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toournextadventure · 2 days

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everyone but her pt.42

Summary: While Wednesday is busy worrying about you, an unwelcome guests shows their face at the Addams Mansion. Wednesday is starting to wish you would lose your morals again.

Word Count: 7.6k Warnings: swearing, mentioned child abuse, racism against Outcasts, smut at the end (18+) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

The Addams Mansion was louder than usual with its new guests. Much to her surprise, Wednesday almost found it comforting. If you had asked her even just two years ago if she would have enjoyed the newfound sounds in the mansion, she would have thought the notion preposterous. Absurd even. Of course she wouldn’t have enjoyed the sounds, the mansion was her home. It was a sacred place that should be left untouched.

However, with your family around… at least they treated the old home as it deserved.

Even the youngest were respectful of the knick-knacks and artefacts around the mansion. They had only needed to be told once, and everything settled again. Sure, they would point out the ones they liked, but their hands stayed far away. Rooms that were off-limits to guests remained closed, and everyone was respectful of the… unusual habits of the Addams family.

The only one that remained unusual was you.

If Wednesday was being honest with herself, she was rather concerned about you. She hadn’t heard you say much after that night. By all accounts, you were more similar to Lurch in your communication; doing little more than grunting in acknowledgement of whatever was being said. You hadn’t even talked to Weems, who had shown up not even a day after the event to check on everyone. It was rather disturbing. And not in a good way.

At least there was an upside to the whole situation. Grandmama Addams had healed your arm with little more than a light scar over the skin. It was clearly a burn; that was impossible to erase. But there had been no need to go into a medical centre like the original EMT had mentioned. An Addams knew tricks no normie could comprehend.

There was nothing comfortable about talking about feelings, Wednesday knew all about that. She had trouble talking about her own, and you certainly felt the same. It didn’t take a genius to know that. But she wished you would talk with her. Share your thoughts, what you were feeling at the moment. Or at the very least what you were thinking for the past few weeks, seeing as you still had yet to tell her how you had known the house was going to catch fire.

“Would you pass the sugar, dear?” Mother asked you.

You grumbled and nodded once before pushing it over with your scarred hand. It was a stiff movement, and your brows moved ever so slightly at the effort. So, Wednesday thought, you weren’t entirely healed. You made no other indication of your discomfort and turned the page of your book.

“Daniel seemed quite interested in the atrium,” Mother continued. You hummed for her to continue. “He’s asked numerous times about specific plants.”

You still said nothing in return.

Mother looked at Wednesday over the lip of her teacup. If you wouldn’t even answer her small talk, how would they ever get you to speak? Even if you were having a small spat with Wednesday, you would always talk with Mother. Yet now, she was talking of your brother, and you wouldn’t even answer? It was borderline rude.

You were never rude to Mother.

“There you all are,” Weems said as she entered the reading room. “Everyone was a bit too quiet.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Mother said with a smile.

She did just that. Even you looked up from your book for just long enough to watch Weems sit down with her own cup of tea. It seemed everyone was indulging in caffeine. Everyone except for you, that was. You had opted for nothing more than a glass of water that sat untouched on the small side table.

Everyone resumed their activities; Mother and Weems were talking, and you were reading. Wednesday had her own book in her lap, but the words eluded her. How could she focus on a book when she was so concerned about you? How could you focus on your book? Were you not going absolutely mad?

She needed you to be okay. There was very little she could do to help, but she needed you to be okay. Perhaps you wouldn’t talk with her, but that wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it? No, she could survive you not talking about your worries with her, as long as you allowed her to attempt to help.

A word of advice from Yoko appeared in her head. She looked over at you and watched you for a moment. There was very little emotion on your face, but she noticed you blinking a little longer than normal every time your burned hand turned the page.

She gave herself no time to doubt herself before reaching over and grabbing your good hand. It stiffened, but when she linked her fingers with yours, you quickly relaxed. Before she looked back down at her book, she noticed the slightest pull at the corner of your mouth.

Good. That was progress.

Wednesday was acutely aware of Mother and Weems’ hesitation before continuing their conversation. It gave her an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach to know they were watching you both. Showing outward displays of affection was becoming less agonising, but there was something unsettling about knowing her mother and your mother figure were watching.

The prickling spiders were starting to crawl across her skin when something knocked on the front door. You didn’t look up, but Mother and Weems shared a look before Weems stood up from her chair.

“Shall I?” She asked even though she had already started walking toward the front door.

“Thank you,” Mother said with a small smile.

No one else paid any attention to what was happening. Everyone simply went back to what they were doing. What would it matter anyway? You were all aware that people only came to the Addams Mansion either based on a dare or had been invited.

“I don’t believe it’s wise for you to be here.”

Your attention was captured by Weems’ words. Wednesday would admit hers were too. There was a certain tone to the words, something that she didn’t think she had heard before. No, that wasn’t true, she had heard that warning tone before.

At Nevermore immediately after Nicky had died.

Wednesday’s mind was running rampant when you pulled your hand away from hers. There was almost no time for her to grab it again before you stood up. Mother sent a concerned look her way. It was a lucky thing Wednesday hadn’t had any tea, or she would have spilled it when she stood up.

Your body stiffened when you looked out the front door.

“I was hoping you would be here.”

That voice sent a shiver down every inch of Wednesday’s skin. By the slight shake in your hand, you felt the same. The closer she got, the more nervous she was. It was a complicated feeling for her. Very few things, and even fewer people, made her feel that way. She didn’t like it.

There was something comparable between your mother and hers. They both held themselves with confidence; something that you appeared to lack until you were in your mother’s presence again. However, there was a rather large difference between the two women.

Your mother always looked like she was out for blood.

“I was hoping to talk with you about something,” your mother said directly to you.

“I don’t believe that would-”

“-Alone,” she interrupted Weems with a venomous smile.

Very few people spoke to Weems in such a way, apparent by the way everyone stiffened at the harshness of the word. But that very reality was what seemed to get you out of whatever stupor you had drowned in. Behind you, your wings puffed up enough to make themselves known as you looked at Weems.

“I’ve got it,” you said in a soft yet confident voice. It was certainly a surprise to Wednesday, who had assumed you would sound weak after a large amount of silence.

Weems looked at you for another moment more. “Morticia and I will be in the study,” she finally said.

“As I said,” your mother said with the same sickening smile, “this is private.”

“Anything involving me involves Wednesday,” you said.

You and your mother stared at each other silently, and Wednesday felt like she was intruding on something. There was a history with you two that she knew very little about, but she knew enough. To stand there, watching your silent battle with nothing to say, was torture.

“Of course it does,” your mother finally said. She looked inside the mansion for a moment. “Won’t you be a dear and invite me in?”

“No.” You straightened back up and crossed your arms over your chest. “Say your piece and leave.”

Your mother opened her mouth to argue - she had stunning teeth, Wednesday noted - but quickly closed it once seeing the look on your face. Or rather, the lack of a look. Fear was the predominant look in your eyes when your parents were involved, but this? There was no reaction. You simply existed in her presence.

It was a wonderful look on you.

“Very well,” your mother finally said with a sigh. “I would like you to attend an event with me this weekend.”

“No,” you said quickly.

Your mother stood tall. “You will hear me out, Y/N.”

Fear flashed behind your eyes at the use of your full name.

“It’s a charity gala,” she continued. “For those with your…” she gestured vaguely between both you and Wednesday, “affliction.”

“We’re Outcasts,” you said, “not lepers.”

“Semantics, dear,” she said with a dismissive wave.

At that, you reached out and grabbed Wednesday’s hand. Hard. An ache spread through the bones of her hand as they were squeezed together unnaturally. The skin on your hand was tough, feeling closer to leather than skin. Truly a fascinating thing.

She squeezed your hand back to the best of her ability.

“After all the shit you’ve done, you want me to go with you to a gala?” You asked. “Just to make you look good?”

There was a red tint to your cheeks. Wednesday could hear all the words you weren’t saying. You killed my brother. You had me arrested. You abandoned me. Though she didn’t wish for a fight, she did wish for you to finally speak your mind. Let her know the hurt she had caused you all these years.

You didn’t continue.

“Your father is away, so you wouldn’t have to concern yourself with the restraining order,” your mother continued as if you were being nothing more than a petulant child.

“You’re not listening,” you said. “I’m not going.”

The tone underlying your words was all Wednesday needed to hear to know your next move. Your grip had loosened enough to ease the ache in her hand, but it stayed firm. Though she wouldn’t blame you, she knew you were done with the conversation. Nothing good could come from continuing to talk with your mother.

You turned around and started to pull Wednesday along with you.

“I heard about the fire,” your mother called after you.

You froze.

“Entire house burned to ash,” she continued. “A shame.” Your chest was heaving. “No longer having a home to call their own.”

The warmth of your hand in hers quickly disappeared as you turned on your heel. Wednesday’s feet stayed rooted to the spot even as she watched you walk up to your mother and stand over her. For the first time, she realised you were a decent amount taller than your mother. You could properly look down on her as she had no doubt you always wished you could.

In the background, the children could be heard playing in an unknown room.

“Don’t pretend you care,” you said quietly. Harshly.

“Oh darling,” your mother said with a smile that didn’t match her tone, “I couldn’t care less.”

“Then don’t talk about them.”

“I just assumed, perhaps wrongfully, that you would wish for them to have a home again,” she continued. The look in her eye was similar to yours. “A gift, if you will.”

You looked down at your mother silently. Oh, how Wednesday wished she could see the look on your face. She so very much adored when you were angry. There was a fire behind your eyes that lit something within her.

Then she started to think about the implications of your mother’s words. Would you allow her to offer such a thing? The reminder of your debt would follow you for the rest of your life. After all, you were still feeling indebted to her parents for the pendant you constantly wore around your neck. But with a home? She couldn’t even imagine the feelings it would invoke within you.

“Shall I continue?” Your mother asked.

You hesitated. Then gave a single, slow nod.

“If you accompany me to the gala, we will pay for the restoration of your little,” she hesitated, “family.” There was almost a sneer on her face, if Wednesday was reading her correctly.

“Are you blackmailing me?” You asked.

“Oh dear,” she laughed, “I’m not that dense.” Your jaw clenched. “It’s an incentive. A rather generous one.”

Your mother then stayed silent. A tactic, no doubt. It would give you time to consider her offer. Even Wednesday would admit it was a tempting offer. She and her parents had offered your family the same thing knowing they didn’t have the means to rebuild quickly on their own. It had been a quick rejection.

When it came to your mother, however…

“You’ll pay for the entirety of a new house,” you confirmed.

Your mother nodded in response. “Large enough for them all, in fact.”

“With the barn and stables.”

“Of course.”

“And nothing will ever need to be repaid?”

“It will be an act of charity.”

“And I can get that in writing?” You asked.

Oh. Oh, Wednesday could see the gears turning in your head. Once again, as she so often found herself doing, she thought back to those years she had believed you to be daft. Oblivious would perhaps have been the better word for it. Acting as if you were unaware of everything going on around you. On the rare occasion, even going so far as to act unaware of even the most basic aspects of life.

She used to believe you. After all, you were rather adept at playing off your intelligence. If she hadn’t been so tragically enamoured with you, life would have become far different than it currently was. She wouldn’t have had the pleasure of calling you hers.

However, she knew better. She could see the ideas forming behind your eyes. No, they weren’t simply ideas, they were full-fledged plans. Wednesday desperately wished to have the ability to read your mind. What plan were you meticulously concocting?

“You may have it in writing,” your mother finally said. “I’ll draft it when I get home.”

“Oh no,” you said quickly, “I wouldn’t wish to trouble you.”

Finally, for the first time since your mother had appeared at the front door, you turned and looked at Wednesday. There was a fire in your eyes reminiscent of the burning house she had been forced to watch you run into. It was thrilling.

It was terrifying.

“Would you call Señor Moreno?” You asked with a smile that made you look just like your mother. “Mrs. Smith would like to draft an agreement.”

—---

Your discomfort was clear, but Wednesday rather enjoyed you in your current state. There had been few times she had seen you dressed well, fewer times since it had been a happy occasion. This was neither happy nor unhappy, so she took it as a positive. You looked rather stunning, aside from your wings resting uncomfortably underneath your clothes.

Not for the first time, her chest ached when you removed your hand from hers.

Listening to your mother fill you in on who was who was not on Wednesday’s to-do list. No, she didn’t truly care who these people were. What she truly cared about was the feel of your warmth beside her, enveloping her in something she had learned to crave. Something she could only receive from you.

“Come on,” you said softly, far closer than Wednesday had believed. It was unsettling.

She loved when you were unsettling.

With her arm looped through yours, she walked with you around the overly crowded room. A ballroom of sorts, she supposed, not too unlike the one in her own house. The difference was this one was bright and filled with straight-laced professionals. Her house was more often than not filled with criminals and unsightly characters for miles to come.

This was a far more concerning environment.

Every beat of Wednesday’s heart grew stronger the longer she watched you in what would have been your natural habitat. Try as you might to deny it, you were rather skilled at talking up those that could owe you favours. For example, the senator’s wife. Though Wednesday despised it, you had her laughing and getting closer the entire conversation.

You were lucky Wednesday had promised to behave.

She was lucky you had promised to behave.

The longer she stayed by your side throughout the evening, the more she realised there was a side to you she rarely if ever got to see. The part of you that could be serious and prepared for business. It was fascinating to watch your expressions and tone match whoever you were talking with. Almost like a mimic, if she had to put a word to it.

Sometimes, if your mother was around, she noticed the most subtle accent to your words. You sounded just like her.

She would never tell you.

“This is Wednesday Addams.”

Your voice pulled Wednesday back into the moment. There was a man in front of you both that she didn’t care to know. With his horrific toupee and pathetic mustache, she mentally placed him as a wannabe politician. His black tuxedo was slightly dishevelled around the collar, and his buttons were off by one. How peculiar.

“Addams, you say?” He asked with a voice that betrayed him more than the pipe hanging out of his mouth. “I believe I know of your father.”

“How so?” She asked even though she had no interest in hearing his answer.

“We met at a ball many years ago, if my recollection is correct,” he said. A puff of smoke left his mouth. “He’s doing well, I presume?”

“Quite,” she said shortly. Perhaps if she made it clear she wasn’t interested in small talk, he would leave her be.

No such luck.

“Perhaps he would appreciate an invitation to our next ball,” the man said. “He can get proper connections in place for when you take over.”

Your hand on the small of Wednesday’s back twitched. Nothing serious, a minuscule movement. It was enough. Out of the corner of your eye, she saw the slight frown on your face. Nothing overtly noticeable. Not that it would have mattered, the man you were both talking to couldn’t be bothered enough to notice the change.

