#you can tell they didn’t have grace as their teacher

[wordborne]

someone called me teacher at the workshop for subtitles for the deaf and hard of hearing i gave today :3

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (3)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Very small mention of blood

a/n: I am lovinggg writing this and I can't stop so don't ask me to 🏃‍♀️

Read part one | part two | part four

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Azriel had been by the apothecary four times since his first visit. That wasn’t an unusual number by any means, but it was alarming that he was supposedly going through his headache tonic so quickly. You would give him a week’s worth and he would return for more within three days. 

Melanie had begun to expect him and had taken to examining his wings each time he walked through the door. She would run and stand atop the counter—much to your dismay—and Azriel would unfurl them from his back just a hair so she could get a better look. Her comfortability with him scared you. You’d spoken to your daughter about stranger danger and had emphasized it a million times, but with Azriel, she held no reproach. 

Azriel didn’t seem to mind. You had apologized countless times for Melanie’s staring and her invasive questions, but Azriel would only wave you off with a glint in his eye. He always chalked it up to being an uncle, but you’d had an uncle and he was nothing like Azriel. 

None of your family was like anyone you’d met in Velaris. 

Still, there was a lingering pit in your stomach each time Azriel would ask you a question about yourself or smile at your daughter. It didn’t feel safe to make too many friends, and Azriel was a particularly unsafe friend to have. 

The Shadowsinger. 

You’d learned of his position within the Night Court’s inner circle after Melanie had asked yet another question about Azriel and his shadows. 

“I’m a Shadowsinger,” he had explained, your daughter spinning in circles around him, tugging his shadows along with her. A small smile graced his face as he spoke. “My shadows tell me secrets so I can ensure everything is going okay in Velaris.” 

A cold sweat broke out along your skin as he spoke the words, but you only continued to smile and focused on keeping your breath even. 

He would be the one to find you out—there was no doubt about it. 

But something told you the closeness could be a good thing. Perhaps, if he knew you, he would take pity on you when he found out. Perhaps, if he knew you, he wouldn’t feel the need to dig into your history and ask questions. 

At least, that’s what you were hoping for because Azriel didn’t show any sign of staying away from you or Melanie—a truth made even more apparent at Melanie’s open house. 

“Melanie does so wonderfully in all her subjects,” her teacher gushed, a clipboard held tightly at her chest. “She especially loved our cooking unit. She loved the burners and heating things up.” 

You raised your brows and grinned. “I’m so happy to hear that. She talks about school so often. I’m glad her enthusiasm is reflected in her work.” 

An obvious avoidance—an attempt to curtail the subject away from your daughter’s affinity for flames. 

Her teacher did not seem put off. “It is! I know she began in the middle of the school year, but she has caught on so quickly. I can tell she has a lot of support at home. Big family?” 

Perhaps her teacher wasn’t as oblivious as you had hoped. You fought the twitch in your eye, dreading that this woman would know more about you. Five years of careful isolation and suddenly you were thrust into the public eye. 

“No, just the two of us. But my work is quite flexible so she’s never alone. I always have time to help her with school.” 

“That’s so great to hear. I have to ask, just for the sake of my student, her father—”

“Hello, Ms. Fern.”

Azriel’s voice startled you out of the panic rising in your chest. You turned to find him rooted in his spot behind you, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flicked down to you for a brief moment before settling back on the teacher. 

“Azriel!” Ms. Fern delighted. “I didn’t expect you today. I saw the High Lord and Lady earlier so I assumed it would just be the parents.” 

Azriel hummed. “I wanted to come by and see Nyx’s art. You mentioned he painted the family.” 

“You didn’t need to do that! I know you’re so busy. What a wonderful—“ 

Azriel slowly edged in front of you, hiding you from Ms. Fern’s watchful eye. You felt a slight push against your hip and held in a laugh as Azriel reached behind him and ushered you off without ever looking away from the teacher. You quickly scampered away and made yourself busy examining the art around the room. Upon closer inspection, Nyx had painted a troll—not his family. 

It took about 10 minutes of lingering before Azriel joined you, his shadows giving him away. They slinked around your wrists and traveled up to caress your neck. 

“Apologies for their familiarity,” Azriel said in place of a greeting. “They seem to have grown comfortable with you.” 

“And Melanie,” you added. You rounded a table and meandered out to the hall. Azriel followed. “They love to chase her around the apothecary. Sometimes I wonder if you keep coming by because they’re making you.” 

Azriel bit back a smile but it still formed into a bashful expression. “Perhaps that’s why.” 

In the hall, you found yourself alone with Azriel—utterly and completely alone. Melanie was with one of your neighbors as the teacher made it clear no students were allowed at the open house, and no one else occupied the space. You leaned your back against the wall and looked up at Azriel, a shyness overtaking you. 

You were never really alone with him—Melanie was always right around the corner. 

“That was some maneuver earlier,” you commented, fidgeting with your fingers at your waist. 

“She was prying,” Azriel replied. You watched the way he carefully trailed his gaze down to your fingers. “I certainly wasn’t going to let her know more about you than I do. Not when I’ve put in far more effort.” 

“I thought your shadows were the reason you came,” you teased. 

“Right, my shadows.” 

You pressed your mouth into a line, feeling small under Azriel’s never-ending gaze. His eyes never left yours as silence blanketed the hall. It was as if he saw through you, understood you in a way that didn’t make sense. 

Maybe you could tell him. 

No, that was ridiculous. 

Was it? 

“Where’s Mel?” Azriel asked, startling you out of your internal strife. 

The words didn’t comprehend, the jumbled mess of your mind intensifying as the Shadowsinger knocked his head to the side and asked you questions. 

“What?” 

“Melanie,” he clarified, brows bunching. “I was going to offer to watch her for this but I didn’t want to impose. I know I’m still mostly a stranger, but I don’t know if you have family in the area and I just…” 

He trailed off. You never mentioned any family because that was one of the topics you strayed from each time it was broached. Family, your origins, Melanie’s father; he never brought any of it up directly, but he’d hint at it. And you always changed the subject. 

“I—I don’t,” you revealed. You broke his gaze and stared down at your fingers, picking at the skin around your nails. “Have family here, I mean. But I have neighbors that Melanie likes. They’re watching her.” 

“Do you trust them?” Azriel asked, an edge to his tone. 

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t leave her with anyone I didn’t.” 

“Good,” he grunted out. 

“And I would never ask you to watch Mel. That—I know you’re probably busy and she's kind of a handful..” 

Azriel started speaking before the last word left your mouth. “She’s not. And I would never be too busy for that.”

Another silence fell. You picked harder at your nails.

“Azriel, I—“ 

“I want you to feel safe with me. To trust me.” 

His admittance shocked you into silence. You weren’t actually sure what you were going to say to him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Everything you had ever thought exited your brain. 

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound escaped. 

“I mean—I just mean that I want to be a person you can trust Melanie with. That you can trust to… to share more with. I don’t know what you’ve been though, or how you ended up here in Velaris, but I want to be something safe for you.”

It felt as if something was pressing against your chest. When Melanie was around, he never looked at you with such intensity—he never said these things with so much devotion to back his words. 

A sharp, hot feeling pricked your fingers. Azriel’s hand immediately covered both of your own, his warm touch pulling your fingers away from each other. You’d drawn blood—a terrible nervous habit. 

With all of the shock you missed the fact that this was the first time Azriel had touched you with such intentionality. 

“It’s like you’re living in survival mode—you and Melanie. I want you both to feel like there’s someone looking out for you.” 

“Why?” you whispered, the word still sounding entirely too loud. “Why us? Why me?” 

Azriel hadn’t removed his hands from yours. He offered a small squeeze to your fingers. “Why not you?” 

Something broke in you. Something pulled. 

You wanted nothing more than to open your mouth and let everything out. You wanted to trust him—to be able to trust anyone—but there was so much danger to that.

You could be forced back home. You could be forced to marry that man. You could lose Melanie. 

But Azriel was looking at you as if he’d place his life before any of those possibilities. His gaze was beseeching, almost desperate, and something was urging you to trust him. Something intrinsic. Something that felt right.

Your lips parted. 

“Rhys, I told you, Azriel isn’t here.” 

“I saw him leave just after us, darling. He came.” 

“He came to Nyx’s open house? What could he possibly have to gain?” 

The conversation down the hall startled you. You yanked your hands from Azriel’s grip and whipped your head to the side in anticipation. 

Rhys, Azriel, Nyx; you knew who was about to enter the hall, and reality came crashing down on you as soon as you made the connection. 

“I have to go,” you rushed out, eyes widening. “I—Thank you, Azriel, but this isn’t—this isn’t safe for Melanie. Not… all of this. I have to—” 

You left, and Azriel stayed. 

You heard your name as you went, heard it echo down the hall, but you still left. 

And Azriel still stayed. 

part four

[werepuppy-steve]

Robin has spent plenty of time watching Steve Harrington from the shadows. The way he continuously stayed on the sidelines of the rest of his friends’ bullying was interesting. He never said too much of anything when it happened, didn’t look all that interested in it, either. Just leaned against a locker and looked bored out of his mind.

Until a week before Thanksgiving break a couple years ago, when Tommy Hagan started bragging to anyone who’d listen about how Steve got his shit rocked by Jonathan Byers and promptly dumped him and Carol to the curb after. Sure, Tommy made sure to mention that Steve was the one to push until Jonathan finally snapped and punched him, but he didn’t say how Steve had gone limp after. Letting Byers rearrange his face until a teacher ran over to break them up.

She remembers how lost he’d looked in the aftermath. Like he was a shell of himself.

So yeah. Steve Harrington isn’t the same person he was in high school. Or at least he’s trying not to be, that much Robin has noticed since he started working at Scoops at the beginning of the summer. But she didn’t think he’d changed so much to be openly flirting with the Freak of Hawkins.

Well. Not exactly flirting, but there’s something there Robin can’t quite put her finger on.

Steve’s manning the counter, right where she’d left him twenty minutes ago, but instead of looking like the picture of boredom slinging ice cream to annoying kids, he’s leaned his elbows on the counter where Eddie Munson is doing the same on the other side. They’re too quiet for Robin to hear what they’re talking about but Steve’s fingers are hooked on Eddie’s watch, not pulling or tugging. Just resting.

Eddie’s hands are clasped in front of him but his pointer finger keeps reaching out to lightly stroke Steve’s arm, and that’s when it hits Robin like a slap in the face.

They’re domestic.

