Despite her composed posture, her dark eyes seemed lost staring at the pale moonlight filtering through the window, casting sharp shadows across her face.

Y/N’s mind raced back to that night to how Wednesday had changed for a brief desperate moment. She had seen her cry, silent tears rolling down her face as she tried to stop the blood flowing from Y/N’s wound. The terror in her eyes when a bullet had grazed Y/N’s side. It was a fear Y/N had never seen in her before, a fear that revealed a hidden side of Wednesday—vulnerable, human.

She was terrified of losing her.

Now, however, a deafening silence reigned between them. Enid was not there; she had gone to Yoko for the night leaving the two alone in the room. Wednesday remained still, tense, as if every muscle were under control, as if she were trying to suffocate any emotion that threatened to resurface. But Y/N had come to know her well enough to catch the nuances in her glances.

An uncontrollable urge grew within Y/N, a desire to reach out to that side of Wednesday that had only been revealed for a moment. She was aware of the risk; she knew how much Wednesday hated physical contact, how her body would instinctively pull away. But that night felt different and Y/N clung to that singular possibility. With uncertain breaths, she extended her hand and brushed against Wednesday’s fingers.

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze.

Y/N awaited the immediate withdrawal, the coldness that would creep between them. But Wednesday did not pull away. Y/N’s fingers remained intertwined with hers, the contact fragile yet present and her heart raced at the thought that perhaps, this time, Wednesday was hiding more than she wanted to show.

The moon illuminated Wednesday's face, highlighting her severe features but there was something indecipherable in her dark eyes, a vulnerability that was breaking through the cracks of that impenetrable mask. And then, with a quick and almost furious movement, as if she were fighting against herself Wednesday leaned closer to Y/N.

Her lips brushed against Y/N's, cold yet insistent, a touch that burned with contrast and emotions held back for too long. It was a kiss that had nothing sweet or delicate about it, but was raw and sincere, like an impulse that Wednesday could no longer restrain. Her lips moved with an almost desperate firmness, as if she were trying to hold onto that moment, to capture something that was slipping away from her.

Y/N felt a warmth explode in her stomach, a whirlwind that completely engulfed her. She wanted to respond to that kiss but it was as if her mind had emptied, leaving only the frantic beat of her heart.

When Wednesday pulled away, she did so with a swift gesture, almost in anger, as if she wanted to deny what she had just done. Her expression returned to being impassive, her face rigid but her cheeks were flushed, her jaw clenched as if she were holding back words she could never utter. Her breath was slightly quicker than usual, the only sign that this exchange had not left her entirely indifferent.

Y/N stared at her, wide-eyed and with still burning lips. It had been an unexpected, intense sensation.

In the end, she was dead… but yearning to repeat that kiss.

And in the silence that followed she understood that even Wednesday as much as she might want to hide it, was struggling against that new strange feeling that bound them together.

[atlantis-just-drowned]

please please anything for pluto🙏🙏🙏

A/N: Hello and once again sorry for the delay. I need this man in my life it's not even funny at this point. I'm taking it out on your request Anon, hope you appreciate self-indulgent domestic fluff. Also yes I totally think Pluto could be a literature/latin/etymology university teacher don't ask me why I just thought it'd be funny.

Welcome home

Please reblog to give visibility to this post and make the writer happy! :D

Masterlist

It was late in the afternoon when you heard the sound of keys unlocking your front door. From where you were standing in the kitchen, washing the dishes, you couldn't see the newcomer, but you knew who it was nonetheless.

"Welcome back Pluto!" you called to let him know where you were.

It had taken a while for him to get used to living with you. The first few months, he jumped every time he ran into you or heard your voice. Even the sound of your footsteps was enough to make him tense.

You were proud of the progress he had made.

Lately, he seemed generally more relaxed. As long as you made sure to not take him by surprise and announced yourself before entering the room he was in, he didn't get startled as much as he used to. Even his night terrors had started to recede. You could read it on his face: he felt happier.

You two had started to fall into a comfortable rhythm of everyday chores and shared peacefulness. Waking each other up, preparing breakfast, going to work, coming back home, dining together, sometimes watching a movie while cuddling, then going to bed and repeat the cycle.

It had became a habit for you to fall asleep on his lap or chest, while he threaded his hand through your hair and read a chapter of his book - you had convinced him to start using reading glasses after a month of watching him squint to the point of giving himself headaches.

You'd be lying if you affirmed it was entirely a dream-come-true, but it was probably the closest you'd ever get from one.

You were shaken out of your thoughts when you felt a pair of arms sneaking around your waist. It was Pluto of course, dressed in one of his gray sweaters, leaning against you and burying his face in the crook of your neck with a hum.

It wasn't a rare sight for him to seek your touch: you knew how touch-starved this man was long before you had moved in with him.

He seemed tired, and for a moment, he simply stayed still, breathing in your scent.

"How was today?" you tried asking, still gently cleaning the plates with a sponge.