“The Addamses are old money,” you chimed in, “there’s no need to take over.”

“Of course, of course,” he mumbled. A puff of smoke escaped from between his lips. “In that case, you must take that advice,” he said as he gestured toward you with his head. “You’ll need the good graces.”

Your hand twitched again.

“I’m not sure I understand,” you said with a slight tilt of your head.

“When you take over your father’s company,” he explained. Your nails dug into Wednesday’s back. “After dear Nicholas passed - rest his soul - you became the beneficiary of the company.” He chuckled. “Perhaps they were keeping it a surprise until you came of proper age.” A wink. “Don’t let them know I told you.”

You pulled your hand away from her back. Quickly. You could not have made it any more obvious that you were deliberately putting space between yourself and everyone else. If you could have turned and ran, Wednesday was convinced you would have.

She couldn’t begin to imagine the things running through your mind. Not only had he mentioned Nicky - which she had learned would always be a sore spot no matter how much time had passed - but he had also told you something you undoubtedly had never wished to know. You looked like you had grabbed an electric wire and hadn’t let go.

“Are you alright?” The man asked in a tone that indicated he couldn’t have cared less what your answer was. Wednesday could appreciate the indifference.

“Quite,” you said quickly. “Just thinking.”

“Ah, of course, I could tell,” he said with a nod, “I’ve seen that face before.” Another puff of his pipe. “You look just like your father.”

That.

That was the final straw.

Wednesday could practically hear your sanity break at that simple sentence. Any semblance of control you had maintained throughout the evening vanished. Before, you had acted like you had been shot by the words. You would close off, become solemn in the wake of the conversation. Being told those words almost hurt you more than losing your brother.

But not this time. No, now you were furious. If you clenched your jaw any tighter, Wednesday was convinced the bones would have shattered. Her eyes fell to your hands before you managed to shove them into your pockets. They were balled into fists.

She wondered if it pained your superficially healed burns.

“I believe I need a drink,” you choked out. “If you’ll excuse me.” You didn’t wait for an answer before walking off where Wednesday could no longer see you.

She was mortified.

How dare you leave her with people that, not only did she not know, but she didn’t care about? She had only agreed to accompany you because it would be a sleight against your mother. Not once had she agreed to be left alone with these people. Did you not know that she was not going to be good for your image? If anything, she would damage it more than it already was.

“I hope our dear Y/N is alright.”

She knew better. Wednesday really, truly knew better. But she couldn’t help herself. With a small exhale, she turned to face your mother. A polite smile was on her face and she looked rather nice, if Wednesday wished to say something positive about the woman. Not that she deserved it, but that wasn’t necessarily important.

You had her nose.

“Oh she’s splendid,” the man said, “just stewing on some thoughts. Right, Miss Addams?” He winked at Wednesday.

She felt the rare twinge of disgust in her stomach.

“I presumed,” your mother said. “Would you mind if I stole Miss Addams from you?”

“Not at all,” he said. He bowed his head, let out a puff of smoke, and turned around to start a conversation with whatever unlucky soul happened to be nearest him.

“Walk with me,” your mother commanded.

Silence was Wednesday’s best friend as she followed the older woman. She would admit, she had never believed she would find herself in this situation. Walking side by side with your mother - not the woman who raised you, but who brought you to life. It had seemed like a far-fetched dream, if not a full-blown nightmare.

She was ashamed to admit that she was… uncertain of how to act.

“You’re a rather brave young thing,” your mother said as she continued to meander through the party, waving to people when she saw fit. “Has our darling Y/N ever told you that?”

“I’m aware of my own strengths,” Wednesday answered. She reconsidered for a moment. “Yes she has.”

“Then we raised her properly.”

Wednesday opted to stay silent. It had only been a few moments of conversation, but she could fully understand why you felt a certain way about your parents. Was she aware of the ridiculous things she was saying? Did she truly believe that they had raised you? A foolish notion at best.

It was beyond clear that your true family had raised you. If she extended the definition of the word, Weems had even raised you more than the woman she was walking beside. You even called Weems a mother, which was evidence enough. Wednesday wasn’t one to get overly emotional, but she knew the difference between what your family had done to raise you and what your mother had done. The difference was glaringly obvious.

While you hadn’t told Wednesday much about your upbringing, she knew enough. Your mother had never been there when you cried. She hadn’t helped you with your homework, or encouraged your hobbies. It would be of no surprise to anyone if she didn’t know of your passion for climbing or boxing. She had left you to cope alone after not only a crippling car accident, but the figurative and, eventually literal, loss of your brother.

No, they hadn’t raised you, and even someone as emotionally stunted as Wednesday was painfully aware of it.

“I’m sure she’s told you rather horrid things about Marcus and myself,” your mother said, coaxing Wednesday out of her thoughts. “But everything we did was for her own good.”

Wednesday understood the anger you harboured for them. She herself was feeling that same anger well up within her chest. Not quite threatening to burst forward, but making itself known. Subtle, creeping into her veins slowly, like waves gently breaking on the shore. All it would take was one wrong move and those waves would turn violent.

“I believe you truly think so,” was all she said.

“Everyone she loves gets hurt,” your mother said. She stopped in her tracks and turned slowly to face Wednesday. “Or dies.”

“That’s improbable at best,” she said.

“You’d be wise to leave before you fall victim to that curse of hers.”

Something cold and damp settled into the bottom of Wednesday’s heart. It was… difficult to describe. Was your mother warning her, or threatening? She was unsure. The words themself were threatening, but her tone… she hadn’t prepared to hear that tone from such a woman. Not after what she had come to know about her.

“Not everything you hear can be taken as truth, love,” your mother said softly, far too soft for her own words. She was ignoring Wednesday’s silence. Or simply not caring. “From what I’ve read about you, you know that painfully well.”

Wednesday turned to silence once again. She had nothing to say, which was a rather unusual experience. So far, she couldn’t properly think of a time she had been left without words. Or, quite frankly, even any thoughts. Skepticism was her friend, and your mother would not break her of such habits.

“There’s two sides to every story,” your mother continued. She looked out toward the crowd of people, and Wednesday followed suit. “This curse prevailed long before Nicholas.”

You had never told Wednesday of any incidents before Nicky. Though, if your mother knew about it, then perhaps you didn’t remember. Or you weren’t even aware in the first place. It indicated something that she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about.

Something that mixed together with everything she had seen as of late.

“We should get together one evening,” your mother said as she looked back at Wednesday. “Doubtless you have questions.”

She did. As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she had numerous questions that continued to pile up with each second that ticked by. With how much your mother hated Outcasts, was her implication of a curse figurative or literal? If literal, were you truly cursed? Who had done it? At the very least, who had been injured or killed when you were too young to even remember?

Would you hate her if she agreed? There had been a few times you had mentioned, in passing of course, about regretting knowing little about your childhood. Whether from young age or potential trauma, you remembered less than you liked. If she had a chance to find those things out for you, would you be appreciative? Or would you be upset with her for talking with your mother so casually?

Would you hate her?

Her mind was running through every scenario possible. She wanted to tell your mother something; of what, she wasn’t quite sure. Wednesday’s lips parted in an effort to buy herself some more time when someone’s arm brushed against her shoulder. Just the lightest of touches, otherwise unnoticeable. It had been quite a while since she had last felt that electric shock spiderwebbing across her skin.

This was different.

Fire raced through her veins, creating an inferno in her chest that she desperately wished to smother. She could taste the smoke rising up from her lungs, scorching the back of her throat before settling into little more than a tickle. When her eyes opened, she saw vague shapes of the forest.

She was getting rather tired of the forest.

The birds were silent, and even the bugs had ceased to make their high-pitched calls. It was as silent as the grave. After witnessing the fire, this very setting rested heavy in her stomach. The only saving grace was the two familiar figures she saw standing underneath one of the outlines of a tree.

When they turned to face her, all comfort fled. Their faces were nothing less than mangled. Blood fell freely down their chins to the already-soaked dirt below their feet. Wednesday wanted to cry, to scream, to warn them of the creature looming behind them, but she couldn’t. She was silent.

Just like you on that fated night.

She blinked once. When her eyes opened again, the forest was gone, instead replaced by a house that she could recognise even from her single visit. Wednesday had never been downstairs in your parents house, instead only exploring a few rooms upstairs when she came with you, but she recognised the tile. The entire building smelled like you, in some odd way.

The dining table was huge, accentuated by the measly five plates that sat around the perimeter of the stunning wood. Only five. Two seats were empty, and two more were filled with sights that Wednesday didn’t think she could have imagined even in her most demented nightmares. In the fifth seat, Wednesday saw the near-perfect reflection of herself.

She had never imagined what her corpse would look like.

“I said don’t touch her.”

Your voice. That was your voice, which meant she was out of her vision. Her throat ached like she had been screaming for years. There was a dull throbbing ache in her stomach where one of the wounds on her corpse had been. But your arms were around her, holding her close.

The ache would subside.

“It might be wise to seek medical attention,” your mother said.

“This happened while she was with you,” you practically spat. Wednesday still hadn’t opened her eyes, but she could imagine the fury on your face. “I can be forgiven for not taking your advice.”

“I’d advise you not to make a scene, dear.”

Your mother’s tone left Wednesday feeling cold. Her own mother had never talked to her in such a way, even out of fear. It wasn’t a way a parent should ever talk to their child. Yet, your mother did it shamelessly in front of an entire crowd of people that had no doubt found their way around the three of you.

Her eyes opened quickly. Far too quickly, the lights from the room hammered nails into her brain. But all the pain and discomfort faded away when she met your soft eyes looking down at her in concern. You were rather beautiful, and just the thought brought a smile to her lips.

A smile?

Perhaps she had hit her head on the way down.

“Can you stand?” You asked softly.

Wednesday nodded once.

You kept your hands on her as you helped her to her feet. The floor felt a bit uneven at first, but with your arm wrapped securely around her waist, she felt no concern. Her trust in you was unwavering. You wouldn’t let her fall.

“You should take her somewhere quiet,” your mother said, against everyone’s better judgement. “It will help.”

You shot her a look, but otherwise stayed silent as you guided Wednesday through the crowd. Everyone parted, looking away in some form of almost-shame. They didn’t truly care. Elites cared for little outside of their own interests. And at that moment, getting the gossip firsthand was in their best interest.

There was no telling where exactly you were taking her. She didn’t care to know. If you were taking her somewhere, it would be safe. You had never intentionally led her into harm, and she knew you never would. You cared too much, and though it often got you in trouble, she loved it about you.

…

She had definitely hit her head.

When you opened the door and led her inside the darkened room, she didn’t initially check her surroundings. Wednesday was no fool, she would know if something was unsafe. But when you flipped the switch and illuminated the space, she was overcome with… confusion.

“The coat closet?” She asked, turning quickly to face you.

You were already pacing back and forth in the small - well, small for a room, rather large for a coat closet - space. Each step was harsh, purposeful. Behind you, your hands were clasped terribly tight, as if you were trying to prevent yourself from doing something foolish.

Perhaps you were.

“Did she hurt you?” You asked without looking.

“No,” Wednesday said softly.

You scoffed. “Probably the only thing she didn’t do.” The carpet was becoming worn into a path from your feet. “We never should’ve come to this stupid party.”

There were a few things Wednesday could have said, but she remained silent. It wasn’t often you would find yourself pacing, let alone in a closet. On those rare occasions, she had learned it best to stay quiet. Once you had gotten your thoughts and emotions out, you were lighter and could move on.

“I can’t do this,” you continued without prompting. “I don’t want to do this.” A turn on your heels. “I didn’t even want their name, let alone their fucking company.” The muscles in your arms tensed. “And apparently everyone is preparing for it. What happens when they find out I’m a fucking Outcast?” You readjusted your jaw. “He told me we shouldn’t have come.”

Wednesday perked up.

“Who told you?”

There was no sudden freeze of your movements, as was usual. No, your pace slowed until coming to a graceful stop. Each breath you took was calculated, steady. Strange. She had seen enough of your panics to know this was different. Wrong somehow.

“No one,” you said without looking at her. “Just… just a thought.” You turned slowly. “The voice in my head.”

“Your conscience?” She clarified.

You didn’t answer.

Wednesday didn’t like when you didn’t answer her. It left a gross feeling she couldn’t quite describe. The best description she could conjure was mud sitting at the bottom of her stomach, weighing her down. She didn’t like the feeling. It made her… well, almost sad.

It was possible you noticed her discomfort because, almost instantly, you walked over to where she was standing. Her entire body relaxed - for the first time that night - when your hands cupped her cheeks. There was something pleasant about your touch that never failed to ease any negative feelings trapped within her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked in a far softer voice. It was gentle and comforting.

She placed her hands on top of yours and nodded once.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” you continued. “We should’ve just had a nice night at home.”

Wednesday didn’t disagree. There were many more things she would have preferred to do than come to some gala that no one seemed to care about. You had come under the premise of a gala for Outcasts, but she felt it was a farce. None of those people cared about Outcasts, and they never would. It would have been a much better use of both of your time to do something else, something far more enjoyable.

An idea formed in her mind and she quickly looked up to meet your eyes.

“We can still have a nice night,” she said slowly.

“Wednesday,” you said with a tilt of your head. “You fainted and I’m plotting the death of my mother. You’d have to come up with something pretty… uh…”

Your voice trailed off once she guided your hands down her neck. There was almost a humorous joy to the way you went slack jawed at any indication of activities less than professional. And when she continued, fighting a shiver as your fingers brushed the side of her clothed breasts, you stared with wide eyes until your hands rested on her waist.

“Wednesday,” you whispered. Her name always slid off your tongue with a certain grace that she couldn’t find anywhere else.

“You need a distraction,” she said, “as do I.”

“Please don’t feel like you have to-”

“-I would like to,” she said quickly.

She knew where your mind was going and, in any other situation, she would have agreed. You had both agreed long ago that this wasn’t something frivolous; it meant far too much to the both of you. It shouldn’t be used for inappropriate reasons and, under normal circumstances, this would be an inappropriate reason.

Even though it was surprising to her as well, she genuinely wanted this.

“We’re in a coat closet,” you said with a slight squeeze of your hands. It felt nice.

“I don’t believe it would be our most unusual interaction,” she said with the slightest tilt of her head.

You bit back a laugh. It was a beautiful sound. “Please don’t call it an interaction, it sounds… dirty.”

She felt herself moving backwards. Whether you were guiding her or she was leading, she couldn’t tell. All she could focus on was your fingers rubbing light circles on her hips and your face getting closer to hers. If she simply leaned up on her toes, she could kiss you.