The lobby is empty, save for Eddie’s friends that now occupy one of the booths, loudly arguing over something but Robin could care less because at that moment, Steve says something that has Eddie letting out a cackle laugh, his nose scrunched up and his shoulders shaking as he laughs. Her eyes slide over to Steve and he’s.

Huh.

Gone is the usual smug smirk that graces his face when a girl laughs at one of his (awful) jokes, and is replaced by something… fond. His face is relaxed into a small smile and his round Bambi eyes are shining with mirth. Like he’d expected this reaction. Sometime during this, their fingers have tangled together in a subtle hand-hold across the counter and holy shit.

Steve Harrington is dating Eddie Munson.

One of Eddie’s friends (Jeff, she thinks. They had pre-calc together.) says something and Steve only rolls his eyes as he replies. Eddie’s grinning at them over his shoulder. Neither of their postures have changed. Robin feels like the room’s spinning.

She knows about Eddie. Eddie knows about her. It’s never been verbally said, but birds of a feather and all that. It doesn’t have to be. She must accidentally bump into something in her attempt to rebalance the world because Steve’s head is snapping toward her and panic flashes in his eyes as he tries to rip his hands away from Eddie’s.

Eddie only holds them tighter as he locks eyes with her.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he tells Steve in a hushed tone. In front of him, Steve’s visibly shaking like a leaf, mouth opening and closing but not making a sound. Robin’s heart breaks a little. He looks downright terrified. Eddie’s eyes haven’t left her. “She’s safe. Aren’t you, Birdie?”

The question is directed at her. She swallows and nods quickly. “Y-yeah!” She winces at the volume of it. Clearing her throat, she tries again, taking a step forward like she’s approaching a frightened animal. “You can trust me, Steve.” Uses his first name instead of the ‘dingus’ that’s grown affectionate. “I'm—” She glances over at the booth that’s gone quiet. She doesn’t want to out herself to the entire freak population of Hawkins High.

“I’m a friend,” she settles on.

It takes Steve a moment for it to sink in, and when it does, his eyes somehow grow bigger in understanding. “Oh,” he breathes out, like a sigh of relief. Eddie’s rubbing his thumb over Steve’s knuckles.

“Yeah, dingus.” Robin’s close enough now to nudge his shoulder with hers. “Oh. Why don’t you go on break? I’ve got this.”

Steve gives her a grateful look and tugs Eddie to the booth to join Eddie’s —their— friends.

“It’s about damn time you guys remembered the rest of us,” the curly haired one complains as they both slide in on the same side. Eddie throws a straw wrapper at him and Robin stops paying attention after that.

permanent taglist: @yournowheregirl @judasofsuburbia @steves-strapcollection @thefreakandthehair @stobinesque @vecnuthy @scarcrossdlvrs @starrystevie @inairbinad @flowercrowngods @starryeyedjanai @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual @theheadlessphilosopher @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @wormdebut @legitcookie @corrodedcoughin @steddieas-shegoes @wynnyfryd @sidekick-hero

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[bookshelf-dust]

soul made of honeybees

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @biillys

word count: 6,418

warnings: brief swearing, mentions of smoking, reader deals with body insecurities/dysmorphia, uses exercise as a punishment, all of the struggles that come with trying to accept oneself

synopsis: on a journey of becoming more active and trying to be happier in yourself, you find billy, who helps you develop a healthier relationship with exercising and shows you that your body should be celebrated for all it does for you.

a/n: well, what do we have here? my creative juices have begun to flow again, and this is the first fic to be born of that particular affair. in my head i’ve set this in the late 80s, maybe early 90s, where i imagine billy still works at the pool during the summers when he’s home from college. this is a situation i’ve found myself in over the past year, and i wanted a chance to explore it in this way and sort through some of my own experiences. i hope you will enjoy it. as always, happy reading! <3

————

Jane Fonda is a fucking fantastic woman. But right now, you hate her. 

She manages to look stunning and effortless with each kick of her legs; while you are sweating profusely, your shorts are up your ass, and your fingers are swollen from overheating. 

You hate exercising in the moment, but once her thirty minute video is over and her group of people in tights and tiny shorts are gone, admittedly you do feel better. Rinsing the sweat from your face, feeling your muscles ache the next day—it brings you some sort of satisfaction. 

Your body likes that you’ve gotten more active. 

But your own hatred for your body was the reason you allowed Jane Fonda into your home to begin with. Sick, right? You know it’s bad, and yet each time you squat, crunch, and press, you can’t stop yourself from wishing you were shaped differently. From looking at the toned and athletic bodies in Miss Fonda’s videos and imagining what it would be like to feel that comfortable in your own skin, to be so graceful and…perfect.

So, you continue to push yourself, in hopes that you’ll become more appealing, that if you keep doing this, there will come a point where you aren’t totally and completely disgusted with the body you’ve been given. 

Because at this point, you’ve truly convinced yourself that you cannot be happy in your body. Even if you have noticed your strength levels increasing and really want to push yourself more. But you won’t let that positivity ring free like the woman on your television always wishes you would. 

“You did a great job!” Jane’s voice rings throughout your living room as the workout video ends, and you scramble for the remote, having had enough of these cheery attitudes for one morning.

You sit back on your hands, stretch out your legs, and try to steady your breath. Your knees have carpet burn, and you can feel sweat dripping down your temples. 

You may be a heaving mess, but you need more. The workouts have gotten easy, and you need something new. 

A woman runs by outside your window in a bright pink leotard and blue jogging shorts, matching pink leg warmers meeting her tennis shoes.

I could try that, you think. Maybe I’d like running. 

You certainly didn’t like it in school, but most of that was the result of shitty phys-ed teachers and the fact that you were never the athlete those instructors wanted you to be. 

You push off the floor and stalk to your room, digging for the sneakers you know are buried in the back of your closet. You have to try this. You need to keep pushing yourself. And if you don’t do it now, with this sudden spark of energy, you probably never will. 

Five minutes. You can run for five minutes. And if you feel like you can after that time is up, you’ll do ten. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you’re tying your shoes, shoving away the thoughts telling you that you’ll definitely not look as cute as that woman on the street or any other woman that goes for a run, their ponytail swaying and their cheeks perfectly pinked. 

But what does it matter? You have to try. You have to be productive and make something out of yourself. You can’t deal with the pulsing, clawing thoughts of self-hatred anymore. Your body has to change.

The only problem is that you haven’t yet realized your mindset must too.

The heat that swallows you up when you step out of your front door is almost enough to send you right back inside. But how disappointed will you be in yourself if you retreat that quickly? 

You let your body begin to walk before your brain can start to argue. Your street doesn’t really have a sidewalk, so you keep to one side as the cyclists and other joggers do, ensuring you won’t be in anyone’s way. Subconsciously, you’re already making yourself smaller even though there’s no one outside to judge you. 

You look down at your watch, noting the time, and start to run. Not as though you’re being chased by a serial killer—or a man—but enough that it counts as a run. Those first few seconds are blissful. You feel like a little kid as the adrenaline spreads through your veins. Like your mom has just called you in because dinner is ready, like you're racing against the sunset so that your feet land inside the door just before the streetlights flick on. 

You forgot what it was like to move your body in this way. To feel this momentary freedom. You make it about three minutes before your side starts to hurt, a telltale sign that you haven’t done this in far too long. The heat is starting to get to you too, but you said you’d go for five, and that’s what you’re doing. 

It’s pitiful, the way you press yourself to the inside of your front door, trying to catch your breath from that little bit of work. Why did it hurt so much more than everything Jane Fonda tells you to do? 

Maybe you’re not meant to be the athletic type. Or maybe I need to eat something, you think. I need to make a plan for myself. That could make it easier. 

You can’t eat with your shirt sticking to your back though, so you strip and turn the shower on, practically jumping under the cool stream of water. But not before you glance at your body in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. Your hands find your stomach, eye each stretch mark and bit of cellulite. Each extra-soft spot of skin, every part of you that doesn’t conform to the vision you have in your head. 

You wish that five minute run had fixed everything. That you could magically look like an aerobics instructor and be happy in your own skin. Your eyes fill with tears, and you think for a minute that it could be better to just stop before you get ahead of yourself. What’s the point? You don’t know if you have it in you to wait and see results. And you know you won’t turn into someone else, won’t form a new shape…and then you’re spiraling. You can’t think of a single reason why exercising is worth it.

Because it can be fun. Because it pushes you and makes you stronger. You shove this tiny voice away and let your gaze flick back to the shower, where you’ve completely abandoned your cold sanctuary. You hop in and start scrubbing your hair, trying to think of anything that isn’t your body in that mirror, anything other than how much you looked like a fraud trying to fit in with everyone else. 

————

You continue on this way for a while longer: running in the mornings, doing as many of the Jane Fonda videos as you have access to at work, drinking more water, blah blah blah. One of the perks of working at the library is that you can check out as many tapes as you want. But you’ve done all of Jane’s workouts, and you need more. 

You could swim, but when is the community pool ever not full to the brim during the summer? You could try jazzercise. No. That’s just not for you. You could…go to the gym. 

The pool also has small gyms for both women and men, and you know the men’s one is usually very busy, but most of the women in Hawkins take part in other forms of exercise. And if you went in the mornings…you might have the place to yourself. You might could try and tone up. 

God, this sounds so stupid. 

And your heart rate picks up just thinking about doing this very new and very big and very embarrassing thing, but you want to do it. You’re going to try. 

Hopefully you’ll just go unnoticed. This is a totally normal thing for people to do, right? 

The community pool opens at ten during the week, but the doors to the gyms open at seven. And that’s what time you get there, out of pure fear that you’ll have to interact with another human and make a fool of yourself. But the universe must be looking out for you on this particular morning, because the door is unlocked, and you slip in without any hassle. 

Billy isn’t a morning person. He never has been, but an excuse to get out of his hellhole of a house before anyone else is up to fuck with him? Yeah, he jumped at that opportunity. 

Usually the manager opens the gyms and stays to open the pool during the summer, but he volunteered. Especially because he can usually get in a workout before his shift technically even starts. 

He’ll bench as much as he can without a spot, work on the pull ups he never tells anyone he struggles with. It just feels good to be able to use his muscles and push himself. Billy is proud of what his body can do, what it does for him, how it protects him—and he’s not ashamed to admit that.

His body is one of the only things he has control over, and he’s heard his share of people talking about how vain he is, how he shouldn’t spend so much time doing this or that. But he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s built a body he’s proud of and feels comfortable in, and truthfully he feels like everyone should be comfortable in their body without anyone else pushing them to look another way. 

Billy is leaning against his car, hands tangled in his hair in an effort to tie it up, a cigarette dangling loosely from his full lips when he sees you for the first time. 