He only hummed lazily, before lifting his head slightly to trail slow kisses from the tip of your shoulder, back to the crook of your neck, and up to the spot just behind your ear. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the soft contact, as he spoke against your skin with a weary tone.

"Long." A kiss on your nape. "Students insisted on being insufferable." Another slow kiss in the crook of your neck. "...Missed you."

You couldn't help the loving smile that spread across your face. Finishing to dry the dishes, you put them aside and closed your eyes, leaning back on him as your arms went to rest on his.

You didn't miss the way he tightened his grip on your waist, or how he nuzzled the crook of your neck once again with a tired groan.

"I missed you too." You affirmed, earning a satisfied hum. It really felt like speaking to a housecat by that point, but you weren't going to complain about it.

"You did?"

"Of course." You couldn't help but grin. His warmth was entrancing; you felt so loved it was almost unbelievable.

He gave you another kiss on your shoulder, staying silent and motionless for a moment - you suspected him to be simply basking in your warmth. When you started getting tired of standing up in the middle of the kitchen for no reason, you lifted one of your hands to his cheek and felt him slightly tilting his head to lean against your palm.

"What if" You mused. "we ordered fish and chips..." Pluto hummed again and gave a gentle squeeze to your waist, signaling you to keep going. "And watched Dark Shadows?"

He snorted. "Dark Shadows, really?"

"Aw, come on!"

"It's not even that good!" He declared, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You pouted. "But you like it!"

At that, he let out a laugh, and you felt his chest shake in rhythm, pressing against your back. It was impossible for you not to feel the corners of your mouth tugging upward once more.

"Okay. Maybe I do." He said, kissing your nape again before letting go of your waist.

You felt his fingers intertwine with yours as he turned you around and tugged you towards the living room. "Let's go then?" He said with a small smile, walking backwards so he could still look at you.

"Yeah, let's go." You answered with the same, smitten smile, before chiding teasingly "But turn around to see where you're going, before you run into the furniture!"

"Alright!" He chuckled before turning around, switching hands to keep holding yours anyway.

Yeah. This might not be perfect. But it was close enough for you.

[weemsfreak]

𓉸

Happy October, loves! In honour of my favourite time of year, here is a short spooky Larissa Weems x f!reader where Laurel Gates lives on...but as does Larissa.

It is based around a quote from the 1991 Addams family, and follows Season 1 of Wednesday where Joseph Crackstone is no longer. Season 2 calls for more mystery and gore? I say add Larissa's revenge. ~3.6k words

𓉸

"So I was thinking, since last Outreach day ended in disaster with the statue and all, perhaps we could do without an unveiling. Perhaps we could plan something sincere, something that may bring normies and outcasts together in a…"

You picked up your Weathervane hot chocolate, taking a sip.

"Darling?"

Recently, you have been feeling uneasy, if that was the correct word for it.

Uneasy when out in the town of Jericho, but also within the walls of Nevermore.

"Yoo-hoo? Darling?"

Last outreach day had been a disaster, and there had been numerous disasters that followed.

Still, she insisted on organizing another.

Why you agreed to help? You could never wrap your head around it.

You hoped November would never come.

Your gaze shot to blue as a hand softly landed on yours.

"What do you think?"

Blinking, you looked out the window, and then around the coffee shop.

"I think, um- maybe we shouldn't have an Outreach day this year, Larissa."

Her smile dropped to a frown, confusion evident on her face.

"Why not?"

You shook your head. You'd never want to disappoint her, but you had a feeling, a horrible feeling; a feeling of dread and death.

You only had this feeling few times before,

but you weren't about to tell her that.

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦

The new mayor of the town was…nice.

He was always smiling.

He was always helpful.

He was always weary.

Him, along with the students and residents of Jericho, were weary of the outcasts; as if they hadn't been before.

It was worse now, due to that night. Which was ironic, considering it wasn't the outcasts who were responsible.

Still, Larissa insisted on getting to know the new mayor, insisted on forming a cooperation with him.

He had rejected the idea of a cooperation.

He had rejected the idea of outcast and normie relations.

He had rejected the idea of an Outreach day; until he agreed.

You found yourself in the town, picking something up from the mayors office to deliver to the oh so busy Principal Weems.

As you walked down the decorated streets eager to return to Nevermore, you caught sight of red hair entering an alley way.

Crossing the road and making your way past Uriah's heap, you were about to turn down the alley when a boy brushed past, making you stumble back.

He walked slowly down the sidewalk, as if he had nowhere to be, yet determined to be somewhere at the same time.

Something within you knew that he was...familiar.

Trailing behind, you followed to the town square, to the church, and then, he stood.

Confused, you hid behind a close building, peeking around the corner.

Your brows furrowed as you realized that he seemed just as confused as you were, until he gazed directly at you and you faltered.

His face was crazed, he was foaming at the mouth. He looked sweaty and wild, uncontrollable.

Your heart skipped a beat as you concluded that he was standing exactly where the statue of Joseph Crackstone had stood last outreach day, and he gave you a wide smile.