“I can call it intercourse instead,” she offered.

The both of you stopped when her back pressed against the wall.

“I think that’s worse,” you said, your breath fanning across her lips.

She waited for the question.

“Can I kiss you?”

A rhetorical question at that point, you knew the answer. You had always known the answer. Wednesday reached forward to wrap her arms around your neck and pulled you down into a kiss. It was soft and clumsy. After all this time, you were still clumsy for the first few kisses. Before you, she would have found it ridiculous.

Now, she enjoyed it.

Outside the door, the sounds of footsteps on the tile came and went. It didn’t stop either one of you, quite the contrary, it made the situation all the more thrilling. Wednesday knew the joy you would find in it; she could practically hear your words. Two Outcasts fucking around their personal belongings? Sexy.

Her breath hitched lightly when you slipped your hands underneath her dress. It wasn’t salacious; it was rather decent, if she was being honest. You didn’t hike her dress up over her hips and take her right then and there. Rather, you kept her covered, the only indication of something going on being your hands underneath the fabric.

“I’m sorry, mi vida,” you said softly against her skin as you pressed kisses across her jaw. “This will have to be quick unless you want to get caught.”

Wednesday was never a fan of what you and Enid - and clearly the rest of the world - called “quickies.” She was so selective of when and where she was willing to have sex that the thought had never appealed to her. Why dedicate such a short amount of time to something that required much longer? How was it enjoyable? Or even tolerable?

But, as she had noted throughout the night, she wasn’t particularly picky at that moment.

She nodded quickly. More footsteps could be heard outside the door. You were correct; she didn’t wish to be caught. The thrill was arousing, yes, but if it actually happened? There was no doubt in her mind that, though she wouldn’t care about their opinions, she would be mortified.

Your teeth pressed lightly against the pulse point of her neck as you smiled. If Wednesday stretched her neck just a little further, perhaps she could entice you to bite. There was something delectable about the feel of your teeth on her skin. As if you could read her mind, you lightly nipped at her collarbone.

It was a good thing you hadn’t completely enraptured her, or she would have made a surprised noise when you hoisted her up from the ground. Your hands held her by the back of her thighs until you pressed closer, leaving her trapped securely between your body and the wall.

Oh, she rather liked that.

Your unscarred hand moved, sliding softly against her inner thigh before brushing against her underwear. Her body shivered at the slightest of touches. It was humiliating. What was more humiliating was the smile on your face that she desperately wished would vanish.

“You’re already wet,” you noted.

She could kill you.

“The stoic Wednesday Addams is wet,” you said. Your fingers slipped underneath the flimsy fabric and she had to bite her tongue. “From a little makeout session in a coat closet.”

Out of all the times you could be condescending, you had chosen the worst moment. You chose the moment she was already going out of her comfort zone, but also, quite frankly, desperate. She finally understood the pleasure in quickies; it gave less time for words.

Wednesday would have told you to shut up right then and there. She would have stopped you simply out of spite. But her chance was ruined when you slipped two fingers into her with ease. Her head fell back against the wall as those fingers moved at a dangerously quick pace.

She wouldn’t have to wait long to finish. It was truly disgraceful how worked up she was. Had you known? Because she hadn’t. Wednesday had never anticipated ever being so close to a release with such little time. Perhaps it was you. You and your deceptively soft kisses on her neck. You and your nimble fingers that had learned long ago exactly what she loved. You and your damned thumb that never left her clit until she was so sensitive she could almost cry.

That warm feeling in her core didn’t build softly. It formed quickly with each swipe of your thumb, each thrust of your fingers that had her biting her tongue so hard she could taste blood. She managed to lift her head right when you pulled your own mouth away. Perfect.

Her lips pressed against yours before that feeling erupted inside her. It was different from all the other times. It was more intense, hitting her rather quickly instead of slowly cascading over the edge. Her nails dug into the back of your neck, but you didn’t seem to care. You simply held her closer, keeping your fingers moving in rhythm with her body until she could relax in your arms.

Footsteps came closer.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against your lips, “I know it was fast, we can take our time at home.”

Wednesday didn’t have an answer just yet. She was still out of breath, trying to recover from the wave of bliss that had left her unable to properly function. But she could give you some form of answer; a soft kiss, nothing like what you had just done to her.

She felt you smile against her lips.

“Here,” you said softly as you lowered her back to the ground on shaky legs. “I’ll grab our coats, you take a moment.”

The moment you were gone, she felt cold. It wasn’t something she had ever admitted out loud, but she despised when you left her even if momentarily. She was fond of the warmth you gave her, both internally and externally. There was something special about it that evaded her verbiage. All she knew was she enjoyed it.

When she opened her eyes, she froze.

“What are you doing?” She asked in a husky voice.

You thumbed through the cash in the wallet. “I’m stealing.” You grabbed the wad of cash and placed the empty wallet back into the coat before moving on to the next one. “If I’m going to run a company one day, I should start getting used to it.”

Wednesday walked up to you slowly and waited for you to finish with what was currently in your hands. Once you paused, she pulled you down into a kiss. Slow, soft, good. You pulled back ever so slightly with a small smile on your face, and she just looked at you.

“I love you,” she said softly.

You leaned down to kiss her again.

“I love you too.”

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

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zriasstuff · 22 hours

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Love is embarrassing

Mattheo Riddle x reader (fluff imagine, idiot in love :3)

Warning: mischaracterization ? maybe. but since he is made up anyway i get to write painfully self indulgent stuff :) anyway click on masterlist for more

Once you caught his eye, there was no way he wasn’t going to make you his. But you were different from all his other crushes. Around you, he somehow felt…nervous? Mattheo Riddle’s vocabulary certainly didn’t entail “nervous” nor “rejection”, yet those two things consumed him like they never did before.

Of course he would eventually face his fears, but before he got there he would simply have to satisfy himself in other ways. If approaching you wasn’t an option, staring at you from afar definitely was.

And before he forgot, he promised himself that he wouldn’t tell his friends. Not yet at least. He really didn’t feel like being ridiculed for being shy.

Staring from afar turned out to be quite the feasible option. Since you sat across the room from him in most classes, he would only have to put his head in his hand and there you were. The most perfect face he’d ever seen, flowing hair and just the right amount of cute and sexy. Everytime you ran your hand through your hair and flipped them in the most elegant way, his pupils grew wider.

Seeing you awakened the inner protector in him. He just had to be by your side. As long as he wasn't, he wouldn’t be able to enjoy a peaceful day.

And just then his day took a pretty embarrassing turn. “Mr.Riddle, if you could stop staring at ms.y/n for just a second, you would’ve maybe heard my question the first time. But I am going to ask again…”

All the students immediately burst out laughing, his friends being the loudest. They couldn’t help but turn their heads towards you too, to see who the Mattheo Riddle was checking out. You could feel your cheeks heating and tried hiding your face a little. Why did Snape have to be such a prick about him not paying attention…

Mattheo grinned awkwardly at his comment, trying to play it off. Unfortunately his friends weren’t going to let this opportunity to embarrass their boy go.

“AWEEE MATTYS’ GOT A LITTLE CRUSH”, Blaise yelled across the room, causing even more outrageous laughs from everyone.

Tom wasn’t helping by loudly announcing “Don’t say that Blaise. It’s not a little crush, if anything it’s a big boy crush.”

More mocking and laughter followed his doom. He looked over at you, to see how you were reacting. He swore if this was what ruined his chances he would strangle everyone, including Snape, one by one…

It was like you could read his thoughts because instead of the reassuring look he’d hoped for, you were giggling with your friends. The chances were beginning to look slimmer and slimmer.

“That’s enough”, Snape finally chimes in, “quiet down now, or you will all have to write a three page essay.” For the rest of the class Mattheo’s mind kept spinning. How could it not.

Although his friends were idiots ninety nine percent of the time, there were rare moments of wisdom. This time was not one of them. Their advice was simply “stop being such a pussy, mate.” Eloquently put as always, but they had a point. He had to remind himself of who he was again. So what if Snape embarrassed him in front of everyone? Wasn’t he handsome and charming enough for it to just make him seem more adorable?

Eventually you two got to separate yourselves from your friend groups, allowing you to enjoy an actual conversation.

…

“So am I getting my hopes up for nothing, or were you genuinely staring at me?”, you bluntly ask him. You had to know whether Snape only said that to punish him for no reason, or if he actually had a point.

“What do you think, gorgeous?”, he cheekily replies. “I wonder how anyone could not stare at someone as pretty as you”

“You’re so stupid”, you chuckle at his attempt to charm you.

“Stupid is not something you should be calling your future boyfriend you know”

#slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys x you #slytherin boys fanfiction #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle fanfic #slytherin boys fluff #mattheo riddle headcanon

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toaster-trash · 2 days

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My thoughts on Frankenstein can basically be summed up in, “Victor is a dickhead but at least he’s not an incel,” and “The Creature is a dickhead but at least he’s not a rich prick”.

To this day “ermmm Victor/Creature is the innocent guy and (X other character) is the bad guy achtually 🤓☝️” takes make me so fucking mad. THEY BOTH SUCK, AND THEYRE BOTH STILL SYMPATHETIC PROTAGONISTS. THATS THE POINT OF THE FUCKING BOOK😭

Also people who think Victor was the bad guy for refusing to make the Bride and going “huh, maybe making a creature for the sole purpose of suffering and fucking you is really fucked up and not my place at all actually?” legitimately need their fucking heads checked because do you genuinely have zero reading comprehension or life experience??? Can you read a book? Can you understand basic themes and concepts? Are you actually stupid?

Victor is a terrible guy for being self absorbed enough to cheat God and nature itself, creating a being that was never meant to be born and inflicting immense suffering on it by the nature of it existing in a way that fundamentally can not be balanced out — following the Christian influences and background in which the novel was written at the time, Victor is not God, he can’t offer the creature salvation or in any way metaphysically balance out his suffering, so he just introduces him to a life of a living hell by his own design and by the nature of the fact that Victor is just a man, and the Creature himself is terrible because the nihilism inherent to his condition as Victor’s creation turns him into a murderous incel who wants to just further the suffering Victor caused, because if he can’t be happy, nobody should, so he kills every innocent bystander who Victor loved and demands that he makes him a woman like Eve who’s equal to him in suffering, who exists for the sole purpose of being his, who was created to be his.

And Victor says no, because he has actual character development and realises it isn’t his place (also, very likely mirroring his engagement to Elizabeth if you kinda follow the same reading as me that Victor never really loved her romantically and felt forced into the marriage because of his mother), which, shock horror, makes Victor a more likeable protagonist, because again, shockingly, he’s actually a pretty good guy in this one situation making a really good moral decision for once by saying “yeah I’m not going to create a woman whose sole purpose in life is to fuck you and suffer as much as you, also what if she doesn’t want to fuck you???”

Are people allergic to the concept of character development or something?? Are people allergic to multifaceted complex characters?? You feel terrible for the creature because of what Victor has done to him by bringing him into existence, and you feel terrible for Victor because of how doomed he is (in the worst way, it’s not just him suffering, he has to watch everyone he loves being forced to suffer because of him) by his one mistake and how he doesn’t have any way to fix it. A creation with no God, and a Man with the weight of God upon him because of his own mistake. They’re both doomed. That’s why it’s so good, THE BOOK IS A FUCKING TRAGEDY WHY IS THIS SO DIFFICULT FOR SOME PEOPLE TO GRASP???😭

#babe wake up new toaster trash Frankenstein rant just dropped #gothic lit #classic literature #gothic literature #frankenstein #classic lit #goth lit #frankenstein weekly #Victor Frankenstein #frankensteins creature #frankenstein or the modern prometheus #mary Shelley

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sleepyjuice · 2 days

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10 + 16 with jj please? (maybe smth like going back to the chateau the night john b and sarah “die” and consoling each other with a bit of badly timed tension? or any other ideas you have!)

I loved this so much!!!! what a bittersweet concept 😭

warnings: some angst (canon events for the most part from the show), liiilll bit of fluff, smut 18+!!!!!, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, jj being an absolute dream in this<3

No one ever prepares you for what you’re supposed to do after learning that two of your best friends were most likely dead and you would never see them again.

You somewhat prepare yourself in life for moments where you are inevitably going to lose people, but once the moment is over, then what?

As you and jj walked silently back to the chateau after what had turned into one of the worst days of your life, you wished more than ever that someone somewhere had written your entire life out for you so that you could ask them for all the answers. How to just go on with your life after something so traumatic.

Pope and Kiara had gone home with their parents which left just you and your boyfriend, jj. You were sure your parents were worried about you, surely they had heard what happened, but you hadn’t checked your phone in hours.

jj opened the door to the much too quiet chateau once you arrived, tears falling from both of you once again as you stepped into a place that held some of the best memories of your lives, now empty. It just felt wrong to be there without John b and Sarah.

Everywhere you looked was a different memory. The silly arguments on the couch, the beers you all shared in the kitchen, and of course, John b’s bedroom, bed unmade from the last time he slept there, clothes on his dresser that he would never get to wear.

“It doesn’t feel right here without them.” jj broke the silence, his voice low as he removed his hat, kicking an empty beer can that lay on the floor across the room.

You nodded in agreement, stepping over to jj and wrapping your arms around his middle, your head resting against his chest as you sighed.

“It really doesn’t.” You responded, one of your hands rubbing gently against his back.

“You staying here tonight?” You asked him after a moment, tilting your head to gaze up at your boyfriend, his arms holding you close to him.

jj nodded in response, resting his chin on the top of your head, exhaling slowly into your hair as he shut his eyes. He had never lost someone in this way, and he didn’t know how he was supposed to handle it. He was a spontaneous person by nature, but this was way too much of a curveball to even begin to figure out.

You stood there in each other’s arms for a few minutes, the only sounds being the soft rain outside and the clunky AC that surprisingly still worked humming softly.

jj was the first to break the silence.

“Can you stay?” He asked quietly, pulling away slowly from the shared embrace to look down at your sunken eyes.

You met his gaze instantly, bringing a hand up to run your fingers through the bottom of his hair, nodding your head in response.

“Of course I’ll stay. I don’t think either of us should be alone right now.” You spoke softly, exhaling shakily, feeling genuinely unsure if breathing would ever feel the same again after today’s events.

So you stayed. You and jj ended up showering together, both of you eventually getting uncomfortable in your wet clothes that were dampened from the storm.

You shared a joint, both for yourselves and in john b and Sarah’s honor. John b especially would smile at the fact that two of his best friends were lighting up in his home the night he died. Regardless of why you did it, it was something at least semi normal in your nightly routine.