He watches you get in your car, bag slung over your shoulder, interested only because he never sees another soul here this early. 

You’re pretty, he thinks. Your hairline shines in the morning sunlight, damp with sweat, your neck the same. Your sports bra peeks through your pale shirt, and one of your slouchy socks is hiked up higher than the other. You’ve clearly just finished working out, but he thinks you look breathtaking. 

There’s something about you. Something light and sweet that he can feel even from this distance, like something is telling him you have a good soul. 

The next time Billy sees you, you come out of the door looking frustrated—he assumes at yourself. He doesn’t want to bother you, but he would like to talk to you at some point. 

You turn around when you go to unlock your car door and lock eyes with him. Your heart stutters at the fact that someone has caught you, probably knows you were exercising. But he is gorgeous. You give him a small smile, and climb into the driver's seat. All you can think on the drive home is that it must be nice to be so effortlessly gorgeous. 

————

You continue on this way for weeks. Close to a month. You workout, you wave and acknowledge one another. This other person who you share this tiny thing with and who you are not judged by. 

On this particular day, you decide to be brave though. You packed a swimsuit, and you’re going to speak to that gorgeous boy and hope he doesn’t get freaked out by you. 

You place your weights back on the rack, the muscles in your thighs pulsing, your arms feeling like jelly. You’ve only worked your way up to the set of fifteens, but that’s something, right? 

You’re sweating, and dread walking outside into the swath of steadily climbing heat and humidity. Your heart pounds at the prospect of speaking to him. 

With your bag over your shoulder, you push open the door and step outside, jumping almost immediately. “Shit!” 

Billy laughs at your reaction, both because he hadn’t expected to frighten you, and because your jolt was pretty entertaining to witness. 

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, “I didn’t mean to make you lose your shit, it’s just too hot to stand anywhere without shade.”

You lean against the cool metal door behind you. “Fuck,” you sigh. “My survival skills are clearly not what they should be.”

Billy laughs into his drink, taking a swig from the Coke he bought at the vending machine. 

“You headed out?” he asks, subconsciously fussing with a belt loop. 

“Well, yeah, I was. But um, I was going to ask a favor from you, if that’s okay?” You must sound like a dumbass, speaking to this man for the very first time, only to ask him for something.

“Shoot,” Billy responds.

“Do you think it’d be okay for me to swim a few laps in the pool? I know it’s not open yet, and I haven’t even told you my name, but I promise not to be a bother or anything. I just kind of wanted a chance to swim when there was no one else around, you know?”

Billy finishes his drink and tosses the can in the recycling bin inches from your hip. It lands with a resounding ping. 

You start to think this was a very stupid idea, and that maybe you should’ve just kept yourself at home like always.

“You can totally say no—”

“Yeah, sure I don’t see why not—”

Your words clash together and the both of you start to laugh. You raise your hand, gesturing for him to continue his thought. 

“It’s fine by me if you swim a little. I doubt you’re gonna trash the place.” He grins at you, dimples forming in his cheeks. “I’m Billy, by the way.”

A heat rises up your neck and washes over the tips of your ears. You tell him your name and thank him for letting you bend the rules. 

“Ah, fuck the rules. It’s just a community pool,” he winks, opening up the gate for you and telling you to have at it. 

You’d put your one-piece on underneath your workout clothes this morning, and you try to ignore the prick of shame, even disgust, that you feel having put your body in it as you wade into the pool. 

The water is cool, and as it drenches you, you feel lighter, somehow. You swim out to the deep end and push off the wall with your toes, propelling yourself underwater and kicking for as long as you can go while holding your breath. 

The little girl that still lives within your soul leaps to the surface, giddy with each push off the wall, each stroke of your arms underneath the water. She is excited. Free. 

She isn’t thinking about what your stomach looks like in this swimsuit or how stupid you probably look with your sloppy swimming skills. 

You swim for maybe twenty minutes, or at least until your shoulders are aching. You kick over to the wall, hoisting yourself up just that little bit so you can prop your elbows up on the warming concrete. 

You feel so light here that it almost makes you forget why you came. 

You hear footsteps and Billy appears from around the corner, a fluffy white towel in hand. 

“You getting out? I figured I’d come and make sure you hadn’t drowned.” 

You giggle. The sound makes him smile, pearly white teeth on display. Your eyes are drawn to his, where the summer sun has multiplied his freckles so much that they blanket his nose and the tops of his cheeks, washing over his temples. 

“I appreciate you looking out for my safety,” you say, climbing up the short ladder. Billy holds out a hand to help you steady yourself as you stand. You’re hesitant to take it because you’re all wet, but your hand moves before your mind takes control. “Thank you.” You give him a shy smile.

He grins at you and hands you the towel. You wrap it around your shoulders and follow him back under the awning when he starts walking away. Billy leans up against the cold brick wall and you stand, a little nervously, in front of him, trying to think of what to say. 

“I’ll admit, uh, it’s been nice to see someone else here so early in the mornings.” Billy lets out a huff of a laugh. “I was gonna ask though, why’d you pick this shithole to workout in?”

You pull the damp towel tighter against your torso. “It’s a quiet shithole,” you say. “And this whole exercising thing is pretty new to me, you know? I didn’t want to be somewhere people could see me like that.”

You realize how self-deprecating that comment was, realize you’re being too upfront, and try to quickly cover your ass. “What about you?” you ask, daring to make eye contact just to make sure he’s not disturbed. 

“Well, it came with the job,” he laughs, “and I love working out. Always have. Plus, it might be a shitty place, but the older equipment is a lot better than what newer gyms are using. So it works for me.”

Huh. 

“Oh. Nice.” You chew on your thumbnail. What a fuckup you are. 

Billy tilts his head, trying to encourage your gaze to raise to his. “What just happened?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

You look at him, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair and arms crossed in front of his chest. “It’s nothing…I just don’t really know what to say to someone who enjoys the gym? Who has a positive relationship with it and everything.”

A crease forms between Billy’s brows. “You’ve been crazy consistent with it, but you don’t like it?” He asks you, but based on your body language and how you’ve acted the past month every time you head out, everything adds up and Billy knows the answer before it even leaves your mouth. 

You shake your head, ashamed that you even brought this up. “No,” you laugh nervously. “I hate it. I only started because I’m unhappy with myself? So it’s more of a punishment than something that brings me joy.”

Billy’s chest squeezes at your words. That is exactly why he started working out all those years ago. To make himself stronger because he was ashamed his father had power over him. Because he wasn’t good enough for anyone, so out of anger he made himself more powerful.

But he doesn’t want you to feel that way. You shouldn’t be working out purely to punish yourself for some absurd reason your mind has come up with. 

And even though Billy has had very minimal interactions with you, he likes you. He wouldn’t wish the horrible thoughts he’s had for himself on anyone else, but he gets the feeling you already know. 

“Well, I’m not gonna berate you or nothin.’ But uh, if you ever want help, or want to workout together so it’s not so miserable, let me know alright?”

You smirk at him, hoping to make the situation a bit less awkward. “Are you implying you’re the reason working out would become less miserable?”

Billy laughs, glad to see you’re not totally opposed to the idea of him offering help. “Yeah. But really, you shouldn’t have to hate it y’know? If I can help you figure out not to hate it…I’d like to try. And we could get to know each other better.”

Billy fidgets with the lighter in his pocket. He’s weaned off cigarettes, but he keeps loads of lighters around so he has something to occupy his hands with. If not, it’s usually not a good situation for him to be in. 

Your heart squeezes at the genuine quality in his words. You feel like you’re a lost cause at this point, but there’s a big part of you, the soft and squishy and easily flustered one, that wants to take him up on this offer. 

You nod, wrapping up your towel so you can drop it in the bin and go get changed. “Okay. I’ll think about it, Billy. Promise.”

————

“One more.”

“I can’t, Billy. I told you, I’m not strong enough for this shit.”

You swear when you’re frustrated. Billy has learned that over the past few weeks. 

He crouches, leveling with you. Your knee bounces, the dumbbells in your hands sitting on the tops of your thighs. “Yes, you can. You’re already up to twenty-fives for your presses. Try one more for me and then you can rest a minute.”

Your eyes well with tears that you quickly blink away as you settle back against the bench. This is the point in a workout where you just start to hate yourself. You think it’s pointless, you know you’re body hasn’t changed enough, you feel like total shit—everything just feels fucked.

You use your knees to help lift the dumbbells and slowly lift them to the appropriate height, making sure to protect your shoulders like Billy taught you. You inhale and raise them up. Your arms are shaking, especially your non-dominant one which is really fighting this shoulder press, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to lift them fully until you do. 

“Fuck, yeah!” Billy’s voice reaches your ears just as you’re lowering your arms, completely out of breath. You set the dumbbells on the floor. 

Billy is thrilled for you. He can see the progress you’re making, how much stronger you are and less hesitant to try new exercises.

When you look up at him the expression on your face tells him you are not thrilled. 

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?”

You stand and walk over to the mirror that covers one whole wall. You put your hands on your hips and bite the inside of your cheek. “Billy, will you look at me, honestly?” You gesture to your body. “This is the matter. I don’t look any different than the first day I showed up here, do I? Even if I’ve been busting my ass, I’ll just never—”

You stop, rubbing your hands down your face and over your bloodshot eyes. 

“You’ll never what?” Billy locks eyes with you in the mirror. 

You set a hand on your chest, nails digging into your skin. “My body will never be good enough for me. I’ll always look at every other person that walks by, jealous that they have the figure I want and I’ll never have. Why did I have to get stuck with this shit? Why couldn’t I be given a body that I’d be happy with. Life if fucking hard enough, why couldn’t I have this one thing?”

“And you’re just so effortlessly gorgeous, you know that? I wish it was that easy for me, too. It’s just like, why am I even doing this anymore when I know I’ll never look the way other women do? I’m bullshitting myself, aren’t I, Billy? Working out like it’s gonna do anything.”

You exhale and drag your arm across your nose, avoiding Billy’s gaze. 

“Hey. Look at me.” Billy’s tone is firm. “Listen for a second, will you?”

“You are getting stronger. You’re using heavier weights all around. Shit, you’re up to fifty for your deadlifts. Hold your arm up for me—yeah, and squeeze, yep. Look at that.” 

He taps his index and middle finger on your bicep, on the bit of muscle you’ve grown and shape you’ve built. “You are absolutely not bullshitting yourself, you hear me? If anything, you’re bullshitting yourself by thinking you can’t be happy in this body. You don’t have to look like other women. Who the fuck put that idea in your head? I don’t know if you see how I look at you, but I think you’re gorgeous, and I love to see you becoming more comfortable in the movements you do, in your own strength. Your body does so fuckin’ much for you.”