Hiding around the corner of the building again, you closed your eyes as you breathed deeply.

Jericho was no longer the town that you knew; although it was the town that it always had been.

Secretive, unaccepting, and murderous.

Peeking around the corner once more, you were relieved to find nobody staring back at you.

As you high tailed it for Nevermore, you couldn't help but think few things:

One - Larissa could NOT hold an Outreach day.

Two - You were beginning to believe that you were losing your mind; not nearly as fun as you had anticipated.

And Three - That boy you saw, was dead.

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦

Pushing open the doors to her office, you walked straight up to her desk.

"How was your trip into town?"

You let the papers fall onto her desk, trying not to lose your composure.

"We cannot hold an Outreach day."

With the tilt of her head and twitch of her lip, she furrowed her brows.

"You keep saying this, yet you're helping me plan it."

Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to convince her.

"I just, I have a very bad feeling, and I can't-I can't-"

Your best right now was not very good, at all.

Tears fell as you thought about why you shouldn't, why you couldn't.

Long legs carried the woman around her desk as she reached for you, sitting you on the couch in front of the fireplace.

"You can't what, love?"

She would never understand, because she wasn't there to witness it.

She wasn't there to see the fire, blazing in front of her as the dead came back for the living.

She wasn't there to see her students in danger, eyes wide as they feared for their lives.

She wasn't there to see how helpless the outcasts felt, how helpless they were; how helpless you were.

She wasn't there to see Joseph Crackstone and Laurel Gates before her very eyes.

She wasn’t there…

She wasn't there because,

"You almost died, Larissa."

Your words swirled around in the air, heard but not seen.

"But I didn't, and I haven't a clue what this has to do with Outreach day."

Closing your eyes, visions of people came back to you, visions of the dead.

Tears fell from your eyes in frustration, wishing that you could make her understand.

She saw Nevermore in shambles, she had built it back up.

She saw the fear of the aftermath, she had built it back up.

She saw her life flash before her eyes, and so had you.

"It’s just too soon. Students of Jericho high will not stand beside our students, people of Jericho will not stand beside us, and…"

And I will not stand beside you.

That was a lie.

You let your head fall into your hands as you let out a sob.

She gripped your body with all her strength and pulled you to her chest.

"The events of that night are still fresh in your mind, darling" she whispered.

"Joseph Crackstone is gone, we have nothing to fear."

Gripping onto her shoulders, you couldn't help but have fear.

She had almost lost the school.

You had almost lost her.

And you had seen Garrett Gates today,

but you weren't about to tell her that.

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦

"Ah Nevermore, we love you so."

Gomez and Morticia Addams sat in front of her desk, Gomez kissing his wife's hand as they did.

"Larissa, it is so wonderful to see you thriving. I don't know what we would've done if you had left us."

Larissa quirked a brow at Morticia's words, looking her up and down.

"Perhaps you would've held a party?" she quipped.

Morticia snickered as she looked to Gomez, "There's the sense of humour that I always adored."

Larissa smirked their way, and silence overtook them as they stared at one another.

"But seriously, we feel awful for what happened."

"The Gates family, all dead" Gomez said.

"Poor Laurel, I can’t help but feel as though we hold some responsibility" Morticia added.

Larissa looked between the two with disdain, but she did feel bad.

"Well, it's done with now, yes?"

She wished they would just get to the matter of Wednesday Addams, yet again.

"Joseph Crackstone shall suffer irreparable consequences. They all shall."

Larissa couldn't help but think that death was enough.

"For what they did to our ancestors? Death will never be enough" Gomez added.

Larissa nodded, clasping her hands together on her desk.

"Well, I believe that we must put the past behind us, and thrive for a better future."

She watched as Morticia stood, approached her, and placed cold hands onto hers, lowering her voice.

"Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc. We gladly feast on those who would subdue us."

Blue eyes met brown as Larissa felt a cold spell cast around her.

Morticia waited a moment, then raised a brow as she released her hands from Larissa's warmth.

"Not just pretty words."

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦

You accompanied Larissa to Pilgrim world, the new mayor insisted that she attend a pre Halloween 'Sinister Soirée' that he was holding.

She had agreed in hopes of pleasing the mayor, in hopes of getting closer to him for the better of Nevermore.

You knew what had happened 400 years ago, well, to an extent; and so did she.

You couldn't help but despise Jericho in some way, due to its brutal history.

Centuries ago, the pilgrims had hunted and executed those they deemed outcasts: anyone who didn’t fit their strict vision of purity.

You agreed that things weren't always black and white, there were shades of grey.

You agreed that the future didn't have to reflect the past.

But sometimes, you cannot let go of what happened, sometimes you cannot forgive and forget.

“I feel like we shouldn’t be here."

Larissa's grip tightened around yours as you made your way through the entrance.

You thought about her, and how she thrived for the better of Nevermore, the better of outcasts; you admired that.

But all the same, you were conflicted.