You and jj didn’t talk too much, but there was never any awkward silence. Finding conversation at a time like this was yet another challenge you would face.

So you called it a night at around 3 am, kissing goodnight after crawling into jj’s bed. Maybe by some miracle you would wake up to find that it was all just a super realistic nightmare. An epic prank by your subconscious.

You lay with your back facing jj, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, the room just dimly lit by the moonlight that shined through the window. You focused on jj’s soft breathing, assuming that he had fallen asleep, hoping and praying that sleep would also find you soon.

That was too much to ask for, as your mind could not stop replaying the earlier events over and over, making it impossible to get some rest. You shut your eyes anyways, hoping at some point you would become too physically exhausted and your body’s need for sleep would win this battle.

You were close to giving up and allowing yourself a sleepless night, when you suddenly felt jj’s hand move softly down your waist, rubbing down to your thigh.

“You awake?” He murmured quietly, almost positive you were still awake based on your unsteady breathing, but on the off chance you were asleep, he didn’t want to disturb you.

You turned your head at the sound of his voice, meeting his tired eyes. Although he also looked like he hadn’t slept yet.

“Yeah, can’t sleep,” you sighed, pushing your body back slightly into his touch, “my mind is goin’ a mile a minute right now. Can’t think of anything else.” You admitted, watching as he nodded in understanding.

“Yeah, same.” He hummed, planting a few soft kisses on your shoulder blades before resting his head there.

“Maybe we could try and distract ourselves…” jj whispered against your soft skin, kissing it again as he awaited your response, his body now fully pressed against yours.

“What do you mean?” You questioned quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You had an idea what he meant, and you pressed your ass back ever so gently to meet his crotch, testing the waters.

He let out a soft sigh at the feeling, tilting his head up to kiss your neck, his hand focusing on rubbing your thigh, slowly but surely inching its way towards your inner thigh.

“Just— feel something other than this pain, y’know?” He confirmed your suspicions as he began to grind his boxer clad dick against your ass, his kisses becoming a bit more lustful and his fingers now grazing against the waistband of your underwear.

“Yeah..” you breathed, nodding your head as you tilted your neck, granting jj easier and better access to kiss and nip at your sensitive skin there.

You felt him nod against you, his half hard dick now fully hard against your ass as he continued to grind against it.

He groaned softly before tugging gently at your underwear, his unspoken command leading you to pull them down off your legs, leaving you completely naked besides the shirt you were wearing. You felt jj rid himself of his boxers after you, leaving him fully naked now as they were all he had gone to bed in to begin with.

You moaned quietly once you felt him freely, your body reacting quickly to his sensual touch, arousal pooling between your legs as you pushed your ass against his fully hard cock.

“Let’s just forget for right now, yeah?” jj hummed, using his free hand to guide his cock between your wet folds, gathering your arousal to coat himself, pumping himself softly as he used both your wetness and his precum to lubricate himself.

“Mhm, let’s forget.” You spoke, barely a whisper. You hadn’t moved much from your original position. Your back was still facing jj, only now you had positioned your ass upwards just a bit so that you could align yourself to give jj access to you.

He didn’t respond verbally, pumping himself a few more times before aligning his cock with your wet entrance, slowly pushing himself inside of you.

You both let out a long, still quiet, moan at the feeling, your walls hugging his cock immediately as he began to move slowly inside of you.

The two of you had slow and soft sex plenty of times, typically after a long night when you were both super tired but still in need of a release, or early morning when you were sleepy but still needing one another. But this was a different type of need.

“So good, baby, feels so good.” jj cooed, his face pressed against your neck, eyes shut and brows furrowed in concentration, both of your minds forced to focus on the physical feeling of pleasure you allowed yourselves to feel.

You whimpered into the pillow, arching your back slightly so he could reach even deeper inside of you, reaching one of your arms behind you to caress the back of jj’s head, your fingers kneading into his messy hair.

The only sounds heard in the dark bedroom were your soft grunts and moans mixed with the sound of jj’s balls slapping against your ass. Not nearly as loud as this particular bedroom usually was during times like these, but that wasn’t what you needed right now.

jj reached one of his hands over the curve of your ass to find your clit, rubbing circles against it as he continued to thrust himself inside of you. He already felt pretty close, with his emotions being completely heightened, and he wanted to make sure you were able to finish too.

You squeezed your eyes shut as he worked at your clit, all the while his cock was hitting the perfect spots inside of you, your pussy beginning to clench around him as you whimpered, your breathing growing more ragged.

“I’m close, jay, fuck. Gonna come.” You gasped, feeling your muscles begin to contract as your body was hit with euphoria, a feeling that would be far from your grasp for a long time. After tonight you had to grieve, so you relished in this small moment of pleasure you were able to feel.

“Fuck, good baby— yeah, so good. I’m close, fuck, I’m close too, sweets.” jj grunted, your orgasm had your pussy clenching and hugging his cock even tighter, your release soaking him which triggered him to follow.

“Fuuuck, oh god,” he stammered, thrusts sloppy as he felt himself release into you, groaning loudly into your skin as he filled you with thick spurts, “yeah, yeah, perfect, baby.”

You moaned as he filled you up, your pussy fluttering at the feeling of fullness, his release feeling perfect as you came down from your own.

“So good, jj.” You said shakily as he pulled out of you, feeling him kiss the back of your neck before using his thumb to turn your head to face him.

“Thank you, baby, thank you.”

#jj maybank #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x you #jj obx

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hellodropbear · 1 day

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like she used to (VII)

alexia putellas x sister

part I, II, III, IV, V, VI

this is the final part! it is 12:30am, I got home at 11 and read over it as I ate dinner so hopefully there aren't too many mistakes!

I hope you like the final part and sorry it has taken me so long!

~~~~~~

April 12, 2013.

"Alexia!"

My sister was standing outside by the school gates, training uniform on, her skin bronzed from the Barcelona sun. I hadn't been expecting her to pick me up from school that day, but it was always a nice surprise when she did because it meant going to her training instead of Mami's work.

"Hola, pequena!" She lifted me easily into her arms, spinning me in almost a full circle and carrying me out towards her car, avoiding the sympathetic glances she received from the parents around.

I think she was sick of them, our father died almost a year ago and she had been picking me up at least once a week since. Surely they should be aware of it by now?

I was placed in my booster seat in the back of the car, Alexia stepping into the front seat and smiling at me through the rear view mirror.

"Everyone is so excited to see you, pequena! I told them all this morning and they've been waiting all day."

I nodded from the back seat before diving into chatter about my day, what I had done at school. Alexia smiled and nodded from the front seat, only adding to the conversation when I left small gaps between my endless streams of chatter.

The chatter continued as we arrived and I skipped ahead of her before she grabbed my hand with a stern glance, warning me to be safe on the roads.

But Alexia was forgotten as I ran into the changing rooms, straight into Leila's open arms.

"Hola, mi amor." She planted a soft kiss on the top of my head, trying to control my energetic and wriggly body.

"Hola, Leila!"

My long spiel started again, this time spoken directly to Leila as the others sat and watched in amusement, Alexia rolling her eyes at my loud and persisting voice.

But my voice was silenced as soon as they went back out onto the training pitch, sat on the rug that Alexia had laid out with some colouring books and toys. Books and toys that lay abandoned as I stared at the footballers in front of me.

They were incredible, I always thought. They moved so quickly up and down the pitch, shooting and passing the ball with pinpoint precision that I could only imagine to possess as a 6 year old who had only started to learn to play a few months ago.

I idolised my sisters teammates almost as much as I idolised Alexia and I constantly tried to pick up on things they did, trying to be like them, trying to improve my own abilities.

Alba came down and sat next to me, but was unable to pull me out of my trance, instead pulling out her schoolbook and doing some homework as we waited for Alexia to finish up.

But Alexia finishing up meant I was about to start, so I ignored Alba's groan as I jumped up from the floor as the whistle blew, running over to grab a stray ball and attempting to dribble it around the patch of grass near Alba.

It wasn't long before Marta jogged over, guiding me to the small training pitch and trying to intercept the ball and getting me to try dispossess her as she dribbled along.

It was all fun and games until we started shooting, and I found myself incapable of getting a single goal in the back of the net. I was progressively getting more and more upset, with Marta's words of encouragement doing little to cheer me up as I remained unsuccessful in scoring a single goal.

I was forced to give up when Alexia rushed onto the field, apparently recognising my distress and picking me up, holding me close.

I immediately calmed down. Alexia's arms were magical in that way, they never failed to calm me down, to cheer me up. To make me warm, to make me comfortable.

My cries into Alexia's chest were light and she ran her hand up and down my back softly, smiling at Marta as the older Spaniard planted a kiss on my head and said goodbye.

"Pequena, why are you so upset?"

"Because, Ale, I can't even score a goal! You and your team can score a goal from ages and ages away but I can't even score one from right in front of it!"

Alexia laughs softly and I frown.

"You are six, Elena, you are so little and you have only been playing for a couple months. We are professionals, we have to be able to do these things because that is our job, just like your job is to learn how to read and write at school, something you are very good at! You will get better as you continue to practice, we have already seen you get so much better. You got the ball off Marta today, you should be proud of yourself like I am proud of you."

"I just want to be like you, Ale. Why can't I be like you?"

I lean my head into Alexia as she adjusts her hold of me and wanders over to where my belongings were left abandoned.

"You are just like me. When I was your age I was exactly like you are now, only less determined and less talented. You will be better than me one day, pequena, if you keep working so hard. You just need to remember that I will always be proud of you. Every day of my life I wake up and think of how proud I am, how lucky I am that you are my baby sister. I love you pequena."

"Even if I am bad at football?"

"Even if you are bad at football. Which you aren't, by the way. You are incredible."

~~~~~~

November 18, 2017.

It was game day.

The Catalonia cup final day, and my whole family was sat in the audience to watch as I played in the final for the under 11s. I only turned 9 last week, but was invited to play with this team a few months ago.

The game was a big deal for me, playing with people so much older, so much taller. I felt the pressure as well, a defender against a team where the top of my head barely reached the base of the necks of the attackers from the other team.

It was nerve wracking, and I felt everything churning inside me as I walked onto the field and into my position, waiting for the ref to blow his whistle and for the game to commence.

I didn't want to look up into the stands, hyperaware of everyone watching me, everyone waiting for me to be just like Alexia. To stand out, to be fast, to be precise, to be incredible.

But Alexia is a midfielder and I am a centre back. I am not like Alexia, but the only one who seems to understand that is Alexia.

To everyone else, I am a younger version of her, waiting to follow in her footsteps. La Masia, Barcelona B. Barcelona first team.

It makes me wonder what they will think if I don't have the perfect career like Alexia.

But I am only 9, still to young to even trial for La Masia, so the under 11s from the local team will have to do.

The game starts out well, my team scores twice in thirty minutes and we finish the first half up two goals to none. We are happy as we sit on the sidelines with our coach for the 15 minute break, eating slices of orange and joking around.

I sometimes wonder how different it is at half time for Alexia when she plays in her big games. I don't think they eat oranges. Or joke around.

The second half does not go nearly as well. It starts off with a goal to us, but the other team quickly gain possession and score easily. It's upsetting, but we are still two goals up.

When their next goal goes in, we begin to get nervous, skittish. We are still a goal up, but it is not a big enough gap for our liking, especially since they just got two very quickly.

The scoreline remains at 3-2 until the 81st minute, when an attacker from the other team tears all the way down the pitch and into the box. I am in the right position, it is entirely up to me to stop this goal from going in.

But I don't. I try to dispossess her, but I'm unsuccessful. She sends the ball right through my legs and into the net for the equalising goal and I bit back my tears as she celebrates with her friends.

My teammates pat me on the back, telling me it doesn't matter, that we can get another goal in the dying minutes of the game, but I am not focussed on them.

I am focused on my family sitting in the stands because all I can see is disappointment.

Except Alexia, who smiles and puts her thumbs up with an encouraging smile.

But I am a disappointment, because I allowed the other team to equalise.

Alexia wouldn't have done that.

My teammates were right, they score again in the second minute of added time, and we celebrate winning the cup with medals and a trophy. But it all feels tainted, because I almost ruined this for the team.

I disappointed my family because I am a Putellas, we are supposed to be good at football.

It is only when we return to the dressing room that the first tears slip out, but I wipe them away quickly, frustrated that I couldn't stop them from starting in the first place.

Surprisingly, Alexia is the only family member who is outside the dressing room with the other families, and I run directly into her arms, grateful that they are already outstretched.

Her arms are like home. Like they have done for all my life, they cheer me up, take away some of my sadness.

"You played so well, pequena! I am so, so proud of you, my little champion!"

She grabs the piece of metal that hangs from my neck and kisses it.

"Another gold to add to our collection."

Our collection.

Like we collect them together.

I just won an under 11s Catalonia cup, after almost ruining my teams chances. She has a number of Primera division medals, copa de la reina, copa catalunya, golf medals from world championships at the youth age level. A never ending list of MVP awards, honours from spain, from Catalonia and from Mollet del Valles.

And I almost lost my team the Catalonia Cup.

We are not the same, Alexia and I. I just wish my family would see that, understand that I won't be like Alexia because how could I ever be that good.

Alexia seems to pick up on my negative mood, lifting me up like I am still 5 years old and holding me close.

"I know what you are thinking, Elena."

I look at her curiously, a silent question that asks her to continue.

"You are thinking that their equaliser was entirely your fault, that you almost cost the team your victory, no?"

I nod slowly, and she wipes away the tear that slips from my eye.

"You never would have done something like that, Ale."

She shakes her head, chuckling slightly.

"You don't even want to know how many mistakes I've made, how many times I've thought it was all my fault that we lost or almost lost a game. This is your first, but it won't be your last and that is ok. Football is a team sport, Elena, it is never an individuals fault. You wouldn't be mad at a keeper for making a mistake and conceding an important goal and you can't blame the striker for not shooting enough if you lose an important game. Just like you can't blame a defender for conceding. The striker had to get through the midfield first, and they all made mistakes there, and other defenders could have helped you out but they didn't, the keeper wasn't positioned well either but everyone tried their best and accidentally conceded a goal. It's a team, pequena, you win together, lose together, score together and conceded together. And look at how many clearances you made! All those tackles where you recovered the ball, prevented their attack. I am so proud of you today because you were one of the best players on the pitch."

I nod slowly, slumping into her arms.

"I just wish I could be like you, Ale. Because you are so good and everyone knows it. I am so scared that I will disappoint everyone by not living up to what you've done, but how can I? You are so good."