Billy is still keeping eye contact with you in the mirror. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, and you swear you sweat more because you know he’s right and you know you are getting stronger but fuck you just can’t believe that. You look at him and you just wish you were that lithe, that comfortable in your own skin. 

“I’m doing this with you—hey, take a deep breath, alright?” He clocks the way you’re shaking out your hands, trying to keep yourself from breaking. Crying. Screaming out of frustration. “I’m doing this with you because I used to be just like this, you hear me?” 

He hates being vulnerable, fucking despises it, but he knows that giving you this information, giving you this little pathway into his life just might save you right now. 

“I worked out all through junior high and high school because I fuckin’ hated myself, and I thought if I could get bigger, if I could make myself look intimidating, then maybe other people wouldn’t treat me like shit. That part worked in some places, but I didn’t like myself any more because I hadn’t sorted through any of my mental shit.”

He says your name. Slowly. You like the way it sounds when he says it, hating the way it sounds when it leaves your own lips. 

“I know we aren’t all that close yet, but I see so much fuckin’ potential in you. I’m not gonna let you suffer with all this shit alone. I know you hate your body, but this is the one you were given, and there’s no point spending so much time destroying yourself over that simple fact.”

You turn around to face him, your hands on the sides of your neck, rubbing as if that will stop the emotion from rising in your throat. It doesn’t work. Billy’s eyes move back and forth between yours, across your face, tracking every change in your expression. He recognizes what you’re doing, trying to suppress all of this. 

“C’mere.”

You go before your mind can fight back. Billy takes you in his arms, tucking your face into his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

You breathe unsteadily into his skin. You don’t care that he smells like sweat and you smell like sweat and that you’re shaking and tears are slipping from your eyes. His arms are strong, and the feeling of his biceps squeezing you closer, his hands running up and down your back, it makes it all feel like it’s okay. 

“It’s just so fucking hard, Billy,” you mumble, lifting your head up slightly. “It’s not fair. I just want to be pretty and normal and have a body I can accept like everyone else.”

Billy gently touches his index finger just below your chin, coaxing your gaze up to meet his. “I know it is. And I mean it when I say that you are pretty. Honestly, you gotta think about how many ‘pretty’ people there are out there, people who have the bodies the tabloids tell them to have—and are absolute dicks. Hell, that’s how I was in high school.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, signaling that he did get a little joy in you having admitted that, even if it’s not a full on smile. His thumb swipes down your cheek, mopping up the little track left by a tear. 

“Point is, this, what I’m holding right now, is your body. No one else would know it like you do, know how to take care of it, know where each mark has come from or each thing you’ve put it through. Each thing it’s gotten you through. You can accept it, because I’m going to help you get to a point where you can look in the mirror and not shit-talk yourself.”

You pull back a little, pressing the palms of your hands to your face, your elbows slightly poking the top of Billy’s rib cage. “I’m just so scared.”

“I got you, you hear me?” He pulls your shirt away from your collarbones just so it’s not sticking to your skin so much. “You don’t need to be scared. Not with me.”

You nod. And you keep doing that until it feels a little more believable. 

————

Billy can’t stop looking at you. 

And he really needs to focus before he runs off the sidewalk and into the road. 

But for the first time in the few months he’s known you, you look free. You look happy. You look all of these things and you’re running. There’s a baseball cap perched backwards on your head, one of his from forever ago that he lent (gave) you when you mentioned you didn’t have any. 

He can smell the sunscreen you’ve slathered all over yourself, see the sweat dripping down your spine. This is the first time you’ve felt brave enough to go out in just a sports bra and a cropped sweatshirt, bright colored biker shorts covering the tops of your thighs. Your frilly socks make it too, just because it shows how much more comfortable you’ve gotten with doing this. 

It turns out you never hated running. You just needed to do it in a different atmosphere, with different thoughts running through your head. And having a good running partner helps, too. 

“There’s a bench up here if you want to rest a second before we finish,” Billy says through a rather aggressive exhale. You’re glad the sun is setting, because that makes it so much cooler than when you try to run in the morning with the sun beating down on you and seeping into your veins.

You sit down, taking a long drink from your water. Billy crouches on the sidewalk, shaking out his hair and retying the mess of a bun he was wearing. 

“You’re doing so good today,” he tells you, winking at you from his place just a few inches to your left. 

You grin into your water bottle. “How long was that?” you ask. 

He rises and sits down next to you, his arm slung behind your back on the bench. His thumb brushes the shell of your ear, rubs over the little hoop you’re wearing. You watch as he does a little math in his head, checking out where exactly you are. “Little over two miles, bee.” 

Bee. Your heart skips every time he says that. It’s a very new thing, but it sort of slipped out one day, and you’ve loved it ever since. 

“What movie you wanna see this weekend, honeybee? My treat.”

When you’d asked why he chose that name for you, he’d teased at first, telling you it was just because you’re so damn sweet. But really it was a little more sappy than that. 

“Well, you are sweet. And bubbly when you want to be. But think about how much shit those little fuckers get done. How persistent and focused. They’re all cute and fuzzy n’ whatever, but they’re like, badass lil’ things, y’know?” 

Your knee bounces excitedly on the pavement. “Really?” That’s the farthest you’ve run so far. And you didn’t even hate it. You had…fun.

Billy laughs, throwing his head back a little and bearing his neck to you. It shines with sweat and it almost looks like he’s glowing. “Fuck yeah. You’ve been kicking my ass this week. I hate running.”

“But you do it with me,” you say.

“But I do it with you.”

You reach over your shoulder and squeeze his hand. “I like running better when it’s with you. Just for the record.” He squeezes back, lifting your hand up gently to press his lips to it. 

“I’m proud of you, you know that?”

A crease forms between your brows as you meet his gaze. “What for?”

“For not giving up.” You start to argue with him, but he continues before you can belittle yourself even the slightest bit. “You’ve kept at this, at trying to get yourself stronger and to try and feel more comfortable in what your body can do. I know you probably still wish you looked like some fuckin’ model or some shit, but I can see how much you’ve eased up, you know?” 

You nod, giving him a small smile. “I do still wish that sometimes. It would be easier. But I’m getting better, I think. I hate to tell you you’re right—,” he shoots you that cocky, prideful grin, “but my body does do a lot for me. I’m starting to accept that it can do a lot for me…” 

You trail off, tapping the toes of your sneakers on the concrete below you. “And I did squat with the bar and those little plates yesterday without a spot.” 

The spot in question was watching you carefully from a few feet away, ready to sprint if you needed help. 

“Yes, you did, bee. You’re kicking ass.” That dimple forms in his cheek, and you know he’s about to say something smart. “Speaking of ass—”

You stand abruptly, turning around quickly so that the area he’s speaking of isn’t directly in his face. You’ve learned he has a staring problem, specifically with that part of you. Not that you mind. Maybe that’s where your pride comes in.

————

The sun has slipped beneath the horizon by the time Billy slips his key into the gate, pulling it securely shut behind him. The first spattering of stars are trying to show in the purple-blue sky. 

The pool is calm, empty, and lit only by the pale bulbs built into it and the two light poles on either side of the patio. 

It was Billy’s idea to sneak in for a late night swim. He thought it would be fun, and he knows you hate swimming in an overcrowded pool. But truthfully, he just wanted to give you another space where you could feel completely without judgment and just exist. 

“What’s the plan here, Billy? I didn’t even think about taking a detour to get a swimsuit.” 

It’s true, you’ve felt so carefree around him that you weren’t overthinking, overanalyzing a scenario like this. You weren’t worried about running inside and finding the most full coverage bathing suit you have because you’re afraid of Billy seeing your body. But right now…you just feel calm. Your body isn’t perfect, but it’s okay if he at least sees your legs. 

Billy is already slipping off his shoes and taking off his shirt. “That’s because the point of this is being spontaneous, bee.” He walks to the far end of the pool and dives in, just in his little running shorts, before you can even blink. 

You’re nervous, just that little bit because this is so different from something you’d usually do, and now you’re just stripping? You’re just living and having a good time? Who the fuck are you?

You step out of your own shorts and pull off your socks. You’re left in your underwear and your little cropped sweatshirt. You register, as you walk down the stairs, that your underwear are blue, and you look just like Lisa from Weird Science. It makes you smile. 

You track Billy’s movements once you're up to your waist and realize he’s heading for you. He squeezes your ankle beneath the water before coming to the surface, a wide grin on his face. His necklace is stuck around his back and on instinct you reach out to straighten it. 

His eyes drag up and down your figure. “Hi, gorgeous.” The low drawl of his voice makes the tips of your ears burn. 

You wade a little deeper into the water, circling behind him. When you’re drenched up to your chest, you splash him. Billy cackles. It is possibly the most joyous sound you’ve ever heard. 

He dives for your waist, hooking an arm around you and swimming off, making you howl with laughter before you have to hold your own breath when he pulls you out deeper than you are tall.

He hoists you up out of the water and gently tosses you to the side, letting you fall into the water on your back. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is magical. 

You keep playing with him, playing, like you’re both kids who’ve never been in a pool before, until you’ve run through most of your energy. You try and teach him a game you played as a child, where one person spreads their legs and your goal is to swim between them without touching their skin, even as they move their legs closer together each time. 

It’s silly, because you inevitably know you’ll touch your opponents legs, but it’s fun. You don’t think about anything else when you do it. He teases you though, trapping you with his calves most times so you automatically lose. 

Now though, you and Billy stand nose to nose, at a depth where you’re not up to your chin so that you can actually speak to him. “This was a really good idea,” you tell him. You push some of his wet hair out of his face and then, rather than pulling away, you set your hands on his shoulders. 

He wraps his arms around your waist. “This okay?” he asks, lowering one arm so he can show you he wants to lift you up. You give him a sweet yes. 

Billy’s hand grips your thigh, coaxing you upward so you can get your legs around his back. You adjust your arms behind his head, him respectfully keeping his hands on the backs of your thighs. He steps back just that little bit more so he can submerge himself further in the water now that you’re held up. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile for this long before,” Billy says. His blue eyes flick back and forth between your own. 

“You’ve given me a lot more reasons to.” Your hand cups his cheek and he swears he could fucking collapse. You’re so gentle with him and Billy never knew he even wanted that. But now he craves it. Craves you. 

That cocky smirk you’ve started to recognize before it even begins makes an appearance. “Yeah? Can I give you one more reason to?”