How had she been to hell and back, knowing of the injustice, experiencing it first hand; yet keeping the same outlook.

She knew deep down that the outcasts weren't safe.

She knew deep down that she wasn't safe.

"We can leave, Larissa."

She peered down at you through cold lashes as the new mayor approached.

"Principal Weems, so good to see you."

Larissa clasped her hands together in that innocent way that you knew so well.

It was odd, to see her as not Principal Weems, not Larissa, but dressed up in a costume so ethereal and otherworldly, like a ghost from a forgotten era.

"Mayor Winslow, thank you for hosting tonight. Such a fun event!"

You rolled your eyes as you adjusted your outfit, draped in layers of shadows.

"Thank you for coming. I hope you enjoy the haunted crypt walk, and perhaps try some fudge."

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦

Strolling down the Cobblestone streets of Pilgrim world, you couldn't help but feel uneasy, so deeply unsettled.

Maybe Larissa should've brought someone who, specifically, had any ability besides the ability to see the dead. Alas, that thought made you jealous.

You had avoided Pilgrim world for so long, and everything in Jericho the like.

Already feeling the cold presence of the dead, it lingered in the air, watching from the shadows of the ancient trees.

You needed a distraction, and you needed it now.

"Oh, the tavern! Can we go in?"

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦

You entered the dimly lit tavern, spotting one open table as you sat across from the Principal.

"Pilgrims of the night, what can I get for you?" A voice thick with faux historical enthusiasm.

Your gaze lifted from the pale woman to…a religious fanatic.

The very symbol of zealotry and hatred, Joseph Crackstone himself.

Your eyes widened, hands moving quickly to grip the woman's arm across from you.

Looking down at you, she took your hand in hers, rubbing her thumbs over it soothingly.

"We're alright, love."

Right. It wasn't really him, because Larissa could see him too.

"We're hardly Pilgrims," you managed, gesturing vaguely at yourself.

Larissa eyed you down, a smirk appearing on her face. "No, we certainly aren't" she said, turning her attention to the waiter.

You took in the ambiance of Pilgrim world, shooting her a look as you were, after a short time, fed up with the pilgrim's that surrounded you; those alive and dead.

"It takes a special kind of stupid to devote and entire theme park to zealots responsible for mass genocide."

The waiter then reached your table and set down the drinks, his grin faltering as he raised an eyebrow.

"Who you calling stupid?"

You held his gaze, unflinching, "If the buckled shoe fits."

The principal chuckled softly, shaking her head as she lifted her drink.

"Do behave, darling," she teased, her eyes hinting at your shared disdain for the charade around you.

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦

"Line up for the haunted crypt walk!"

You moved outside and stood in line, dragging Larissa with you hand in hand.

Walking through the partially lit up streets, you tried to enjoy your time envisioning the good old days.

Well, they were not good, you supposed; but they were old.

As you strolled, you tried your hardest to forget about your ability, but your ability would never forget about you.

"And here is the old barn, a place where they stored crops, grain, and livestock."

You looked to the right to find the old barn standing strong.

"Unfortunately, it was set ablaze one night containing the livestock, but it has been rebuilt since. Pilgrim world has remarkably been rebuilt to 30% of it's original structure."

Larissa listened to the haunted walk tour guide, before gazing down at your apprehensive, perhaps terrified demeanour.

The barn transformed to a burnt structure, only the frame, floor, and partial walls remaining.

Out of nowhere it was up in flames; hay, crops, animals, and people littered the floor.

The animals looked at you with fear, the smoke clouded your vision, and Larissa, Larissa watched you with tears in her eyes.

You gasped as you kneeled down in front of her.

"There is no time, child."

Taking her hands into yours, you attempted to help her up.

"Leave me, save yourself. He's chained us all to the floor."

People where chained to the floor, outcasts were chained to the floor; with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

You pulled with all of your force at the chains before attempting to break them from her wrists.

"I shant leave without you."

Your gaze focused on hers, but it wasn't what you knew.

Her accent filled your ears, but it was old.

Her hair flowed freely, her clothing in tatters.

She had the same sad eyes, but they didn't glisten, they didn't speak to you in the same way.

"Run, avenge us. Find the others and save our future."

You stood as she disappeared from your vision, backing away slowly.

"You are our only hope."

Coughing, you attempted to wave away the smoke as the barn in front of you reverted back to it's present state.

You had thought that the meeting house was the only place where outcasts were burned; of course that wasn't enough.

Turning in fright, you looked for those on the haunted crypt walk, met with only the dark of the night.

Everyone was gone, including Larissa.

"Larissa?"

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦

Strolling throughout the streets alone, you couldn't help but think about how lonely it would've been.

But the reality was, you weren't alone.

You could see only them; pale figures standing just beyond the veil of mist, their faces gaunt, hollow-eyed, staring.

They weren’t just ghosts. These were the spirits of pilgrims and outcasts, the ones who had been hunted, burned, and hanged for their abilities.

They were you, and you were them.