She sighs, shaking her head.

"You are my sister, but that doesn't mean we are the same on the pitch. I am a terrible defender, you are a great one. I can score goals easier than you, but it doesn't mean you're not as good, or can't grow to be a professional like I am. And nobody will ever be disappointed in you either! Whether you play for Barcelona for the rest of your life or if you go and play for a terrible team like Arsenal, or even if you quit football altogether and decide to go down another road because that is always an option too! You are smart like I am not, you are artistic like I am not and you can play that piano better than anyone else I've heard. What I'm saying is that just because we both love football, we are not the same. Everyone knows that and nobody will ever be disappointed in you if you don't follow the same career that I have."

"They all looked so disappointed when I conceded though."

She shook her head again.

"They shouldn't have, because they were not. But even if everyone else fails you, pequena, which they won't, but if they do, you will always have me cheering you on. I will always be there, your annoying, old, proud sister, every single day I am alive I will be proud of you no matter what you do, because I love you so much, you are everything to me."

She wipes away the tears that slipped from my eyes, planting a kiss on my head.

"Now everyone is waiting for us, a big celebration dinner because you won today. Everyone is so proud of you, Elena. You are growing into such a talented and strong little girl, the best centre back our family has ever seen."

I smile.

Maybe I don't need to be just like Alexia to succeed.

Maybe Elena is alright too.

~~~~~~

July 4, 2019.

I was invited to trial for La Masia, but I don't know if I want to go.

I know I am good at football, but I don't even know if I want to play anymore.

Because last week I played the best game I have in a long time, but this morning I singlehandedly lost my team any chances we have of winning the under 15s title.

It had been rough from the beginning and it was even worse considering we were on the top of the league and we were playing a team from close to the bottom. We couldn't get past their defence, but their attack was easily finding their way through our midfield and defensive line.

We conceded three and scored none.

All three of the conceded goals were my fault.

Every. Single. One.

Alba told me after the game that it was alright, it didn't matter.

Mami hugged me and said it would be better next time.

But it isn't alright, it does matter and who knows if it will be better next time?

Alexia was in France, relaxing after her disappointing end to the world cup, but Mami or Alba must have filled her in on the disaster that was my game before she got home, because as soon as she arrived, she was upstairs and into my room, pulling me into a hug.

"I don't want you to tell me that it doesn't matter, Alexia, because it does. Please don't tell me that football is a team sport and it isn't just my fault, because it is. It's all my fault and now I've destroyed their chances of winning the league. So please, don't tell me otherwise."

She shook her head, her arms tightening around my body.

"Mami said you don't want to trial for La Masia anymore?"

I shake my head. I don't think I can even face the trials after the embarrassment that was the other night.

"That's ok. You don't have to if you don't want to."

I look up at her in confusion.

"Really?"

"Absolutely not."

She looks right back at me, brushing the hairs out of my face.

"You're only 11, Elena. You put a lot of pressure on yourself to be great which is not necessary. You are already brilliant. If you don't want to trial, you don't have to. You love school, you love your current team and if you don't want that all to change it doesn't have to. There is always next time if you decide you want to make that jump."

I don't know how she always knows what I am thinking, because I never told her how much I would miss my school and football team if I ended up at La Masia.

"And what if I don't? What if I don't want to play football any more. Throw away everything I have ever worked for. Wouldn't you be disappointed?"

I don't want her to tell me she wouldn't be, because I don't think that's the truth.

"Elena, I will never be disappointed in you. Yes, I would be upset, but that is only because it is something so special that we share, something that connects us in a way that I can't be connected to anyone else in this family. But I love you and I would get over it eventually. But today, let's think about now."

I nod, which she uses as an indicator to continue.

"You're 11 years old, starting as a centre back in the under 15s. You are good, very good and play games so well that nobody would even notice you were so young if it wasn't for your height. You had a bad game the other day, but every other week you have saved that team so many times, so if it wasn't for you, they would have lost that trophy weeks ago. You are smart, have heaps of friends at school and love to play the piano, to read, to hang out with those friends. You love to do things outside of football, it's all equally important. You were scouted to trial for La Masia, but you are 11 and these trials happen every six months so there will be many more chances for you to trial if you decide not to this time but change your mind later. You have a huge family of support right behind you, and you have me, who will always be so proud of you. It's all laid out in front of you, Elena, you just have to make a decision."

A tear slips out of my eye but she is quick to brush it away.

"I don't want to trial, not yet."

Her arms pull me tighter.

"I think that's a good decision. I am proud of you, pequena. You need more time to decide what you want to do. Not want Mami wants you to do, not what I want you to do. Not what anybody else wants you to do. I am proud that you have given yourself that time. You are mature, Elena, and so, so smart."

"I love you, Alexia."

"I love you too. Always."

Her arms are so warm around me that I feel myself drifting to sleep in them, waking up when the sun rises the next morning, still with her right arm hanging loosely around my waist.

I am lucky to have her, I decide. So lucky, because she is like a guiding light who makes everything so much clearer. I don't know what I would do without her.

~~~~~~

I made my debut for Barcelona yesterday. I came in for Irene in the 88th minute, Jonatan said he wanted me to get some minutes under my legs before I could play for longer.

The feeling of running onto the pitch in the Barcelona kit, my name and number on my back, alongside the players I have grown up idolising was something I will never forget.

Something so special, a turning point in my life that could map out my entire career.

But it was all tainted by what I have lost. What I should have had supporting me. Who I should have had supporting me.

"I will always be proud of you, Elena."

I think she has forgotten all those times she told me that, but I certainly have not.

It feels like a long time since I have felt emotions like this. It feels like an even longer time that I have really felt happy. Euphoric, even.

It is harder for a centre back to be subbed in, because they make the foundations of the formation. But we were up by 6 to nothing so it was a safe bet. Any mistakes I made would not lose us points.

I didn't make mistakes though. I made clearances, I stopped the ball from going past Cata and into the goal. Jonatan was happy, Aitana hugged me as soon as the final whistle blew.

Mami was there, of course, cheering from the crowd.

It feels like months since I have seen her. It has been a while since we have spoken properly, although she does not bring that up as she pulls me into a hug, telling me how proud she is of me.

Alba stands from beside her, staring at me intensely, as if worried I will run away again.

She knows that if she brings up the last time that happened, I probably will.

The last month has been rough. I have stayed with Mapi, only leaving the safety of my room in her apartment for training. I did my school, I trained hard and I ate every meal. My days slipped by, I felt nothing. Not happy, not sad. Not anything.

I think I was confused. Exhausted too. I had exploded, finally, and so I had to suffer from the repercussions.

Mapi tried her very best to help clean up after that tidal wave finally hit, but her efforts weren't enough to rebuild what had been destroyed. So I ignored her when she came into my room each night, telling me that Alexia was outside, that Alexia wanted to see me.

I didn't want to see her because I don't think I would have been able to hold it together if she had come crying to me.

But she is here today and I don't think Mapi will let me avoid her when she inevitably approaches me in the change rooms.

I walk there slowly, saying goodbye to Mami and Alba quietly and trailing behind Patri and Pina who don't even notice my presence. It is because I have been so quiet, I think, they don't really know what to do with me. They don't know what to say to make me feel better.

There's not much that will.

The room erupts into loud cheers as I enter, most of the older players proud of me for finally making my debut.

It would have been a dream debut, really, if things were different.

But everything is ruined, everything is overshadowed by so many things.

Alexia has done all this before me, made her debut, broken into the first squad. I am simply just doing what is expected of me, as a Putellas.

She got selected because of her talent. I was selected because Mapi got injured.

But she is right there as I get passed through the room, standing up against the doorway, a soft smile on her face.

Mapi is the one who pushes me towards her and I can't decide whether she doesn't notice my attempts of making frantic eye contact with her, or if she just decides to ignore it. She whispers that everything will be fine, that I just need to talk to her and things will start to get better.

I try telling her that she's wrong, that it's not that easy.

But those arms are around me as soon as I am in reaching distance and it takes everything inside of me to not crack right there. But I can feel the parts of me that were slowly rebuilt over the past month start to fall apart again, but differently.

All those things that crashed out of me by my piano a few months ago come racing right back inside. It is like she gathered them all up in her arms and carried them around for me until she saw me next, until she would be able to give them back.

She sort of picks me up as I start to cry, moving out and into one of the physio rooms, giving us more privacy. Away from the prying eyes of our teammates who have been so intrigued by the drama between us.

So intrigued by the drama that has been ripping me up from the inside.

And it looks like it has also been ripping up Alexia, if you look at the suitcases under her eyes and the severe discolouration in her face.

"Elena." Her voice is clearly tearful, but I can barely hear it over the gut wrenching cries thatI am releasing.

In reality, they aren't really that loud but they overcome me in a way that blocks out everything else around me.

Because I have been void of everything for over a month, no emotions. Not happy, sad, confused, excited, disappointed. Not anything.

But to feel those arms. Her arms that keep me safe, that shelter me from life's issues. It is a feeling like no other.

Something I can finally feel.

And I never want to not feel again, because even though I am not happy, at least I am finally feeling something. At least I am not so empty like I have been, a bottomless pit in my stomach that simply could not be filled.

And with Alexia's arms around me, it feels like I can get through anything.

I am a Putellas. I am strong.

"Elena... I have been a terrible big sister." Her voice breaks and her head lands in my hair.

"And I have been thinking and thinking, wracking my brain to try and figure out what started this all, and I finally remembered the other day. Elena, I do not deserve you."

I move out from beneath her, looking at her intently.

Wet eyes meet wet eyes and I immediately pull her into a hug.

"I have missed you so much, Ale. I have missed you so much."

"I am so, so, so sorry, Elena. Nothing I say will be enough."

We speak at the same time, tears consuming us as we both try to fix our relationship.

Fix the relationship that has been shattered, broken, kicked, destroyed.

Fix the relationship that I would do anything to repair.

"Please, listen to me."

I look up at her as she grabs my face, cupping my cheeks in her hands and wiping away the tears that have fallen.

"I said things to you. Things that I didn't mean, things that were wrong. And then I questioned why you weren't comfortable around me as much any more. And I stopped being your sister, pequena. I stopped watching your games, picking you up from training, taking you to ice cream, helping you with your homework. I just stopped a few years ago and never even tried to explain, never tried to regain your trust."

I frown.

"At my party, the La Masia one. When I cried. You got upset at me and I was childish about the whole thing, I used it against you for so long."

"And you have every right to, Elena, because I was so terrible and I wish I had a reason, something to excuse my words, but I do not. I was stressed, I was anxious. I projected it all onto my perfect baby sister because I didn't know what else to do. And I was a bad sister before that, too. I never should have told you that I was too busy for you because you are so much more important than anything else in my life, but I acted like I didn't care about you at all. I am a terrible sister."

"I didn't help." My voice is mousy, squeaky. Because I have been crying and I am doing everything I can to avoid another round of tears. "I didn't make it easier for you, I wasn't strong like you, like I should have been."

Alexia inhales sharply, immediately shaking her head, pulling mine back into her chest in a tight hug.

"I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, Elena, because you are the strongest person I know and I am so, so proud of everything you have done. You have been brave, determined, passionate, so many things. I have been the weak one. I have been so scared of losing you, but I was the one who ruined everything and I lost you, I let you slip through my fingers and I will never forgive myself for that. You are incredible, Elena, and you won't let anyone tell you otherwise. Not me, not anyone."

"I have missed you so much."

Alexia is surprised when I lean further into her arms, but I am grateful when she tightens them around me.

She is my older sister, and I have missed her so much.

She is my older sister, and I lost her for a while. I lost her and my life became miserable. My days were more dreary and I began to hate everything else in my life.

But now she is here, she has acknowledged the issues and I finally feel some relief.

I finally feel like I am getting her back.

Her arms are filling me up with all those emotions, warm ones, cold ones. Things I never want to feel again but things I want to feel every day for the rest of my life.

Alexia is my sister.

And I realised, last night, that I don't have to be exactly like her, because I am not her. I am Elena, and I debuted for Barcelona at 15.

The youngest to ever do it.

It's pretty cool.

But it's even better to have my sister there, cheering for me like she always said she would. She is proud, she loves me and I do think she has missed me like I have missed her.

And I can finally feel myself mending.

We spoke more after the celebrations, she took me to dinner, slowly patching up my insides that I once thought were beyond prepare.

She told me over and over that she was sorry, she feels terrible and she will never let me slip away from her again. She says that I am incredible and that she wishes she had my talent, that I will grow to become the best that the club has ever seen and that I have already paved my way into the history of this football club.

But she also tells me that I am a good person, with good values and a good heart. That Papi would be proud of the person I have become. Not just the footballer, the person.

For the second time that day, I feel happy, full of love, completely content.