You hum in agreement, and then Billy is pressing his lips to yours. They’re damp and he tastes a little like chlorine, but…he was right. You smile brilliantly into the kiss, and you’re not sure you stop the rest of the night either. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[nycbaby21]

skating

prompt: “You can keep holding my hand, you know, you don’t have to let it go.” + “I like it when you hold onto me. It’s nice.”

word count: 884

“Jack for the last time no. You guys can handle it all on your own,” I say trying to ignore the boy adding more mini marshmallows to the cup of hot chocolate I just made. A loud groan comes behind me and I laugh at the boy’s dramatics. “Why is he whining this time,” Quinn laughs walking into the room. I turn and smile at the older boy then my eyes land on my best friend. “He is being a big baby and crying about me not going skating with you later,” I say bringing the warm cup to my lips. 

“Wait what? You aren’t coming,” Quinn asked looking at me with sad puppy eyes. I sigh slowly accepting the fact that my nice warm quiet afternoon was off. “You skate all the time without me. One more time isn’t going to kill any of you,” I respond finishing the sentence when Luke slowly trails into the kitchen heading my way and reaching behind me for the coffee pot. “Luke tell her she is coming with us this afternoon,” Jack whines yet again. The youngest Hughes brother looks my way and I sigh. “J you know that I’m not a skilled skater like the three of you. Do you remember the last time I skated with you,” I ask seeing a smile creep its way onto his face.

“What happened,” Quinn asked with an amused look in his eyes. “When I went to visit Jack last year he insisted I go skate with him. We got to the rink and he was helping me at first to get my footing. And then he just ditches me for this group of beautiful fan girls,” I say looking over at him and he makes an exaggerated face. “You told me to go for it,” he says back dramatically. I laugh and shake my head. “I didn’t mean dropping my hand while you were helping me skate. And leaving me to fall on my ass,” I say giggling at his face. 

“C’mon we all aren’t like Jack,” Quinn laughs ruffling his younger brother’s hair,” I promise I won’t drop your hand and let you fall.” I let out a long dramatic sigh. “Okay fine. Let me go put on something warmer,” I say leaving the kitchen for the guest room I was staying in. The only noise coming from the kitchen was celebrating. As I put on my layers I smile thinking about how much I love the guys.

“Okay sit down I got your skates,” Quinn said squatting down in front of the bleachers where I was sitting. I look down at him and his concentrated face. I couldn’t help but blush when he glanced up and caught me staring. After he laces my skates up he stands and brushes off his pants. Slowly backing up he reaches out to grab my hands and help me up. “Okay, I’m gonna step on the ice and then help you out okay,” he says gently. He steps onto the ice with ease and grace. He reaches out for my hands and I take a deep breath. “I got you y/n/n. I promise,” his words are soothing and I accept his hands. Slowly we skate over to the edge and I have one hand on the side and the other interlocked with Quinn’s.

After about fifteen laps I finally had let go of the side and we skated towards the middle. “You’re a pretty good teacher Q,” I smile looking over at him. He smiles and his cheeks are pink but that had to just be from the chill. “Well you have been an okay student,” he jokes and I bumped his shoulder out of reflex. I start to stumble and Quinn’s arms shoot around my waist to steady me. When I finally even my breathing I look up to see him looking down at me with such concern and adoration. “Thanks for not letting me go,” I whisper. “Yeah of course,” he responds helping me stand back up. The two of us continue skating around in comfortable silence.

Jack and Luke are chasing each other around zooming across the ice and laughing. My eyes flow them dart back and forth and then they drift to Quinn. “I think I have the hang of it Quinny. You can go goof around with them,” I say moving away slightly skating a little away and turning with a proud face. He smiles and shakes his head skating back towards me. He brushes his hand against mine and glances up at me looking for any sign I was uncomfortable. I smile at him and lace our fingers again. “I’m all good. I’d rather skate around with you over those two any day,” he laughs,” you can keep holding my hand, you know, you don’t have to let it go.” I look over at Jack who gives me a wink and raises his eyebrows. I laugh at him and roll my eyes. “ I just didn’t want to keep bothering you by clinging to you.” He stops and looks me in the eyes and smiles. “I like it when you hold onto me. It’s nice,” he smiles and we start skating again. Maybe I am glad that I came skating after all.

[mikavlcs]

Heaven Sent

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!winged!reader

Summary: While sharing a bed, Wednesday finds a new use for your wings.

Warnings: soft/ooc!wednesday(!!!), it’s cute tho i promise

Word count: 1.1k

Notes: this is an adorable request from an anon, hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Wednesday was not having a particularly good night.

She had spent the entire evening venturing around campus for a new mystery to solve. Hours upon hours were spent searching for something, anything to entertain her and satiate her hunger for a fresh case to sink her teeth into.

But she had failed. Miserably. By the end of her hunt, she felt like she was suffocating in the air of utter boredom that settled comfortably around Nevermore after the Hyde had been detained and Crackstone defeated.

The only saving grace for her dreadful night was the fact that you had invited her to sleep in your dorm. It was something you began doing more often and she could never bring herself to say no. 

Not because she enjoyed it, but because she didn’t want to have to deal with your pouting if she refused.

That was how she ended up outside your door at nearly midnight.

She quickly looked around. With no roaming teachers in sight, she took the chance to speak.

“Thing?”

Her disembodied companion came crawling out of her bag and up to her shoulder. She glanced back at him.

“I will be sleeping here tonight. You go back to my dorm. You know how to bypass the lock, just try not to give Enid a heart attack this time.”

She turned back to face your door, but Thing didn’t move. Confused, she faced him again. “What?”

The hand responded with a series of taps that made Wednesday glare at him.

“You can see her tomorrow. She invited me here, not you.”

Thing didn’t budge, looking as indignant as a sentient limb possibly could. Wednesday clenched her jaw.

“If you go back, I will let you sleep on my bed,” she gritted out. Thing perked up at the proposal. “But I will rescind the offer entirely if you do not move.”

That seemed to be enough to get him going. Thing gave her a soft tap, a gentle “good night” that she couldn’t help but return as he made his way off her arm and onto the floor. He quickly scampered off toward her dorm, clearly excited to have the entire bed to himself. Wednesday rolled her eyes and reached for your door, sighing when it opened with a quick twist.

You liked leaving the door unlocked for her, even though she told you that there was no need. After all, she could pick locks as simple as these in her sleep. But you insisted. She found it equally as endearing as she did utterly stupid, though she’d never admit it.

Stepping inside, she saw your sprawled form on your bed and paused, silently shutting the door behind her. 

You were laid on your stomach in the middle of your bed, one arm hugging your pillow while the other rested under you. Your wings rested peacefully beside you, unevenly splayed across the blankets. Her eyes caught on the way they twitched every now and then, likely in response to whatever you were dreaming about.

She granted herself a moment to simply observe you in your rest. 

During the day, you kept your wings in your harness. You said it was because they were too big and you didn’t want to unknowingly whack someone with them in the halls, but she knew there were underlying reasons as well.

Though they were easily the most magnificent things she had ever laid her eyes on, you were insecure about your wings. You had yet to tell her why and she resolved not to push you, but that made moments like this—when you allowed yourself to be fully exposed, truly yourself—all the more special to her. 

It showed how much you trusted her. And she would be remiss to say that it wasn’t just the slightest bit touching.

Hesitantly, she tore her eyes away from you and focused on what she came here for. She took her boots off and set them on the floor beside yours, dropping her bag there as well, then silently made her way to your dresser, where you kept her spare set of pajamas. 

After she changed, she walked over to your bed. Your wings fluttered lightly at her quiet approach, but you showed no signs of waking.

She stared down at you briefly before lightly shaking you.

No response.

She tried again, harder this time. You only hugged your pillow tighter.

An idea came to mind. One that you wouldn’t like, but she certainly would. 

With a spark of joy in her chest, she leaned down and shoved you off the bed. You crashed to the floor with a loud thud and a pained groan much to her amused satisfaction.

Your head shot up to look at her, affronted. Your wings flared up behind you in a way that was more cute than it was menacing.

“Wednesday! What was that for?!”

“You wouldn’t move,” she shrugged.

“You could’ve just woken me up like a normal person,” you grumbled as you stood and dusted yourself off.

“Well, you don’t wake up like a normal person. So I did what I knew would work.”

The smirk she had been trying to hide was on full display now. She sat down on her side of the bed and gave you an expectant look. You maintained your half-hearted glare for a minute then gave up. 

Your eyes and wings drooped simultaneously under the weight of your exhaustion and Wednesday couldn’t help but be disgusted by how effortlessly adorable you could be.

Oblivious to the effect you had on Wednesday, you flopped down onto the left side of the bed, which you had deemed yours the first time you shared it with her. 

The smaller girl watched as you curled tightly into yourself, ensuring Wednesday her personal space through the night. Her cold heart thawed some at how seriously you took her comfort.

(A small, weak part of herself wished you would disregard it just once and hold her, even if it was just her hand. A negative side effect of being around Pugsley for so much of her life, she estimated.)

“Good night, Wends,” your words slurred slightly, already falling back into your slumber. Wednesday huffed in amusement as she turned your lamp off. She settled down and got comfortable, arms crossing over her chest. 

Not daring to say anything to you directly, she only replied long after you slipped back into your dreams, voice so quiet it could hardly be considered a whisper.

“Good night, cara mia.”

Just as she began to succumb to the cold embrace of sleep, she felt something large and…oddly feathery rest itself on top of her.

Curious, she opened her eyes, and there on her chest lay one of your wings. It covered the upper half of her completely, acting almost as a blanket. 

Her eyes flitted to your sleeping form, scrutinizing you. You were definitely asleep, so you must have covered her subconsciously.

Momentarily, she considered pushing it off, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it came.

Even though she wasn’t a big fan of physical affection, the soft heat and light pressure of your wing on top of her was…not entirely unpleasant. So she decided that she would indulge you, even if you were unconscious. Just this once.

She adjusted her position slightly, huffing at the way your wing twitched in response, and close her eyes once more.

Encompassed in your warmth, Wednesday drifted off into a blissfully dreamless sleep with the smallest of smiles on her face.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

Kneel

Summary: Negan reminds you what you’re supposed to do whenever you see him in the Sanctuary 

Pairing: Saviors Era Negan x f!reader

Tags: !NSFW!, power play, dominant Negan, swearing, intimidation, erection, pet names

Word Count: 1.8k (this was meant to be under 1k but I once again forgot how to stfu)

“My oh my, where are your manners?”.

Shit. You knew this would happen eventually. It feels as though Negan has had his eye on you for weeks now, just waiting to pop the question. Because obviously, six wives isn’t enough for one man and he’s in need of another.