Making your way past the ol' haberdashery and fudge shop, you found an old house, one you hoped would be free of the dead and horror.

Entering through the front door, you passed through the keeping room, until you found an open passageway.

It was dark, far too dark for you to see anything; besides the figure of a tall white haired woman.

“Larissa!” you shouted in fear and relief.

You saw her, Larissa, standing in the darkness of a dimly candlelit room, her back turned.

Relief flooded your veins.

“Larissa, thank God” you breathed, running toward her.

“What happened?"

As you neared, something stopped you cold.

Larissa’s body was still, too still; you froze.

The figure turned slowly, and your blood ran empty.

It wore Larissa’s face, her exact face, but her hopeful eyes were wrong.

They were hollow, dead. Her smile was cruel, a twisted mockery of Larissa’s usual painted grin.

“You're just in time for the feast,” the figure said, its voice a low rasp.

You stumbled back, this was not Larissa.

It was something else, something ancient, and it had stolen her form.

“Where is she?” you demanded, voice shaking.

The figure smiled wider. “She is with us now. She is where she belongs.”

Your pulse quickened, you couldn’t lose Larissa again. Not to this place, not to whatever dark force lingered here.

The figure’s form began to shimmer, its edges blurring, and in an instant, it transformed; morphing into the twisted face of an old woman, a pilgrim, her eyes burning with malice.

“You outcasts were always ours” she hissed. “And tonight, we feast.”

The darkness suddenly lit up, your view of pilgrims evident as you watched them feast.

An old dinner table, wood and bone carved forks and knives.

They were eating meat; they were eating outcasts.

“I can see you” you whispered, hoping to keep your voice steady. “I see all of you.”

The dead paused, their hands retreating.

“You think you can subdue us?!”

It was loud, fueled by your anger, you could feel it radiating from the outcasts, radiating from the loss of Larissa.

“You think you can keep us chained here?”

The pilgrim spirit hissed at you, her face contorting with fury.

“You are nothing but prey.”

Your lips twisted into a sinister smile as you backed away.

“We gladly feast upon those who would subdue us.”

꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒷꒦

You awoke outside, feeling the cold hands of the dead that had brushed against your skin.

They pulled you, drug you toward the church.

Your head pounding from the insufferable onslaught, you couldn't remember exactly how or why you had ended up here.

Muffled screams caught your attention as you stumbled toward ancient wood doors.

The church stood as a grim reminder of the village’s past, its stone walls blackened by centuries of dark history.

"Let me out of here!"

There was banging from the inside, but the doors wouldn’t budge.

“Larissa?” you shouted, fear clutching at you.

You would recognize her voice anywhere, even in panic, even when she sounded ghostly.

"Please help" she pleaded, tugging at the doors.

Even in times like these, you couldn't find a way.

You couldn't find a rock, you couldn't find a spell, you were no professional at teleportation; and you learned the meaning of dread.

Even the outcasts couldn't face the fury of those who lived to wrong them.

As you hauled on the wooden doors in hopes of freeing Larissa, they suddenly flew open and sent you back to the ground.

You quickly ran inside, watching in terror as Larissa was summoned; gliding helplessly across the floor and up to the altar of the church.

“I’ve been waiting for you” a voice, low yet warm.

“You are of my blood, and the time has come.”

Larissa was still and wide eyed, held in place as she spoke nervously.

"I can hear you, but I cannot see."

You took a breath, watching as Larissa, the version of her you had earlier spoken to in the old barn, moved until she was inches before the principal.

You swallowed deeply and whispered. "She's right in front of you, Larissa. She looks like you, perhaps your ancestor."

Larissa’s eyes darkened, her body tensing as if something had woken inside her.

She spoke in a way that you have never learned before; she was timid, confused.

“Time for what?” she asked, though you could hear the answer in the dead woman’s silence.

“Revenge,” her ancestor whispered.

Suddenly, the doors of the church slammed shut.

You could feel the dead rising all around. The spirits of the outcasts, those who had been wronged were no longer content to stay in the shadows. They wanted justice, and they had waited long enough.

"Joseph Crackstone may be gone, but Laurel Gates lives on."

Larissa took a shallow breath, retrieving the ability to close her eyes.

"I believe in a better future for outcasts. I'm working to bring outcasts and normies together in…in harmony."

You panicked as she started choking out her words, her breath becoming less as she spoke.

As you placed a hand in hers, her ancestor glided away as a disappointed mother would from her child; just to be peering down at her within a second.

She cupped her cheek with her dead hand, and you wondered if Larissa could feel it.

"It is up to you, my child, but this is a warning. They do not rest, they killed us all, and they now come for you."

Larissa's ancestor faded into the ether, dissolving into nothingness as Larissa herself began to rise, lifted slowly and steadily towards the towering ceiling of the ancient church.

You felt panic welling up inside as you gripped her hand tightly, but it was no use.

Fingers slipped away from hers, powerless to stop her from being pulled higher and higher into the eerie shadows above.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched Larissa suspended midair, her eyes wide with fear as a faint whisper sounded.

"Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc."

Suddenly, as if responding to some unseen command, Larissa was hurled back down to the stone floor and the heavy wooden doors of the church flew open.

You rushed to the woman's side as she sat up in shock.

Kneeling, you watched the weight of the revelation settle over her like a cold fog.

"Laurel Gates lives on."

You placed a hand on her shoulder, gazing into blue as she turned to look at you.

Your voice was soft, and you prayed that she finally understood.

"The normies will reject outcasts, a rift sealed by fate itself. Eternal, unyielding, haunting us with the certainty that acceptance will remain beyond our grasp, evermore."

You cupped her cheek as tears threatened to fall. "We gladly feast."

Larissa’s lips pursed, her gaze narrowing as she stood and pulled you up with her.

She took your hands firmly, her eyes gleaming with a dark, unspoken truth.

"And Laurel," she said commanding, her voice full of dangerous promise as a smile played on her lips, "is just in time for the feast."

[takescrackseriously]

Yandere Lenore!

In honour of finally posting that Nevermore x reader fanfic, I present to you:

Lenore in the fanfic + Ulalume & Lenore doodles

[imfierylilac]

Accident

Duke x reader

You immediately knew it was a bad idea.

Being a calm person who didn’t like getting into trouble or causing chaos, you somehow ended up befriending one of the biggest troublemakers in the Academy. Your friendship with Duke surprised even the two of you, but despite your differences, you managed to build a strong and trusting bond.

And even though you liked Duke, in many ways he was too much.

Like tonight, when he dragged you out to “explore the Academy grounds,” as he put it. In reality, he brought you to some old basement, where, being luck’s favorite target, you twisted your ankle.

Now, gritting your teeth, you mentally cursed Duke for this adventure, yourself for agreeing, and the stupid old basement for causing your injury.

“Mon chéri, are you okay?” Duke asked, with a bit too much concern for his usual cheerful tone, hurrying toward you.

He crouched down to your level as you lay stretched out on the dirty floor after the fall.

“Do I look okay to you?” you snapped.

You nearly lost your temper, but seeing the genuine worry on Duke’s face, you tried to calm down. After all, it wasn’t entirely his fault you got hurt. Well… partially, since he brought you to this cursed place. But then again, you agreed and weren’t exactly careful when walking. So, you exhaled and said through clenched teeth:

“Not sure. Something’s wrong with my leg. I think I twisted it.”

A frown formed on Duke’s tanned face. He leaned closer to examine your injured leg.

“Can you stand?”

You wanted to say no but decided to try standing up with Duke’s support. That was a mistake.

The moment you stepped on the injured leg, a sharp flash of pain shot through you. It was impossible to put weight on it without burning pain, and you felt yourself falling again. If it weren’t for the arms wrapping around your waist, you would’ve hit the floor.

“You definitely need the infirmary, chéri,” Duke said, far too obviously.

You let out a shaky breath and nodded, taking a step and clenching your teeth in pain. Duke tsked and shook his head.

“This won’t do, chéri. You’ll only make it worse.”

You exhaled sharply at his words. He still had the nerve to give advice when he was the reason for your injury. You turned to him, eyes flashing angrily, your irritation rising again.

“Oh, and what do you suggest? What, in your opinion—”

You let out a small squeak when Duke suddenly picked you up bridal-style. One of his arms was under your knees, the other supported your back. He seemed completely unbothered, and you immediately felt a blush creeping up your cheeks, though you didn’t quite understand why. It wasn’t like no man had carried you before, but… this was Duke.

Duke with the damn charming and irritating smirk.

Duke with the mischievous nature and reckless ideas.

Duke who now carried you effortlessly in his arms.

“What… what are you doing?” you asked in shock, making Duke smirk.

“Carrying you to the infirmary, ma belle, so you don’t stumble into anything else,” he said lightly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“I didn’t stumble into anything,” you grumbled. “You’re the one who brought me here, remember?”

“Then I’m just fixing my mistake. Either way, all you need to do is be pretty and stay still.”

You blinked, your mouth snapping shut at the word pretty. For some reason, it sounded especially nice coming from Duke.

Your hands found his shoulders and wrapped around his neck to make it easier for him to carry you. As he walked, you studied him curiously, though a bit shyly.

Surprisingly, Duke didn’t look like he was struggling at all. In fact, it seemed quite the opposite—like he didn’t even notice your weight. Still, you decided to ask.

“Isn’t it heavy for you?”

“Not at all. Why would it be, mon cher?”

“Well,” you muttered, glancing at him, “you’re kind of skinny.”

Duke chuckled softly at your comment and looked at you, his eyes gleaming.

“I’m wiry, mon cher. That’s different.”

You raised a brow at his response, once again glancing over him. Duke was tall and slim, and you were just worried he’d strain his back while carrying you. Though honestly, that would be fair considering it was his fault you couldn’t walk now.

“I’m just not sure it’s good for you to carry heavy things.”