Because Alexia loves me, and sometimes, the love of a sister is all you need.

~~~~~~

and that's it!

Let me know if you want to see anything else from this little universe and i'll see what i can do

thank you for reading this all, i have seen all the comments and asks and they mean the world :)

hope you enjoyed

#woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #fcb femení #alexia putellas #fcb femeni

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thelampisaflashlight · 3 days

Text

Lukewarm

[Something, something, Dew is like a computer without a fan. RainDrop. Some mild angst/brief mentions of sickness, but nothing too crazy.] Below the cut.

Dew heaves a sigh that seems to take all the energy from his body; He sags deeper into his chair, tired, but not overly so, though still too worn out to right himself as he slips deeper into the faux leather.

One too many long nights of tinkering with his equipment, working on his own projects not associated with the band or the church -while also doing everything asked of him for the band and the church- has left him beyond drained, to the point that he can't even bring himself to be mad about it, just...

Tired.

With a yawn, and slightly watery eyes, Dew settles further, into a pose that doesn't look terribly comfortable, but feels amazing on his aching joints, and lets his vision narrow down to what can be seen between his lashes.

It's not long before he begins to slip into unconsciousness, nearly passed out in his chair, head tilted awkwardly to the side in yet another painful looking position, but it feels nice... at least for now.

He knows he should probably get up, go to his room, to his bed to sleep, but thinking about all the notes and guitar parts and all the other bullshit he'd have to remove from it -with care so he doesn't lose any of the mess he's made- has him set firmly in place.

Short of being carried to bed, he's not moving.

At some point, one of his packmates comes along to prod him, to see if he's awake, or simply checking to see if he's feeling alright, but Dew can barely keep his eyes open, and his response to being touched is to lean away from them, not liking the warmth of their skin on his already hot body.

He overheats quite easily when he's tired, unable to pool enough of his magic to keep his temperature in check, and it leaves him feeling a tad feverish... which also makes it quite difficult to motivate himself into moving.

The next thing he feels -shocking him into opening his eyes wide- is the press of an icepack to his exposed neck.

He doesn't have the energy to full-on yell, and instead lets out something between a bark and a yelp, an undignified reaction overall, but an honest one.

He follows the the arm holding the offending object to his neck up and up until he makes hazy eye contact with a frowning Rain.

"C'mon, let's get you cooled down." he says, shifting the icepack to the center of Dew's chest, lifting his arm up with his free hand to make the other ghoul hold it for himself.

Dew obliges as best as he can, making a contented chirping sound as he feels the coolness spreading through his body.

Cooling down after a flare up like this always leaves Dew feeling a little off-kilter; In a lot of ways, it feels like the aftermath of being drunk, not quite into the hangover stage, but definitely headed that way, and even though he wants to remain stagnant, Rain is right to get him cooled down before it does get to that point.

Leaning against Rain's cold shoulder, Dew lets himself be guided back to his bedroom, and then further still into his bathroom, where Rain makes him sit on the floor while he cleans off his bed.

The tile is cold, and Dew finds himself splaying himself out upon it, pressing himself into it and once more contorting himself into a pose that is outwardly uncomfortable, but soothing to his aching body.

"...Gotta put it away in the..." he mumbles, trying to tell Rain how to tidy up his mess, but with his cheek pressed to the ground as it is, he isn't making terribly much sense.

"I'll put everything together, don't worry." Rain assures him, shaking his head as Dew eyes him from the floor, "Don't look at me like that."

"Can't look at you any other way..." he says, curling into a ball for a second before deciding the sudden warmth from his own body tucking into himself is too much and flopping over again.

"You have to stop overworking yourself." the other chastises, finally joining him in the bathroom once more, "You're going to cook yourself at this rate."

Dew closes his eyes.

"Mn, gotta stay busy, Rainy... Can't..."

"You can." Rain says, "You can take a break."

Dew frowns.

He'd argue some more, except he can feel Rain's fingers weaving through his hair, and the soothing circles he draws against his scalp have him drifting off again.

"I'm gonna turn the shower on." he informs him, slipping his hands under his armpits to hoist him up again, "I don't trust you in here alone, so I guess we're sharing today."

"Kinky..."

Rain rolls his eyes, or at least Dew feels like he does, his own are still closed, but the mood shift is palpable.

"You worry me..." he sighs, pressing a little kiss to the side of his forehead, "It's not kinky, it's practical. Can't have you slipping and falling and cracking your head on the faucet, now can we?"

Dew makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, letting out a soft hiss when the first droplets of water hit him.

"I know, baby, you'll get used to it." Rain placates, pecking his overwarm cheeks, "Just want you to stop being so hot, yeah?"

"'m not hot, 'm cold..." Dew pouts, but even he can feel the steam rolling off his body.

Rain holds him still, and as Dew comes back to himself enough to feel cold, he wraps himself around him to shelter him from the water just enough to start working on cleaning him up a little.

Dew grumbles through much of the process, unused to the water ghoul handling him quite so roughly, or perhaps it just feels rougher because he's so achy to begin with, but when he lets out a noise of genuine hurt, Rain is quick to cease his scrubbing and instead moves onto rinsing him off.

"Well, you don't feel nearly as warm, but you're still running a bit hotter than I'd like..." Rain announces after dressing Dew in just enough clothing to protect his modesty -not that he had much of that to begin with- and laying him down on the bed, "...I'll talk to Aether and have him come up here to make sure you're not coming down with something..."

"'m fine... Just sleepy..." Dew yawns, "Wanna sleep..."

"Okay, baby, you get some rest, but if you start to feel sick-"

"If you're worried..." Dew opens his eyes, peering up at him in an almost coy manner, "You should just stay with me."

Rain snorts.

"I would if I could, you know that, but I have to help Papa set up the practice stage, and I know for a fact you won't sleep if I'm here." he comments, brushing Dew's hair out of his face, "Rest up, yeah?"

"Yeah..."

"Dew?"

"Mn?"

"Love you."

"...Mn, love you, too..."

#lamp writes #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #raindrop #rain/dewdrop

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starshinegazer · 2 days

Text

Shoutout Sunday

I just wanted to collect some of the most memorable Astarion fanfics I've read so far and to give them and their authors a big ol' shoutout. These are some of the fics I strongly suggest others to check out, if you haven't yet.

Also, please feel free to comment and recommend your favorites as well! And, if you know of some of these authors on tumblr, lemme know, so I can add them too :) I'm not too good with words, so I'll be slapping some of the authors own words as descriptions (for now). Oh, and do be mindful of tags etc etc... Here goes, in no particular order:

Pieces Still Stuck In Your Teeth by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "The Vampire Ascendent has crossed a line. Eleven years after making the biggest mistake of her life and losing the man she loved, tiefling wizard (now Archmage) Rosalie decides it’s time to put this Astarion in the ground for good. Hopefully, both her head and her heart are strong enough to see this awful task through to its end."

An Honest Lie by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "Astarion and Rosalie think they understand each other perfectly, but they have each fallen prey to the other’s mask. As they both go forward with their adventure, will either of them dare to be honest?"

A Crooked Touch by eyes_of_the_lamb "If you want to read a story where Astarion is sweet from the start and Tav is here to fix him, this isn't the one. If you want to read about two terribly broken men spending a good long while making each other worse before they make each other better, this might be for you. If you thought the in-game romance was a little too easy and it should have been ten times more painful and difficult to convince Astarion he's worthy of love, this is definitely for you."

Perfect Slaughter by Imagineitdear (@imagineitdearies ) "Tyrus, a low-born drow with aspirations for necromantic wizardry, finds none of the hospitality he expected from his new noble patron, Cazador Szarr. Quickly he loses his life and future, his hopes and dreams—only to find something new to fight for in the unlikely arms of Cazador’s least favorite spawn."

A Novel Experience by meanboss (@meanbossart ) "Initially just an epilogue for my own game campaign with my big meaty dark urge drow, turned whole story which I accidentally deleted and am now reuploading, my bad LOL

Hope you enjoy!"

Carving Through The Dark by skitter "The realm is safe and the story is over.

Wren and Astarion descend into the Underdark in search of a new purpose, and learn a few things along the way. Namely, that healing isn't linear and sometimes love takes the long way round."

Blood In The Weave by gingealish "There is no need to breathe, but I miss it all the same. The suffocating silence, the desperate darkness have encapsulated me for I don’t even know how long; It could have been tendays or years. I’ve long since accepted my punishment, stopped trying in vain to crack the seal of my tomb against the onslaught of panic and hunger. Now I lay here, thinking of the friends I’ve lost, the lover who turned on me, and how to finally get even.

Astarion is the new Big Bad Evil Guy. Spawn Tav is rescued by a familiar face. "

When He’s all but Forgotten How to Love Again by bg_brainrot "You saved Baldur’s Gate almost 300 years ago. You died 150 years ago. On a new life now, you find that memories from your past lead you to a specific silver-haired man. Who was he, and why won't he leave you be? tldr; An Elf-Tav reincarnation story where Tav dreams about Astarion in their nightly reveries and eventually seeks him out once they reach maturity. Things definitely totally go well."

More Than Any Words by mataglap "They have saved the city and possibly the world. All is great and everyone is happy... except Astarion has been banished back into the shadows, and Tav is stuck in an uneven battle with his own oath. He's losing the fight. He knew he would from the moment he fell for Astarion. But he can't lose yet, not before they find a way for Astarion to walk in the sun again."

Inexhaustible Oil by homeward_bound "This is the absolute opposite of a redemption fic. A post-canon, fall-from-grace, "I can make you infinitely worse" kind of story, in which there is no simple happy ending. But there's mystery on the way. And dragons. True love, even. So if you're fine with that, come aboard. It's going to be a wild ride."

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itsabouttimex2 · 3 days

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Stuffie Reactions Two:

Tang, Macaque, Red Son

(Part One: Sun Wukong, MK, Azure Lion)

(Ok, all yandere stuff aside? This man has plushies. No way he doesn’t have a finished Journey to The West set. I refuse to believe otherwise.)

As with most of your quirks or interests, Mr. Tang maintains a consistently supportive attitude. He’s not always the best role-model, what with being both somewhat lazy and a little bit of a mooch… but he’s got a good heart.

Even with a plague of obsession to cloud his mind and heart, Tang is still rather rational. He understands the sentimental value your plush has to you, and also knows very well that he’d massively be on your bad side for interfering with it. So there’s no threats of destruction, no forced removal-

Unless you’ve done something that seriously “warrants” one of his very rare punishments. Things like: putting yourself in serious danger, underage drinking, any type of drug use, starting fights, etc.

(He shares most of these rules with Pigsy, though the demon is quite a bit more strict.)

He’s more of a “lock it away in a cupboard for a few days” guy than anything, and gives it back after he’s worn you down into writing a full-length essay about what you did wrong how you’ll do better next time.

Could be worse, frankly.

Alright, let’s get this out of the way- Macaque is a pretty awful person. He’s often cruel for the sake of being cruel. He enjoys hurting people and brags about doing it. We also see that he’s not exactly sentimental about the past- not like Wukong is, not how MK misses the simplicity of his early adventures. I can’t imagine he’d care much about one little toy, especially if it’s particularly worn out or well-loved.

Our Six-Eared Simian is pretty high on the list of character who would outright destroy your plush. (Alongside Demon Bull King, Red Son, Huntsman, Spider Queen, and Lady Bone Demon.)

But usually; aside from mild teasing, he pays it no mind. He’s on the move with you frequently, and at least ensures that the little thing never gets left behind. Hell, when he’s (very, very rarely) feeling soft? Macaque might come around while you’re asleep and tuck the plush into your arms.

So, what could prompt him to destroy your toy? Here’s a few- running away, calling him out for his crimes, helping Wukong or MK, trying to fight him, repeated refusal to obey his orders, frequently “hard” swearing at him, substance use, etc.

(Interestingly, he won’t tear it all at once- swearing at him causes him to puncture a small hole in the fabric, running away causes him to tear off a limb… after, why throw away a useful tool of punishment when he can stretch it out for all it’s worth?)

Lots of landmines to avoid, basically.

Out of all characters, Red Son may well be the one who cares the least- he doesn’t see much value in any of your possessions, except those that he himself gifted to you.

Other characters like the Mayor or Azure might understand the plush’s importance, but choose to use it as a tool of punishment. Someone like Syntax (or Mei, but we’ll get there) would modify it to accommodate a camera. The Spider Queen would probably destroy it to sever connections to your past life- and then tsk and half-heartedly try to patch it up with her silk when she sees how distraught you are.

Some like Sandy would spoil you with plushes and stitch up any rips by hand. Iron Fan might use it to belittle you when she sees fit to lay down some “discipline”, hoping to make you feel insecure and childish.

But Red Son? He simply… doesn’t care.

It’s a possession. An item like any other. No dearer to one than a shirt or chair should be. (Unless he/his parents gave it to you. Then, and only then, will Red Son muster some genuine sympathy and understanding for how precious the object is to you.)

I’ve spoken about this several time, but I’ll say it again here- in most cases, Red Son starts off viewing Y/N as a pet. As the seasons progress they move upwards in Red’s personal hierarchy, from worthless peasant to funny pet to dear friend to cherished family.

So not only does Red not really respect your possessions- but he doesn’t really respect you, either. You’re a silly little human, meandering and small.

So, if you do ever act up, or try to escape…

He really doesn’t see in harm in torching the thing to ashes.

Nor will he understand why you’re crying.

But at least you’ve learned your lesson.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Tang #Yandere Macaque #Yandere Red Son

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yanderederee · 21 hours

Note

im gonna be honest, i personally read ryomen sukuna as a CAHL type yandere, but what are your thoughts?

Thanks for your submission; I hope you enjoy!

For more yandere Sukuna hcs, please read this!♡

Sukuna Ryomen - CAHS

Cruel:Aware:Honest:Strict

Sukuna is downright CRUEL. The interest he has in his darling is not affectionate in the least.

I’ve said it before, but Sukuna will actively treat his darling as though you are his Pet. A means of entertainment, to praise and worship him alone.

He’s aware the love he has for his darling isn’t traditional love; Sukuna is aware that his obsession is toxic, and does not even consider it past that.

You do not need to like him in any way; if he has his claws in on you, it’s over. You could hate him and it would only make him chuckle. “Go on, tell me how deeply you despise me.”

He gets off on trapping you in his clutches and watching you struggle. It’s amusing. His obsession makes it so he doesn’t lose his patience and just kill you, as he normally would for someone so treasonous.

Sukuna does not try to manipulate or sugar coat anything either. He is 100% honest and genuine with his intentions. He leaves nothing up for debate or misinterpretation. “Visit your family? Hell no. Because I said so. I don’t care. Cry all you want, darling. You aren’t leaving.”

You have no opinions or ability to make decisions once you’re his. It was never your decision to become his either. Sukuna is strict as an owner should be, and refuses to entertain your whims or banter.

I can’t see him being lenient with his darling; unless he begins losing interest; and wanting to see how you would try to defy him, had he allow you just a little bit of freedom.

He may “accidentally” forget to leave your collar unfastened, and the front door unlocked. He would love to stalk you and watch you try and cleverly escape him. You’re smart enough not to go to the police, but Jujutsu Tech instead. It’s too bad that as soon as you utter even a word to the first sorcerer you see, they are quickly snapped into a neat pile of meat cubes before you.

Oh how he loves to watch you cry, retch and scream in despair. He loves how easy it is to break you, again and again and again. He laughs so joyously when you hit him and run. Sukuna loves chasing you slowly, as you become short on breath.