You, more specifically. 

You’re in the middle of pushing crates piled on to a small trolley when he approaches. He smirks, baring his teeth as he casually swings Lucille by his side. As if the odds are stacked against you, the hallway is empty, leaving only you and Negan. Alone. 

“You’ve been here, what, two months now?” Negan acts as if that’s just a guess and he hasn’t been keeping track.

You stand tall beside the crates, making it abundantly clear that you won't be an easy target for him. Your eyes are steady, a defiant gleam in them as you hold his gaze.

No matter how charming or beneficial being with him would be, you refuse to be some damsel he can have for his own twisted amusement. After all, you’ve taken care of yourself for this long in the apocalypse, why rely on someone like him now?

“I have” you confirm, not wanting this conversation to draw out longer than it needs to. Even if you’re on his good side, it’s hard to feel relaxed with Negan’s attention on you.

He hums in response.

You watch as Negan's gaze shifts, his features becoming more stern as he stands there. It's as if a switch has been flipped, transforming him from the charismatic leader to the cold and dominant figure you know he can be.

“So you gonna do it?” he questions, the sharp edge to his words sending a clear message: he’s not asking, he’s telling.

You can feel your jaw clench. Is he expecting you to just throw yourself at him? Or thank him profusely for allowing you to stay here? 

Feigning innocence, you gesture towards the crates. "Do what? My job?" you retort, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you intimidated. You go to move the crates again when you feel it - the silent warning of Lucille’s sharp tips resting gently on your shoulder. 

Negan maintains a stoic expression, letting Lucille display his authority. His voice is low and gravelly, resembling a growl more than anything else. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, just cause I think you're pretty fuckin’ hot, and ask again" he explains.

Hearing Negan's flippant admission, the way his voice drips with lust as he mentions his attraction to you is enough to send a thrill down your spine. It's a complex feeling to know that a man like Negan is attracted to you. It's thrilling, dangerous, and undeniably exciting all at once.

You hold your breath, expecting Lucille to scratch her way across your face at any moment. But instead, Negan takes a breath and asks again “Whenever I decide to grace your fucking presence, what is it you’re going to do?”.

You feel as if you’re back in school, after getting asked a question by a teacher who knows you weren’t paying attention. You’re unsure what would be worse; to answer incorrectly or to not answer at all. 

Slowly, Negan starts to increase the pressure, Lucille’s spikes digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. She prickles at your skin, the feeling thankfully being more uncomfortable than outright painful.

Instinctively, your legs buckle and you sink to your knees before him. “You kneel.” Negan drawls as you go down “There you go. Not that hard, is it?”. 

Negan eases the pressure, the painful stabs from Lucille's barbed wire gradually lessening as you comply. You breathe a silent sigh of relief, hoping Lucille didn’t break your skin and leave puncture marks in her wake.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a defiant expression, you can feel a flutter of something in your stomach. It’s subtle, but undeniable. You stare up at him with a determined glare, refusing to acknowledge the confused mixture of disdain and arousal coursing through your body.

Negan lets out a low, guttural groan, his head tilting down to meet your gaze directly. His expression is equal parts hunger and satisfaction as he takes in the sight of you kneeling before him.

"Goddamn," he murmurs approvingly, "now this is a view I could get used to”. Negan's signature cocky smirk returns, the brief display of dominance seemingly fulfilled for now. 

It’s easy to feel somewhat distracted in your current position, your head level with his crotch. The temptation to look is strong but you’re aware of what his reaction might be and so you quickly push the thought aside. Fighting with your inner urges, you subconsciously nibble at your lip, accidentally fuelling Negan’s amusement.

He sees straight through you and you know it.

Moving the bat from your shoulder completely, he lightly taps it against the crates. “You come to me if you ever want a change of lifestyle,” he coaxes “I got some real sexy dresses upstairs that haven’t been claimed yet”.

The tension between you both is palpable. There’s no denying that you feel a throbbing sensation between your thighs, the logical side of your mind growing hazy and clouded by lust. Your response catches you off guard, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I think I’d look better without them on," you hear yourself say, the words daring and suggestive.

Are you really flirting with the man who just forced you to kneel!? Damn him.

Negan immediately picks up what you’re putting down, “Oh is that so? Think I’d need to be the judge of that, sweet thing”. 

Bringing his free hand down to your face, Negan surprises you with his soft touch. You can feel his fingertips tracing along your cheekbone before gently cupping your face in his hand. 

The contrasting sides of this man are striking and downright annoying to put up with but you don’t fight against it. It’s hard to decide which side of Negan you actually prefer; the dominant leader that forced you on your knees to satisfy his ego or this charmingly soft man who calls you pretty pet names. 

Unable to resist the temptation, you steal a quick glance forwards. You only sneak a brief look but sure enough, there’s an obvious bulge right there, a mere inches away from your face.

A part of you wants to whimper at the sight but another part of you wants to scoff and get up, stopping this game of cat and mouse no matter the consequences of ‘disrespecting’ his authority.

“Well, damn" he practically groans as you look back up at him "I don't see why we should wait until you try on one of the dresses." His words are direct, the implication clear that he's craving you just as much as you're craving him.

But the ball is in your court now. Negan keeps his hand on your face, staying deliberately still, leaving the next move up to you. He's put his cards on the table, making sure his desires are known. It's up to you to respond, to show him that you want him just as badly.

A thought flickers through your head. How bad would it be if you did hookup with Negan? You know you’d have a good time but there would be consequences. Even though Negan seems casual, there’s no doubt he would push you to become another wife. Once he sinks his claws into you, he won’t simply let go after a hookup or two. Why would he when he can have an unlimited number of wives just for himself?

Before you can make that decision, movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. You snap your head in their direction, watching as a figure hesitantly comes closer, uncertainty laced in each step.

Joey — or, Fat Joey, as he’s so graciously called by Negan — steps closer, nervously wringing his hands together.

Negan follows your gaze, letting his hand drop from your cheek as he huffs. “Fat Joey! Holy fuck, who knew you could sneak… or cockblock” he exclaims, putting on his bravado act.

Taking advantage of Negan's momentary distraction, you quickly stand up, using the opportunity to distance yourself and get back to work. The feeling of embarrassment washes over you as you realise what that must have looked like for Joey, who just stumbled across you both.

Negan shoots you a quick look. It's not an angry glare but rather a pout, as if he had expected you to patiently wait on your knees until he’s done talking to Joey. 

Joey speaks up, his voice a bit shaky as he tries to sound professional. "Boss, Simon wants to talk to you, he said it’s important" he says, attempting to mimic a soldier's stance "He tried contacting you on the walkie but didn't get an answer". 

Negan reluctantly gives Joey his attention, a hint of annoyance in his expression. You swiftly begin to move the crates, deciding to take Joey’s interruption as some kind of divine intervention that’s telling you not to give into Negan so easily.

“Simon already rounded up the other lieutenant’s, so they’re just waiting for you, sir” Joey rambles on as you pass by. 

Just as you're about to make your exit, you pause, unable to stop yourself from making a snide comment. You turn to Joey, purposely avoiding Negan's gaze. "Oh, Joey," you say with a hint of sarcasm, "don't forget to kneel. He likes that." 

Joey, completely oblivious to the sarcasm behind your words, takes your reminder as sincere advice. He immediately drops to his knees, a look of panic on his face as he hastily apologises. "S-sorry, sir!" he stammers "I didn't mean to forget!".

Negan takes a step back, his hand instinctively going to cover his bulge now that someone else is so close. ”Yeah, sure, just get the fuck up,” Negan grumbles.

As you walk away, you throw a playful goodbye over your shoulder. "Bye, sir," you say with a smirk, feeling a small sense of victory at having left Negan standing there with Joey, who’s still babbling on.

Negan stays silent, mulling over his thoughts. He can hear Joey drone on but he isn't interested. There's only one thing on Negan’s mind.

You’re definitely a keeper.

[thebunnybabyblog]

"Tear you apart" 18+ Snape x reader

This is just pure smut so be warned! No one under the age of 18 should venture any further! Run away now you are not welcomed to read this please go play roblox or something :)

Age is not told in this but reader is 18+, Snape is whatever age your headcanon prefers. This is a female oriented one shot so specific terms will be said here that apply to that! Also don't even say a thing about her nickname this is soooo not a shamless insert for myself, def not 👀

the song "tear you apart" by she wants revenge is what inspired me to write this. please listen bc god it makes my head go brrrrrrrrr when i listen to it lol with that please enjoy and tell me what you thought! lots of love! 💕

Potions had always been your best subject. There was just something about the skill and craftsmanship that made you feel so compelled to learn as much as you could. It was like art and science all in one. The precision and dedication that it took to make something with so much value to the wizarding world was vastly impressive to you, but what really sealed the deal was the man that had taught you all that you knew.

Severus Snape was a god to you. The poised mysterious genius who seemed to be able to look death right in his eyes and laugh in annoyance. The way he just glided around school with so much power and command sent shivers down your spine. Always wanting to be in his good graces and never a means of annoyance like most students. You wouldn’t call yourself a know it all teacher's pet who would tattle acting as the school yard spy but truly as an admirer and helping hand.

You made it clear that you admired, appreciated and respected him and his immense wealth of knowledge. It’s not like you didn’t respect all of your professor's knowledge because you really did but he was just different? Part of it was how bad you felt from the vast amount of disrespect he received. Of course you understood that kids are difficult to look past tone and attitude but if you did your work and listened when he spoke and spoke only kind words to him, he was kind to you.

Over the 7 years at Hogwarts you grew a pretty decent relationship with him. Of course it wasn’t like you skipped down the hall hand-in-hand but he had gained a level of trust and mutual respect for you. To the point he had offered you to be an assistant of sorts to him, nothing major but since you had expressed after graduation you wanted to work at being a professional potioneer and owning your own shop one day, he let you come two to three days a week and help him with different tasks. It would always be a surprise that day on what you were doing. It could be organizing and taking stock of the store room, observing and taking notes of class projects of lower grades that were brewing (as some potions could take days or weeks to brew) or even grading first to third year assignments. All the while you'd be free to ask questions and just chat really.

You had really cherished these meetings but your social group really never understood why you were even wanting to be there. For them it seemed like a punishment.

“You had to organize the storeroom?!? What did you do wrong to have to do that??” They’d exclaim in shock and then be in total disbelief when you said,

“It wasn't a punishment, it was actually quite fun! He showed me some rare ingredients that you can only get on a full moon on the tallest mountain in the Himalayas every 6 1/2 years!”