You gasped as Duke suddenly stopped, and for the first time during the whole conversation, his wine-red eyes locked onto yours.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘heavy,’ mon cher? Don’t tell me you meant yourself.”

“Well, I’m not exactly light,” you mumbled, looking away.

Duke narrowed his eyes at your flustered reply and raised a brow. He looked at you for a moment before replying.

“You know, I’m convinced that no matter what weight a girl is, she’s beautiful. But you, mon mignon,” — his voice dropped a tone lower, and then Duke said something that completely threw you off — “you’re perfect just the way you are.”

Your gaze snapped back to him, and he looked at you in return, smiling. And that smile was so gentle and soft that it smoothed his features and made him look almost devilishly handsome. You considered that the greatest injustice of the evening.

“Don’t forget that, alright?”

Duke’s soft request, paired with his French accent, hit even harder than the words themselves. Your heart gave a traitorous jolt, your chest tightened in that pleasant way that made it hard to breathe. Blush spread across your face, neck, and ears, and you quickly looked away, nodding.

Seeing you too flustered to answer, Duke gave you one last glance and continued walking.

“I’m never agreeing to your crazy ideas again,” you muttered quietly, looking away to hide your embarrassed blush.

Duke smirked.

You both knew that was a lie.

[dreamland-diaries]

pre-death! annabel lee x maid reader

Only continue if you’re [18+] and like Annabel Lee a lot, stay safe out there.

Summery; Annabel’s father’s out as usual on Friday nights, so it’s about that time Annabel gets the wonderful “special treatment” you always give her around this time. Your job is to serve Annabel after all, and you’re beyond happy to oblige. 

CW; Praise | Servant/Noble Dynamic | Teasing | Cunnilingus | Slight Risk of getting Caught | Reader is down horrendous | Switches | Dominant Reader | Reader thinks Annabel is really pretty | Overstimulation | The Nightgown™ Stays on

A/N: Starting this blog off  with a request from a friend of mine who wishes to remain unnamed. You’re going to be seeing a lot of requests from this heathen.

Enjoy my shitty, 3am writing if you dare.

You knew this was wrong. 

In every way this was wrong, in fact you would be killed for it if he were to find out and yet you were willing to take that risk. Perverse, a disgrace of a maid, but you weren’t only willing, you had to take this risk. It was a choice between defying him or defying her and you’d choose her over her father any day.

“Do maids always get this wet while in bed with their employers or is it just you?”

There was a moment of silence from you. Trying your best to be quiet, and even if you were to try to speak it would be akin to a whimper. Annabel let it drag on for a moment longer before she quickly grew tired of your lack of response, adding another finger without warning. The gasp and desperate whine she was able to tear from your throat with a few shifts of a finger was god awful.

“M-My lady!” 

“Yes?”, she spoke breathlessly, a light blush coating her face. Her eyes focused on where her fingers were pumping in and out of your core.

You tried your best to have enough composure to formulate a response, but that devil in between your legs toying with you clearly wasn’t interested in your complaints. Annabel simply smiled against your thigh, pulling her fingers out til the tips and shoving them right back into you roughly. The way she stretched you out had you weak in the knees, fingers all too well trained in this department for you so be even slightly coherent.

Fuck, this was terrible. Awful even.♡

Annabel let out an annoyed sigh when a particularly loud moan slipped past your lips after she curled her fingers. Stupid mistake, it left you shivering for a moment as she pulled her now soaked fingers out of you with a ‘pop’. 

“It’s always the prettiest ones that are the loudest...I warned you about being loud didn’t I?” 

“W-With all due respect I told you to let me know before you—”

All words seemingly died in your throat as you watched Annabel almost casually lick your slick right off her fingers. A blush crept up the back of your neck as she took her time. Making direct eye contact as she did so. If she wasn’t the one giving you your paycheck Annabel would have been thrown out the window by now. It was clear as day she was keeping herself from laughing as you spoke up again in an embarrassed tone, “Are you satisfied for tonight miss?”

“We’ve barely even started. Besides it’s my turn since someone can’t keep their voice down,” she scolded, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it.

“Your father will be returning home soon.” 

She blinked at you blankly for a moment with a slight pout on her face, as if you had said something idiotic, “Well then you better make it quick then. You can do that for me right?”

Fuck, you couldn’t say no to that.

“… of course my lady.”

Annabel’s faux disappointment melted away at that, and you watched as Annabel got on her back. The part that comes next was something you’d never get used to, no matter how many times you did it. Annabel was gorgeous, a gorgeous tease that slowly, slowly, moved the bottom part of her delicate nightdress out of the way when she got comfortable.

Your voice was audibly shaky as you stated the obvious.

“You’re…not wearing underwear tonight.”

“Mhm~”, Annabel hummed at you softly, coyly playing with a free strand of her hair.

She was soaked completely, and you, stupid perverted you, took it all in. You knew she reveled in it too, the power she held. She even did you the favor of subtly moving one of her legs out of the way to reveal more. She let you spiral for a moment, before cruelly snapping you out of it.