He considers being more lenient just for moments like these; but knows the joy would become stale if done too often. So, Sukuna only allows you these “freedoms” if he is particularly bored.

#yandere mbti #jujutsu Kaisen #juju #jujutsu Kaisen Sukuna #jjk Sukuna #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #Sukuna #Yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #sukuna headcanons #yandere headcanons

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aezuria · 1 day

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uptown girl!

"she's been living in her uptown world, i bet she's never had a backstreet guy" —billy joel

content: mortal au!leo valdez x reader

╰┈▸ info: stuck-up reader (she gets character development later), cursing, reader is ~18, early 2000s core

notes: stella finally posted a fic !? (pls tell me if u enjoy i need validation 😔)

this has got to be the worst way to start summer ever. first, your morning was ruined by a bird shitting all over your car window—not a mess you had the time nor the patience to clean. then, on your way to pick up your friends for some much needed girl time, your car had the fun idea of breaking down. great. it left you on the side of the road, dialing up your father. which, when you think about it, really wasn't your fault! your precious ride just spontaneously combusted or something. nothing to do with the fact that you've crashed the front about seven times since january. after all, you'd gotten them fixed! it should be the mechanic's fault. or maybe, this car was cursed!

but of course, your dad just had to disagree. apparently it was his "last straw."

you winced away from the phone's speaker as his voice burst through. "you have been so ungrateful lately! when you asked for that car, i bought it for you! i looked over the fact that you don't even have your license yet! all i asked was for you to take care of your things!" he cried. from the tone of his voice, you could imagine the creases dug into his forehead. okay, now you felt bad. just a little.

before you could apologize, he finished with, "you just wait until i get there, young lady."

leave it to him to take away your guiltiness.

"dad!" you watched in horror as the truck towed your light blue baby to god knows where. you turned your stricken expression on him, hoping to elicit at least a little bit of sympathy. but it seemed like his mind was made up on this one. dammit.

he crossed his arms sternly, putting his foot down. "let's go. we'll talk more in the house."

"-so you want to ship me away to some place crawling with bugs and creeps for the rest of the summer!?" you screeched along with the chair as its legs slid across the kitchen's tile floor.

your dad raised his hand in a placating gesture. "now, now, just until your car is fixed. it might not even be a whole month." he shrugged. yeah, real comforting. "and the city's a nice place. we lived there when you were young, remember?"

"no, i don't remember." you snapped. you did remember, but that brought on memories you'd rather not have right now.

he sucked in a breath. "alright then. it won't be so bad. we still have that apartment, and i got it cleaned up recently. it'll teach you some responsibility and independence." he nodded, satisfied with his decision.

you opened your mouth to snark at him again, but he continued, "and you won't be completely alone. there's a nice young man who will be fixing up your car, just down the street from the apartment building. i asked him to show you around when he has the time. and you'll have your phone, so make sure to call me, okay?" his strict behavior gave way to the soft spot you knew he had for you.

"...okay," you agreed reluctantly. once he really made up his mind about something, there was no changing it, so there was no use in arguing.

he smiled, patting your shoulder gently. "great. now pack your bags."

"be sure to buy groceries, and do the laundry, and clean every so often-" your father rambled on and on. if he was this worried, why wouldn't he just not go through with it? and why was he acting like you couldn't do basic chores!? it's not like you ever did them, but they couldn't be too hard, right?

"i get it dad." you rolled your eyes, staring out the car window. the buildings were all drab, painted in browns and grays, without a single bright color in sight, save for the red stop signs.

he pulled into an empty parking spot in front of the building. your insides recoiled. you swore it didn't look this... dilapidated all those years ago. or maybe you just had better taste now.

"we're here! looks like it's got a lot of.. character." he tried to cheer you up, but even you could tell he didn't think to check how it looked. it would've hurt too much to do so.

your lip scrunched in distaste. "i can't spend a single second in there."

"don't worry, it'll be over before you know it." with one last reassuring smile, he turned and left.

the apartment itself wasn't too bad, it was all cleaned up, just as your father had said. it smelled faintly of lemon cleaner, pillows fluffed and spritzed with your room was cold despite the warmth that came with summer. the pristine sheets were unfamiliar against your skin, as if you were tucked into a hotel bed. the sound of tire rolling against pavement never ceased, people had places to go, places to be even in the dead of night. a draft through your window made you shiver. you should close that in the morning. you curled in on yourself like you did when you were little, only this time there was only the unfeeling fabric to hold you, instead of the warm, long forgotten embrace no one could quite replicate.

you cringed at the shoddy place your phone had led you to, and looked up at the peeling paint sign that read: valdez mechanics. how charming. you even debated touching the rusty doorknob, but it swung open before you could turn it. which would be nice, if it didn't almost smack you in the face.

"watch it!" you hissed, side-stepping in time to see a boy your age walking through. his hair was a mess, and there were grease stains all over his face and clothes. his fingers were tap, tap, tapping away at his leg, to the rhythm of the song blaring inside. you think he'd be cute if he wasn't so dirty.

“sorry ‘bout that!” he laughed sheepishly. he stared at you for a moment too long before asking, “you here for the thunderbird?”

“yes,” you said shortly.

he chose to ignore your clipped tone, flashing you a smile. “come on in then, yeah?”

you followed him into the tiny shop, already wanting to leave. the place smelled of oil, and you could barely find a clean place to sit on. there were tools thrown everywhere, the floor sticky with dried up grease.

“i’m leo, by the way.” his voice snapped you out of your judging thoughts as he led you to the back. you finally saw your car, propped up with the hood open.

“y/n.” you barely glanced at him as you rushed over, examining the damage. “so? what’s wrong with her?”

he gestured with the wrench in his hand—when’d he get that?—and pointed to the engine. “well that’s all busted up, so i’m gonna have to build a new one for ya. i’ll do you an oil change too and-“

“yeah um, how long will it take?” you interrupted, giving him a smile you did not want to have on.

“i’d say three to five weeks? depends if i have any other stuff that comes in so…”

three to five weeks of your summer wasted away here? when you’re supposed to be having the best time of your life before college!?

“are you serious? can you get it done sooner? i can pay you some more-“ you reached into your purse.

“whoa!” he caught your wrist. his hands were clean now, must’ve wiped them on a rag. “money won’t make me work faster, honey.” he let go and shrugged. “sorry.”

honey? “well then what will? cause i need to leave as soon as-“

“some help, maybe?”

you blinked at him, utterly flabbergasted. “you want me to help you? the person who’s paying for all this?”

“technically, your father’s the one paying,” leo pointed out. “and y’know. you don’t have to help, of course. it just might make it go a bit quicker…” he trailed off, dimples poking through as he tried to hide a cheeky smile.

you huffed. “what do i have to do?”

”i am not sticking my hands in those.” you defied, shaking your head firmly.

leo scoffed, flapping the gloves around. “come on! this is the cleanest pair i have!”

"put this here?" you asked, shoving a part that you forgot the name of into an empty space.

"hm?" leo looked up from his fiddling, jaw dropping in horror. "no no no!"

"oh i know how to do this!" you exclaimed as he gave you a screwdriver. "my dad always said 'lefty loosey, righty tighty.'"

the boy nodded. "yeah! try it out." he pointed to a loose screw.

you successfully tightened it (to the right), giving him a proud smirk. "see?"

"yup." leo grinned at your enthusiasm, even though it was the most basic thing ever. "try and tighten the rest. i'll be right back."

a loud clatter made leo jump from across the repair shop. he rushed over to you, finding the parts that were supposed to be screwed together in complete disarray. "uh, maybe you shouldn't help..."

"really?" you deadpanned. "i hadn't noticed."

"sorry." he laughed. "scooch."

you pursed your lips. no one told you to "scooch" before. but you moved over anyway.

"wanna keep me company?" leo slid his gloves on and began putting the contraption back together.

no, you thought. but you didn't have anything better to do other than wander the city like a clueless idiot. and you hated looking like an idiot. "fine."

the shop was quiet, save for the occasional clanging as leo worked on the engine. his rambling was cut short as he focused on his work, something you didn't know he could do.

"nice car you got here. i've always wanted to drive one of these." he patted its side appreciatively. "where'd you buy this?"

scratch that. maybe he could only shut up in two minute increments.

"don't know. my dad bought it for me." you looked around, not even bothering to hide your boredom.

"right." leo laughed. you found he did that a lot. "must be nice."

your eyebrows knitted in confusion. "i guess?" what did he mean by that?

"i hate it here. it's so boring!" you complained over the phone. cooking dinner had been an absolute mess. “and that leo guy is so weird.”

"give him a chance, will you? he could show you around town, maybe teach you some manners…” you father muttered the last bit.

"what?"

"nothing! all i'm saying is give that boy a chance. who knows, he could be a great friend."

“‘great friend’ my… foot.”

#*ੈ✎ stories #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 day

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Nova Genesis

Part One

Summary: tensions rise as strangers board the ship and turn Dibs' entire operation on its head to obtain critical evidence. But not everyone feels the same at the prospect of returning to Earth | Word Count: 4.5k~ | Warnings: mentions of Ettore's crimes, swearing, mentions of violence, threatening behaviour, masturbation (m)

A/N: A birthday present for @dreamymoomin @in-a-mountain-pool, my fellow Ettore fucker (affectionate 😘). Have a very happy birthday <3

For the last several days, Dibs was irritable. There was something she wasn't telling them, and none of them had the interest nor the energy to ask. But something had spooked her, and that was never good. She stopped the weekly examinations for the females, and started destroying the samples from the males. Both of which were things she previously cherished as part of her twisted experiment for a child.

The rest simply followed their daily routine as usual, just without the lingering, judgemental glances from Dibs, replaced with a sense of unease and confusion when she’d shut herself in her office for days on end. It was a good and happy coincidence that at least without her help, they knew how to look after themselves.

Loud alarms startled their otherwise quiet lunch. Some didn’t move an inch and others merely looked around, eyes wide with fear, not knowing what to do with themselves. And the second they felt the ship quite literally jolt, as if something had docked against them, Ettore had a sense of where the situation was headed. No more than fifteen minutes later, the doors where they had boarded the ship, opened once again, revealing quite shockingly a band of official looking people.

Several armed guards stood like pillars beside the army of lawyers and technicians, prepared to both shut down the operation and steer the spacecraft back towards Earth. They held their weapons casually, their gazes insistent that violence would occur should the team be threatened in any way.

“If you all know what's good for you, you'll let them do their work. And you'll all get to go home.”

Ettore watched with a stoic expression, as if uncaring and neutral at the idea of returning. He highly doubted that everyone shared the same opinion about the prospect of returning to Earth, to their prisons, where they all knew too well.

His eyes watched with a deep interest as the team split off to start their investigation around the prisoners, starting with downloading the encrypted files Dibs had attempted to hide. Each one potential evidence for the twisted doctor's misconduct.

He watches one of the lawyers particularly closely, unable to admit to himself exactly why he finds her interesting to look at. They all wear casual clothes, something he has not seen since leaving Earth in the first place, and now something that seems so undeniably foreign and alien.

Her lanyard displayed both her name and her title. Legal Representation.

She started by organising individual meetings with the prisoners, for them to air their grievances, with evidence of course. Documenting each one regarding their treatment, health and level of punishment. Some were forthcoming and some, predictably, were not. And could she blame them? For so many months, years even, distrust was just another fact of life up here.

Dibs watched with frustration her life work being dismantled and dissected. At first her attempts at justification were met with cold looks and shakes of their head from the legal team, eventually turning into silence. They were there not to debate ethics but to enforce the law and protect the rights of those who had been under her control.

The little lawyer, Ettore so affectionately named her in his head, was diligent about her work. And when he spotted her next, she was deep into downloading onto an external hard drive the encrypted data on Dibs' computer in the infirmary. He couldn’t deny, it was strange to have other people wandering the ship. The otherwise wide and meandering hallways now felt cramped, with barely two people able to stand side by side while letting another pass. It felt suffocating. And he knew it was only a matter of time before someone snapped.

His jaw clenched as he watched her from the doorway, attempting to make sense of the software Dibs' had so often fiddled with to make it near impossible to infiltrate. And he wondered with a sense of defensiveness and perhaps immaturity, or naivety, that this woman was pushing change, and he wasn't sure if he liked that.

She let out a pleased sound when she cracked the last layer of security, and Ettore laughed through his nose.

“Suppose she didn't account for someone like you, hm,” he mused dispassionately and somewhat uninterested. A flash of irritation gnawed at him when she didn't look up from her work to address him.

“‘Dr Dibs’ didn't account for a lot of things,” she started, her tone neutral, “nevermind taking accountability.”

His eyes darkened, roving over her form behind. She was easily smaller. If he really really wanted, she wouldn't be able to fight. But did he want her to?

She finally paused and swivelled on her chair to face him, her expression insistent, making his darkened thoughts pause for just a moment.

"You don’t seem too thrilled about the prospect of going back to Earth. Most would be eager to leave this place.”

It wasn't a question, but he could smell that she wanted an answer. And normally, he would have entertained her. But her expression, coupled with her expectancy for him to bend, made him huff and turn away.

“Content with staying here and giving Dibs sperm samples for the rest of your life? Not that I think that's the part you dislike.”

She mumbles that last part under her breath, turning back to the computer to check its download progress. And while her back is turned, something is stoked in his eyes. That was an incredibly dangerous thing for her to say. Especially to him. To someone like him.

He shoves his hands in his scrub pockets, mostly to touch himself.

“And what is there to go back to?” He inquires, watching with interest when she turns back to him halfway. He raises his eyebrows, tone somewhat mocking, “something about the devil you know.”

She gives a breathy laugh, “suppose it's comfort in its own way. Wouldn't you rather live than just survive?”

He narrows his gaze, stubbornness enhancing his disbelief.

“You really believe that it's just step off this ship and poof, everything's fine?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Why would I want to go back to a world that forgot me the second they sent me up here?”

She sighs. “It'll be what you want it to be, if you keep thinking like that.”

He has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. These lawyer human rights fucking types will always cling to some kind of hope, however naive. It was a word long flung out of Ettore’s vocabulary, not that he was usually the hopeful type. She sighed through her nose at his lack of response and turned back around, typing quickly and practised on the keyboard. Her messy, plaited hair fell down her back, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he thought of what it would have been like to grab the end, and twist it over his fist he’d be strong enough to subdue her, that was for sure. Even thinking about it, he ran his tongue over his teeth.

He wondered if she knew what he was here for. Did she know the ins and outs of what the jury said about him? Or what the judge condemned him to? Or was he just another tick box on her list, just another name? Did she either understand the man he was now, or what he was capable of? It both thrilled and unsettled him in equal measure. He watched her slender fingers move across the keyboard, thinking, how would she react when she knew how dangerous he really was.

Would she still carry that same determination, or would fear finally colour those idealistic eyes?