None of it ever seemed like a chore; it was an honor. This man, with such great skill, had taken you even the tiniest bit under his wing. I guess people just couldn’t understand how such a bright and bubbly person would want to spend time in a dark gloomy dungeon with the dungeon bat himself. But you knew he was just misunderstood and it didn’t help that you found him to be the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on.

To you he was the definition of tall, dark and handsome. His tall looming body, dark midnight eyes that looked straight to your core, chiseled features that seemed to be carved out of the most precious white marble. He was more than just looks, he was powerful, knowledgeable and what people didn’t seem to see but he was quite funny and gentle. The way he treated his work as if he was Michelangelo diligently and painstakingly painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling upside down on his back. He was just brilliant to be around and absorbing even a speck of him was a gift.

You couldn’t lie to yourself though, you were down bad. The type of bad that made you find yourself absentmindedly drifting off to space only to come back down to earth and see you had doodled all over your notes with little drawings of hearts with SS in them and sketches of his striking features or kicking your feet and going red when he pops into your mind while in class because he said something that just rolled off his tongue in just the right way that made you fantasize scenarios in your head.

A crush was truly an understatement at this point. If he asked you to be his pet you would be at his feet curled up in an instant. Never making it too apparent though as to never show him any type of actions that would threaten your ability to continue this precious opportunity to learn and just be around him, or so you thought.

Friday was your easy day and your most favorite day of the week. You only had one class and that was of course advanced potions at the end of the day and a day where you always stayed after to help out. Today was especially good because it was a day when everything just went well. Snape had shown the class how to brew amortentia, the most powerful love potion. Not only was it an exciting lecture and potion to brew but it got your head to brew all sorts of things as well.

“Gods I wish I could give him a drink of mine! I’d do anything for him to feel even a slight bit like me, the way I do for him!” You thought into the void of your mind. You couldn’t help to doodle while you waited for the last few minutes of the class to count down, not like you were leaving but just waiting for your afternoon Friday treat to roll around. Your little delusions were helped by the fact he had actually praised your work when he was making his way around the classroom before the class was over.

“Very good work Miss [last name], excellent pearl color and the smell is just right. You will make a fine potion master one day” he said in a smooth silky voice. You were lost in every word that rolled off his sharp tongue. It felt as if you had drank this entire cauldron, gulping it down like a man who was stranded in the desert who finally found water.

“Thank you sir!” You squeaked out, kicking your feet enthusiastically underneath your table. If only people could understand how good his praises felt, the chokehold they held on her heart.

“Alright class it seems our time is up, most of you really need to pay more attention when I’m up here teaching… this is a powerful potion that needs to be respected and I saw many glaring mistakes that certainly should have been avoided… I will expect a report on my desk about the history of amortentia by Monday morning sharp. If I didn’t tear your potion to shreds in my walkthrough you are excluded.” The class filled with annoyed groans and frustrated sighs and a few looks were shot your way since they knew the “dungeon bunny” (your unofficial nickname your friend would poke fun at you with) was exempted once again. It wasn’t your fault you enjoyed potions, that's what Hogwarts was for, to find your passions and excel and it did help when you were in love.

The class cleaned up their areas and one-by-one filed out of the room looking a bit defeated by the sudden addition of weekend homework but you stayed behind ready for whatever task he was willing to give you today.

“Great lecture as always professor!” You said looking up to him with a soft smile.

“Thank you Miss. [last name], it’s a shame not everyone is as devoted to potions as you and I.” he replied back to you in a smooth tone. For him to put you and him into the same category made your heart thump in your chest. His praises made your hair stand on end as if caught in an electrical storm. A blush was surely visible on your face when your brain was able to comprehend his kind words.

“Oh! I am nothing compared to your dedication, you are a god compared to me!” You spouted back not even thinking, making you blush harder.

“Oh. My. Gods. I did not just say that, what a loser, I must seem like such a fangirl. He's your professor, not an idol.” You barked in your head, now thoroughly embarrassed. Pulling yourself out of your thoughts when you heard a soft chuckle escape from his throat.

“I guess I should take my place up in the heavens then” he said as he made his way back around to his desk “today if you can, I would appreciate a walk through of the storeroom and make a list of anything that is running low. Will that be something you can help take off my plate today?” He asked in a way that sounded like silk.

“Of course professor you don’t even need to ask!” Gods you were pathetic and you knew it but you didn’t care an ounce. It felt so good to be of service, to do anything he asked of you. You were his devoted little bunny and hopped when he said hop. You’d never admit it to your friends but you loved being called his dungeon bunny because gods it really was so fitting for how you felt. And if it meant spending ages looking through every tiny vial in that room you would do it on your hands and knees to be around him.

Making your way into the room you began to look through the endless rows of ingredients. You knew this was going to take a long time but it was worth it. You had been working for only about 15 minutes when you felt a cold rush of air against your back behind you, not thinking much of it, only that it was just a draft, you didn’t even turn to look. It wasn’t until you heard the door click shut behind you locking you in the small room.

“Umm professor, did you close the door?” You said still bent over looking at vials in the cabinet below you before turning around.

“Yes” he replied

You jumped at the sound of him right behind you. He glides and somehow makes no noise when he walks, some people think he casts a charm on his shoes to keep them silent. You spin around and are now in very close proximity to him. Your breath is stuck in your throat and you push yourself up against the shelf. The vials behind you raddle as your back hits the wood. You look up to his looming figure and he looks down at you with his sparkling black eyes and his equally raven black hair falling around his face.

“I’m quite sorry, did I frighten you?” He says with a sly smile.

“Oh umm no hehe of course not.” You say with your eyes closed with an embarrassed smile slapped across your face.

“Oh good I would be awfully sad to scare off my little dungeon bunny.” His words slapped you across your face.

You look up to him in shock, eyes wide and heart pounding out of your chest, “d… dungeon bunny?!? How does he know about the nickname my friends call me?” You think in a panic.

“You scream it quite loud in your head all the time. It’s not hard to miss.” He replies to your thought. As if your eyes weren’t wide enough they were bigger now, you now understood he had the ability to use legilimency. The thought of every embarrassing little thing you have thought about him over the last 7 years bounced around in your mind. You were in utter shambles over how embarrassing you had been without your knowledge. Especially since you never were shy to let your daydreams run amok in the dirtiest ways you could think of.

“You enjoy being my bouncing little bunny don’t you?” He questioned as if he was a predator circling and taunting its prey.

“I….. I umm… I-“ was all that you were able to stutter out. A deep chuckle rumbled up through his chest and you felt his cool breath on your face as he loomed over your shanking frame. You couldn’t help to smell the smooth smell of spearmint and honey on his breath sending your head spinning.

“Does cat have your tongue, little bunny? Usually you have so much to say up here.” He said as he tapped a finger melodically against your temple. You felt your knees wobbling under you and you couldn’t help to just look up at him like a deer caught in headlights as you white knuckled the counter behind you.

“You're usually such a good girl and speak when spoken to”, grabbing your chin and squeezing your cheeks with his long slender fingers. “Now I will only repeat myself once more,” his tone stern and filled with authority. “I said you enjoy being my little. Bouncing. Bunny. Don’t you y/n?”

“Y… yes” you shyly mustered out.

“Yes what?” He commanded as he squeezed harder

“Yes sir!” You practically shouted, trembling in his grasp.

“See that wasn’t hard was it?” Leaning down to be eye level with you all the while still holding on to you tight.

“N… no sir.” You couldn’t help but feel like putty in his grasp. You wanted to be devoured, like you said before, if he said hop you would hop and you meant it.

“You know even if I couldn’t hear your detailed perversions every time you laid eyes on me you are quite obvious and oblivious to your surroundings.” He released your face and leaned in close to your ear. His hair tickled your skin as it cascaded over your cheek.

“Your little love doodles are very cute, you think I don’t notice them as I walk around the room? You’re lucky I don’t punish you for being off task so frequently but you are always such a good girl I can’t bring myself to punish you.”

You were overheating with your skin flushed pink, you felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of your forehead.

“Hmmm It is getting pretty hot in here, why don’t you take off your coat?” He hummed, pulling back from your ear. His fingers found their way under your lapels and slid your jacket off your shoulders onto the floor.

“T..thank you.” Not even sure why you were thanking him but it felt so good too.

“Such a polite girl, seems like someone needs a treat.” Taking your chin back into his grasp, he leaned down and planted a soft kiss onto your lips. Still in utter shock and disbelief from what was happening you just looked at him wide eyed but in an instant you shut them and sunk your weight into his hand. You grabbed onto the side of his robe for support and let out a moan that shocked you both. You could feel him smile against you and his left hand sneak to your waist and pulled you close into him.

Your eyes shot open when you felt him hard against your stomach taken aback by just how large he felt under all of those dark clothes. “Gods his cock is huge!” You couldn’t help but scream in pure lust loud in your head, immediately looking up to him in terror as you might as well have just said that out loud. Somehow his eyes grew darker than they naturally were and you knew it was game over. He was about to devour you whole.

You looked away fast in utter embarrassment but his hand snaked its way through your hair and pulled your face back to his and whispered once more into your ear, “I want to fucking tear you apart.” He said, so sharp it pierced through your body like flying arrows across the battlefield. Before you knew it the hand in your hair pulled you to the ground and you were on your knees faced with the serpent trapped behind his wool trousers.

“Now be the good little bunny you are and set your God free” he said as the hair he had in his fist fell free from his grasp.

Filled with nerves, your trembling fingers slowly reached up and skated across the black wool, hesitating for a moment once they touched the cool metal buckle of his belt. You looked up as if making sure it really was alright. He returned your wordless question with a light smile of reassurance. You slowly slid the leather belt out of the metal and grasped the button that was behind it and slipped it through the hole and pulled the zipper down. He sprung free from his prison and slapped his stomach with a snap.

You gulped hard, this was the first time you had ever seen a man in this way. You had seen one once before when a Gryffindor boy got a little too drunk at a party and thought it would be a good idea to whip it out as a laugh but it was nothing like this. Snape's cock was powerful and hot with desire, just as dominating as the man it was attached to. You could feel the slickness building between your legs as you looked up to him practically drunk.

“You look so beautiful down on your knees for me I wish you could see just how beautiful you look, all flushed and doe eyed looking up at me.” His words poured over you like honey. You craved his praise and you’d do anything he wanted to get it.

“Thank you professor! I… I’d do anything for you!” You cried out to him bouncing on your knees. You were passed the embarrassment, hell the embarrassment was fueling you. You didn’t care what you looked like, you just wanted to do whatever he wanted, that's all you’ve ever wanted to do for him.