“Love, I’m flattered really, but we must be on with it,”

It took you a moment, just one, to take a proper breather before you laid down with her, your hands grabbing at her legs with your face in between them. You shyly kissed around at first, not to purposely tease but gods if you were to dive in you might suffocate yourself. Annabel Lee was addictive in every way possible, the slick coating her cunt and inner thighs doubly so. You attempted to sneak deep inhale but the airy giggle she let out made it clear she noticed. 

Annabel almost instinctively arched her back when she felt it, biting her bottom lip. You had finally given in and took your time dragging your tongue through her slit. You didn’t suck to her dismay, simply dragging your tongue through her. You stayed there, toying around even when every inch of your body was screaming at you to eat her out like a starved woman.

The desperation from Annabel was palpable, she didn’t verbalize it but you could feel the heavy rise and fall of her chest. Small yet pretty gasps leaving her mouth every time you got dangerously close to her clit. You glanced up at her with half-lidded eyes before leaving a kiss directly on that bundle of nerves. Another bite to her lip and a squirm, cute.

You pulled away for a moment to breathe before shoving yourself right back in, only now you were more intense. Going from light kisses to sucking; you were still gentle with Annabel, but it even so it seemed to be almost too much for her.

Quiet gasps from her turned to whimpers and soft moans she couldn’t contain. You would unlatch and tease her for being all too loud but you couldn’t, in fact, you wouldn’t dare. She was too gorgeous like this to let go and she tasted too good for you to even think about stopping. You couldn’t really describe the flavor on your tongue other than it was sweet and you couldn’t get enough of it.

“M-More, please,” Annabel panted out, barely audible. But she knew it didn’t need to be for you to understand.

You didn’t even hesitate, pulling her closer to your face and resting her thighs on your shoulders. She wasted no time taking advantage of this, making your face flush oh-so-perfectly against her. 

She was a greedy little thing, desperately trying to force you to push your tongue past her entrance even though she knows she can’t handle it yet. You mumbled a soft “Gorgeous” against her cunt before finally giving her what she wanted. Pushing your tongue past the rim of her entrance with a huff. 

She was tight.

Almost terribly so, you had planned on using your fingers right away but that would have to wait. Carefully, as to not jerk too quickly, you readjusted on the bed to allow yourself more access. After all, you had to with the way she kept moving around; her thighs trying to instinctively shut every time your tongue hit a particularly tender spot. 

You didn't stop, though. In fact, you worked harder, as if you wanted her to shout out for the whole manor to hear. Annabel held an arm over her mouth, trying to cover up any profanities she might have started yelling as tears hung on those long eyelashes of hers. You wished so desperately you could get a better look at her, that face of overstimulation mostly hidden from the angle you were at. 

You were sure she was breathtaking, teary-eyed and flushed, curls messily tossed over the pillows…

A sudden buck of her hips against your mouth and a whine snapped your out of your trance… gods you were in too deep. Then it finally happened, an opening and you smiled against her. Her thighs tightened around your head, gripping you in place as to keep you put when you rather rudely pulled your tongue out of her upon realizing she loosened up a bit. 

“W-What on earth are you doing?” Annabel demanded, her voice frustrated but was shaken up by desire she couldn’t quite hide.

“Don’t fret, I’ll make this quick milady,” you sighed, still breathing heavily against Annabel in a way that made her twitch. You shifted positions, replacing your mouth with your hands, and began to quickly work two fingers into her. 

“Oh~!”, A gasp escaped her lips as she all but melted into the bed, trying to sneakily grind her hips into your hand. 

You bit your lip to suppress a laugh, simply giving her what she wanted and teasing, “Try not to overwhelm yourself, you’re already quite loud.”

Annabel blushed but didn’t stop, half-heartedly scolding, “You’re being rather bold tonight for a maid.”

“Who me? Why I'm only following orders,” you purred out your response, rubbing your fingers over a spot you knew drove her up the walls. 

She slapped a hand over her mouth, and piped down in what you could only describe as a flurry of whimpers. 

“Th-that's not h-helping— god go f-faster…”

“Are you close?”, you asked, placing a light kiss on her clit.

She moaned into her hand, a hazy and muffled “Y-yes,” slipping out between her lips. You hastily increased your pace, your fingers thrusting in and out of her soaking cunt. Another one of her moans was silenced as Annabel buried her face in a nearby pillow, her hand no longer being enough. 

You had her just where you wanted her, it would take only a moment. One more moment of patience and then—

“L-Love? I’m going to-”, her words were cut off by her own, very loud, moan as you wasted no time sucking on that bundle of nerves. 

“You did very well my lady…”, you cooed softly, pulling away from her hesitantly. She could only muster a tired hum in response as you helped her ride out her orgasm. If she wasn’t already visibly overwhelmed you would have taken the time to personally clean up the mess Annabel made on your hand, but that would be too greedy.  Even for a perverted thing like you. ♡