He smirked slightly, thinking that he had met many women like her that used her indifference as armour over her, shielding her from the darker truths of the world, or perhaps, just the darker truths of his world.

“You’ve read my file, haven’t you.”

His voice was low, almost a growl, daring her to acknowledge the monster many believed him to be. She paused, her fingers halting mid-type, and her lips parted. For a moment he thought she might turn around again, but she wet her lips and continued typing.

There was a firmness in her voice that surprised Ettore. “I've read your file, yes. I know what you've done.”

“And?”

“I’m not giving a glowing review on your crimes.”

He gave a huff of a laugh. “No need to get antsy, sweetheart.”

She turned her head, her face calm with an expression that belied any fear in him. “My job isn’t to judge, it's to defend human rights, yours included.”

Ettore's smirk widened, his eyes narrowing as he processed her words. "That's a neat way to put it. Defending human rights, even for someone like me? Must make you feel pretty good, huh?"

Her expression remained unchanged, her resolve as firm as ever. "You think I do this for my health?"

Before Ettore could respond, the sudden clang and shout from the other end of the corridor cut through their conversation. Both turned toward the noise. A group of guards hustled past, their faces tense, moving toward the source of the disturbance.

Ettore's attention briefly flickered to the commotion, then back to her, a victorious smirk on his face. "Looks like not everyone's as cooperative as I am."

She cocked her head, “and you’re being cooperative are you?” she asked firmly, with a harsh rhetorical edge. “Anyway, it’s not about that. It’s about your safety as a whole-”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried an unmistakable edge. "And what if I wasn't safe? What if I was the one out there causing trouble? Would you defend me then?"

She met his gaze, unflinching. "I defend the rights of all prisoners, no matter their crimes."

"Theoretically, right?" Ettore pushed back, amused.

"Practically."

Their intense exchange was suddenly interrupted by the return of the guards, escorting a handcuffed prisoner between them. The man was shouting, struggling against the restraints, his eyes wild with desperation.

"Fucking assholes! You're all just dressing it up as justice!" he yelled as he was dragged past them.

Ettore watched the scene unfold, his expression unreadable. Once the noise had died down, he turned back to her, his voice low. "Not everyone believes in your justice. Being out here…it changes people, makes them into monsters."

“I don’t believe that.”

Ettore's smirk faded, replaced by a contemplative frown. "Maybe you should. The monsters are real. And sometimes, they're closer than you think."

His words lingered in the air, thick with an ominous undertone, he turned and walked away, his steps deliberate and heavy against the metallic floor. She watched him go, his broad silhouette gradually merging with the shadows of the spacecraft's corridor. It was only when he disappeared from view that she realised she'd been holding her breath, her chest tight with apprehension.

She exhaled slowly, trying to dispel the tension that had coiled inside her during their conversation. The exchange had revealed layers to Ettore she hadn't fully appreciated before, depths of cynicism and a hint of something darker, perhaps a warning or a challenge. His parting words echoed in her mind, a reminder of the complex human narratives woven into the fabric of this mission.

Her eyes lingered on the corner where Ettore had vanished, the unsettling feeling of his presence still palpable in the air. She was left with a profound sense of the weight of her task, not just to administer legal justice but to understand and navigate the human elements at play. The reality of Ettore's warning, that the monsters might indeed be closer than she thought, settled heavy on her shoulders as she turned back to her work.

The mission to dismantle Dr. Dibs' operation continued, but a quieter but equally dangerous plan was brewing among a faction of the prisoners. These were men and women who, for various reasons, fears of retribution on Earth, lost ties, or simply the terror of facing their past crimes, had decided they were better off lost in space. They saw the arrival of she and her team not as a rescue but as a threat to the precarious stability they had found, or rather forged.

Ettore, caught between his newfound interest with his little lawyer and his inherent distrust of returning to a world that had discarded him, found himself pulled into this group’s orbit. Monte led the group, not particularly charismatic but he was seen as trustworthy, had quickly identified Ettore’s influence among the prisoners and sought to leverage it, despite their dislike for each other. There was something in Monte that was also as antsy as Dibs, as if he feared returning to Earth not because of the consequences, but because it meant confronting ghosts he had long buried.

With them, huddled in secret within the confines of the storage room, Mink leaned, arms crossed, as if she were still on the fence and could be persuaded.

“This ain’t redemption,” Monte started, his eyes firm, “up here we’re forgotten, nothing but fuckin’ dust. Back there, we're monsters on display.”

Ettore scoffed lightly, “and what? Hijack the ship? You think that ends well for any of us?”

“You know Dibs wants ‘em gone too.”

“We’re not killing them,” Mink interjected.

Monte glared at Mink, his frustration evident. "You think I don’t know we can’t kill them? We take control, redirect the course. We can find a place out here where they can't just drag us back to face whatever hell they've cooked up for us on Earth."

“So they’re hostages,” Ettore added bluntly. “They’re not like us. They'll come looking for them."

Monte nodded, his voice steady. "Then we make it too costly to come after us. We send a message back, make it clear we’re not their lab rats anymore, not their spectacle."

Mink shifted uncomfortably, her arms still crossed, her gaze flickering between Monte and Ettore. "Okay, stop measuring dicks for one second. We're talking about potentially starting a war here. What if they send the military after us? We're equipped to handle guards, maybe, but not a fucking assault."

The two men beside her fell quiet, and Ettore glanced down the hallway as if to check they nobody was listening in.

Mink filled the silence, her decision torn in two different directions, “And what about the others? The ones who might want to go back?"

Ettore rolled his eyes slightly. "Sometimes you gotta make the hard choices for people. Look at where trusting Earth got us in the first place."

His point didn’t at all mean to sound like he was supporting Monte, so he hated the little nod of agreement he gave. The way his eyes lit up.

But Monte caught it, misinterpreting Ettore’s reluctant agreement as support, his own resolve hardening. "We were discarded, forgotten. If we don't take a stand now, when will we ever?" he speaks erratically, as if even now pleading his case, “I killed a man. His family won’t rest until I’m buried. Talking won’t change that.”

Mink and Ettore remained silent. But their expressions could not be any more different.

“It won’t change it for you two either,” Monte added with venom, “You think any of us got a fair shot down there? You really trust this lawyer, these people, to make it right? Open your fucking eyes. She's here to make herself feel better, not to save anyone."

Ettore, who had been following the exchange silently, felt a surge of concern. His thoughts briefly flashed to his little lawyer, her conviction that the law could serve justice, her determination to fight for their rights. It contrasted starkly with the raw survival instinct that drove Monte.

“So that’s it then,” Ettore mused, “you want violence.”

Monte turned on Ettore, his gaze fierce. "If it’s violence they understand, it’s violence they’ll get."

Ettore met Monte’s fiery gaze with a steely resolve of his own. The tight confines of the storage room seemed to shrink further, suffocating under the weight of impending decisions. Decisions that could very well define the fate of everyone on board.

“You want to lead us into a war we can’t win,” he countered, “you’re gonna fuck all this up, and for what?”

Monte's breathing was heavy, his chest heaving with each breath, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He looked as if he wanted to say more, to argue that his plan was their only chance, but the fight seemed to drain from him second by agonising second.

“Fine. We’ll see what your lawyer can do. But if it doesn’t work, if they don’t listen...” His voice trailed off, leaving the threat hanging, an unspoken ultimatum that they all understood.

After a week of tireless work aboard the spacecraft, tension simmered under a deceptive calm. She and her team had catalogued countless files and dismantled numerous experiments, yet they were still not close to gathering all the evidence they needed before the planned return to Earth. The ship was suspended in the vast silence of space, a temporary lull in their journey both literally and metaphorically.

Ettore leaned against the doorway, the threshold between their ship and the prisoner's felt so inescapable. The distance between their daily lives aboard the ship was not lost on him, and a cynical remark bubbled to the surface, and he couldn't help but run his eyes over her as she made her way past him to go to her own quarters.

With a sardonic twist to his lips, he approached her, his voice carrying just enough edge to be provocative. "You look tired, sweetheart. Must be tough, being so close yet so far from all the answers you need.”

She merely glared at him sideways, and despite her composed exterior, there was a fatigue in her eyes that spoke volumes about the strain they were all under.

“It's part of the job. And Dibs hasn't exactly made it easy.”

Ettore chuckled softly, the sound more mocking than amused. "Sure, but at the end of the day, you get to retreat to your safe corner of the ship, away from all of us. Sleep better thinking you’re not surrounded by monsters?”

Her face remained impassive, but her eyes hardened slightly, a hint of steel beneath the surface.

He huffs. “Maybe one night you should try sleeping over here, see how dangerous we really are. Maybe then you’d get all your evidence faster.”

There was a moment of silent acknowledgment between them. It was a threat. One meant to hit deep. If she was smart, she'd see the larger threat beneath it.

"Just remember, justice feels different depending on which side of the ship you sleep on.”

She cocked her head at him, but not in question, her eyes remained steadfast and firm. It was as if she merely wanted to see a different angle of him.

“Maybe it’s less about where I sleep,” she muses, “maybe it’s understanding the lay of the land, hm? Knowing where the landmines are buried.”

Ettore’s expression shifted only barely, whether she caught it or not, he couldn’t tell. She had obviously been interviewing all the prisoners. And if he had to guess about who was likely to blab about this plan Monte had cooking, it was most likely Boyse. They’d notoriously disliked each other.

But a subtle smirk rose to his lips. She was trying to prod him, thinking he was the leader in all of this. Where she could not be more wrong.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, sweetheart.”

Her jaw tightened at that. And his warning was cryptic enough and yet clear enough to read the hidden meaning beneath. There were dangers lurking within the ranks. Uprisings. That not only jeopardises the mission, but their lives as well. She felt her heart thud hard in her chest, feeling right now more than ever, that she did not belong here.

With a thick swallow, she sighed, trying to appear calm, “I appreciate your concern for our safety.”

Ettore gave a half-smirk, recognising her diplomatic reply. And though he was tempted to say more, to see how she’d squirm, he pushed off the wall and turned his back to her. He recognised he had shared too much with her, a crucial piece of information, but something that also revealed a concealed trust for her.

When he turned back to glance at her, he felt a smug pride in his chest, she was still watching him. And her eyes flickered upwards when she felt she had been caught. And the little lawyer scurried away back to her haven, with not another word.

She returned to her quarters, the sound of the door sealing behind her echoing slightly in the compact, utilitarian space that served as her temporary sanctuary. She slipped out of her shoes, feeling the cool metal floor beneath her feet, a small comfort after another long day of navigating the tight corridors and tighter tensions of the spacecraft.

After a long and decompressing shower, she moved to her small desk, where she activated her datapad, to record her nightly entries for the team back on Earth, to update them on the progress.

Day 23.

Looking at herself on the screen, her hair wet over her shoulders, she felt she looked tired and more weary, compared to when she first arrived. And wondered briefly how the prisoners had not yet gone mad.

“The evidence we need to solidify the case against Dr Dibs is…extensive and…elusive. She’s trying to hide things, which doesn’t help, behind walls of useless other data she thinks we’ll miss. The crew’s morale fluctuates, as expected. They are under immense stress, given that the cooperation of some of the prisoners has been divisive at best. Boyse’s interviews are particularly interesting. She’s afraid of going back to Earth, seeing as there is little support for her. But she seems rather excited to see Dibs see justice for the horrendous things she's done to them. She made me aware of a former prisoner, Elektra, who died shortly after childbirth due to lack of proper care. The baby... also did not make it. Boyse has made it very clear that the experiments and examinations on the women have both become more frequent and more desperate after this incident. Mink tells a similar story, albeit with some details redacted. Unfortunately, Dibs disposed of the bodies shortly after their deaths, so they won’t be recoverable. They both heavily dislike most of the men on board, with the exception of Tcherny. He seems keen on returning to Earth. Mostly because he has nobody there to judge him anymore. Monte…has refused interviews. And too refuses interaction with any of us. Ettore. Well, he was cryptic today, as usual. I believe he is the type of person to lure people in just to watch them try and escape him.”

She paused, with a heavy sigh, running her hand through her hair. Stress gnawed at her temples. And something else tugged at her gut. Something she could not mistake as sickness.

“He refuses to say anything outright. But we must tread carefully. It’s clear some, if not most, of the prisoners do not wish to return, fearing retribution and violence, or whoever awaits them who will not share in our opinions of them. I can’t help but…wonder why we are here.”

She couldn’t concentrate after that. Her thoughts involuntarily drifted to Ettore. There was something undeniably compelling, beyond the complexities of his personality. Her racing thoughts could not keep up with her mouth, it felt.

“He’s an enigma. He has strong features but…manages to control them under a mask. And yet, there’s an intensity in his eyes that’s so piercing. The way he looks at me sometimes…it’s unsettling. And yet I can’t find it in myself to look away. And his voice, even when he whispers it’s…”

“The monsters are real. And sometimes, they're closer than you think."

She swallows, her fingers resting on her throat as if to feel her own pulse.

“It carries a weight, one that commands attention. Like a threat but also…like he’s testing me, measuring my reactions…”

“Maybe one night you should try sleeping over here, see how dangerous we really are.”

“...like a predator.”

She paused, clarity rushing back to her like a wave, pulling her under and robbing her of breath. With a quick flick, she turned off the video, taking a moment to really consider her words and her runaway thoughts. Why was she focusing so much on his physical details? She argued perhaps that it was the amount of time she’d spent with all of them. But she shook her head slightly, trying to steer her thoughts back to reality.

After a moment of pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, the stress and internal conflict caused her to hastily climb into bed, hoping perhaps that the sweet escape of sleep might rid her of these thoughts. As she lay back in her bed, staring up at the ceiling of her quarters, the ship's constant hum a soft backdrop, she couldn't help but replay their interactions. There was an undeniable tension there, something that went beyond the usual professional dynamic. Was it just the stress of the mission making her over analyse, or was there something more, something real and tangible in the way he moved and spoke that kept drawing her thoughts back to him?

Ettore too, lay awake, lost in turbulent emotions. His mind replaying his interactions with her, each moment etched into his memory. The way her eyes narrowed in concentration, the subtle shift in her posture when he spoke of their harsh conditions on the ship before their arrival, and particularly, the flickers of fear when he would tread into dangerous territory with his words alone. Not even having to be near her. He was captivated by those expressions, those nuances, and the challenges they presented.

In the quiet solitude of his cell, Nansen asleep in the top bunk, he allowed his hand to slide beneath his scrubs, eyes slipping shut as his hand lazily stroked his length to full hardness in no time at all. He indulged in the image of her. Her intelligent, alert eyes seemed to follow each word he said. Always evaluating. Evaluating him.

And fuck, did it feel good to be picked apart by her.

He returned to the same recurring thought he’d had every night, that if he pushed her boundaries, how would she react when truly tested? He wanted to see her rough, unguarded. Would she shrink or rise to the challenge? The mere thought of breaking through those defenses to a place where she might react out of sheer instinct, rather than reason, was intoxicating.

With a stuttered moan, and coming hard into his hand with a jerk of his hips, the challenge was set, and Ettore was eager to see it through, to discover just how deep the layers of his little lawyer went.

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