“Oh I know I’ve heard you so many times lost in thought wondering how I looked under my robes,” his hand began to work the many buttons of his coat and he slipped it off onto the floor with yours. His white linen shirt flowed free around him as he worked up that as well. Soon his torso was bare and you eyed the pale skin that hid under it. You could see his scars that scattered around his smooth form and wondered how they felt.

He reached down, holding out a hand to yours. With a slight hesitation you placed them in his and he placed your hands on his stomach. Your fingers began to wonder, exploding the milky smooth skin you had dreamed about. A soft moan escaped him as your warm touch moved around his cold body. You couldn’t help but look up at him in amazement.

“Gods you’re just so pretty.” He said looking down at you with hooded eyes. You just couldn’t take it any more. You needed to touch his cock that had been staring you in the face far too long. You moved your hands down past his belly button following his little happy trail down to the base. Looking up to him one last time for permission, he nodded a gentle yes.

Grabbing the base, he was rock solid in your grasp. A huff escaped him and he slightly pumped into your hand. This sent your body into overdrive losing all sense of your humanity; you were just his slave to his desire. You worked your hand up and down his shaft not even able to touch your fingertips together as you pumped him slowly.

He reached out a hand and placed it on the top of your head and looped some hair around his fingers and pulled your face close to him. He smelt a mix of smoky body wash and sweat. He filled your nose with his scent and it made your eyes roll in the back of your head as you sniffed him in.

“Open that pretty little mouth of yours I can’t take this anymore.” He growled in pure need. Without hesitation you opened yourself for him and his tip was past your threshold before you had time to process. The precum that had began to gather on his tip spread across your tongue as he snaked himself into you. You couldn’t help but moan as your senses were attacked with him.

“Fuck your sweet little mouth feels better than I could have imagined.” He spit out. Your arms wrapped themselves around his thick thighs for support as he filled your mouth with his needy cock.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve waited for this moment. Fuck…. Take my cock. Just like that, you're such a good bunny for me.” You practically cried out in pleasure to the praise and the vibration only sent him into a craze. He began to frantically assault your throat, making you gag around him. The room filled with the sounds of your complete surrender to the man that now laid claim in your throat.

Tears filled your eyes and fell over your flushed cheeks, he reached a hand down and his fingers moved gently over them wiping away at your tear stained face. He pulled them to his mouth and took a long lick of his fingers, humming as he did so. You were practically crossed eyed looking up at him.

He pumped himself in you a few more times and released your mouth with a loud pop. You coughed out desperately for air but were sad that he had released your throat.

“As much as I’d love to cum down that pretty throat of yours it would be such a waste to put it there our first time.” “First time?” You thought. That implied this wasn’t going to be some one time event that you would think about over and over for the rest of your life on a loop.

“Oh you sweet little thing. You think I’d let you get away from me that easily? I’ve waited so long fighting with myself for a very long time. There is no way I’m letting you escape me.” His voice deep and raspy you trembled below him. Grabbing the collar of your shirt he pulled you back to your feet and placed his hands firmly around your waist and lifted you to sit upon the counter. You were practically face to face now, though he still had a bit of height on you even at this level.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip and he pulled you back into a deep kiss. You found your arms sneaking in under his shirt and wrapping around his back pulling him close in. This kiss was pure sex and filled with fire. He pressed his body between your legs and his cock rubbed hard against your cotton panties. You could help but moan into his mouth with the sudden sensation shocking your wet core.

His right hand left your face and he made the journey down between your thighs. The feeling of his fingertips brushing against your soaking wet pussy made you jump. He pulled away from the kiss and now looked you in your eyes the way you asked his consent with yours earlier. You couldn’t help but look away for a moment embarrassed but you quickly moved your gaze back to him and nodded with the most precious lust filled face.

Before you knew it his slender fingers were hooked into your panties and he slid them all the way down in one large motion. The air was chilled against the sopping wet mess you had under your skirt. He slipped your panties into his back pocket.

“You're never getting those back by the way” he chuckled out. “Now since it’s only fair I think it’s time we take this tight little top off?” He backed away and looked at you. It only took you a moment to understand he wanted to watch you do this part.

Your shaking hands made their way up to the top button and began to slowly slip them out. He hummed in anticipation as you revealed yourself and the pretty baby pink bra you had hidden underneath your shirt. The shirt joined the pile of accumulating clothes on the stone floor below you. His hands reached up and began to wonder around your plush supple skin. His touch made your skin send goosebumps over your body. You let out soft whimpers as his nail softly scraped along your bra's edge.

“Please” you moaned out

“Oh she speaks? Please what my dear?” He says against your neck.

“Please sir, I can’t take it please just touch me!” With your desperate cries he sunk his teeth into your neck kissing and sucking soon to be deep red hickies into your skin. You cried out in a mix of pleasure and pain as he sneaked his hands behind you and made your bra fall to the floor where it belonged. Your breasts were exposed to him and the air and the mix of that made your nipples rock solid. His large hands began to knead into them with vigor and equal desperation. He easily found your nipple with his mouth and sucked and nipped. His deep moans filled the air and mixed with your high pitched squeals.

As his mouth sent attacks to your left breast and his left hand tweaked your right, his free hand found its way to your soaked pussy. It’s like he knew exactly how to curl his fingers around your clit to send shocks through your body. Your hips rolled desperately against his hand to feel him as much as you could.

“If only you could see how desperate and needy you are right now. Humping your dripping little cunt against me. Does your god feel good against your pretty pussy? Hmmm?” His words cut through you like a knife. All you could do is crumble under him in pleas and desperation.

“P…please please please, I need you, please fill me up I can’t take it anymore.” Tears filling your eyes again.

“Well if you beg me so nicely how could I say no to that?” With no warning his cock was pressed against your slit and plunged deep inside you. You cried out in pain as he was still against you.

“Shhh I’m right here I won’t move until you’re ready ok?” He said in between kissing away even more tears on your cheeks.

You were a mess under him but this was the only place in the entire world you wanted to be. For seven years you dreamed about him and wanting him so desperately to fill you up and here you were getting exactly that. You clutched onto his back sending your nails deep into his flesh. He couldn’t help but move forward slightly into you from the sensation. You let out a moan and tightened around him that made him moan into your neck.

“Please move” you breathed out. You didn’t have to ask him twice; his hips moved with a sudden urgency that even shocked him. As if on autopilot he moved in a primal need into your center and filled the room with sounds of him slapping against you. His hands gripped your waist hard, unbeknownst to you both, would leave behind bruises the next day.

His pace was slow at first but over time with the growing moans that escaped your mouth he began to move faster and more erratic.

“Fuck your pussy feels so good around me. Your cunt is sucking me in so eagerly.” He said through gritted teeth. His words made you clench harder around him. “Tell me how does my big cock feel inside you?”

“Hmgmmhh-“ is all your mouth manages to get out between his powerful thrusts. He grabbed the hair in the back of your head, snapping you back to look him deep in his eyes. “What did I tell you about speaking when spoken too? Don’t make me have to punish you when you’ve been so good for me.” He growled down at you.

“You feel so good! Y..you make me feel so full, I’ve n..never felt like this down there before.”

He paused and looked at you, you whined at the sudden stop. “Is this the first time you’ve had someone inside you?” He asked in disbelief. You panicked afraid that he would want to stop with your lack of experience.

“I’m sorry! Is that a problem? I don’t want to disappoint you!” You said, shaken. His eyes widened and immediately placed your face in his hands.

“Oh gods no! I’m just shocked someone as breathtakingly beautiful as you hadn’t had a line of boys trying to take you to bed with them.” A soft smile looked down on you and you nuzzled yourself into his touch.

“I have always just waited in hope that ummm it would be you.” You said looking away.

You could feel him throb in you as that escaped your lips. Without warning his hips snapped in you at a frantic pace once more.

“What a sexy little nymph you are. I am going to truly lose my mind.” He grunted as he pumped you deeper and deeper with each passing thrust. His fingers slipped down and found their way to your clit once again. Your moans filled his ears like prayers. Begging for a release that you were desperately in need of.

“Please sir I-I’m so close.” Your face found its way to his shoulder as you cried out.

“D-does my pretty bunny want to cum for me? Have you been a good girl? Should I allow you to cum all over my big cock?” He asked into your hair.

“God please, please let me cum! I’m begging you please!” You screamed out.

“Fuck, cum on my cock while I fill you deep with mine!” He shouted back at you. He plowed into you at dangerous speeds, hitting your cervix with every lightning crack of his hips. Circling faster around your clit with his thumb. You could feel yourself on the edge so close to your sweet release. With one final snap of his hips you lost all control coming undone around his throbbing cock. Squirting all around him unaware you were even able to do that.

When he felt you release around him that’s all he needed, “Fuck fuck fuck take my cum, fuck!”and shot load after load of his hot cum deep into your pussy. Grunting like an animal as he reached his glorious climax that he has dreamed of for so long.

You both stayed in this wrapped position for what seemed like an eternity panting and gasping for air. When you both found your breath he planted sweet gentle kisses all over you. You giggled with each one he bestowed upon you.

“Gods I’m going to keep you locked down here forever.” He said between kisses.

“You’d have to pull me out of here to get me to leave.” You replied back and planted a gentle kiss on his swollen lips.

“Well that would never happen,” he said looking over you sweetly.“Now let’s get you in my chambers so we can get you right in the bath because you are one dirty bunny.”

“Yeah your dirty little bunny.” You giggled into his ear and with that you were whisked out of the store room and through his chamber door off for more of your wildest dreams to play out before you.

[babydollmarauders]

MEDDLE ABOUT — NICO HISCHIER

nico hischier x fem!reader

summary: in which Nico hooks up with the girl he can’t stop thinking about… his teammates best friend.

warnings: NSFW!!, oral (f receiving), p in v, captain kink, praise, not proofread.

notes: LOOSELY inspired by Meddle About by Chase Atlantic. i mean extremely loosely. like, you’d only know it’s inspired by it if you know the lyrics to the song pretty well. (7k words)

when i agreed to visit John for a couple days, i knew it meant meeting his teammates.

that was the deal; i fly to Jersey, John picks me up, and we go to a bar with a few of his teammates.

the guys were sweet. lovably stupid, but they were hockey players so i wasn’t expecting much different.

i had met Jack first, who was already waiting for us at the bar. he was nice, telling me stories of everything i’ve missed while John is away from me, and he was funny in a blunt way. but most importantly, i could tell he cared for my best friend, so i took to him well.

then was Dawson, who showed up merely a couple minutes after the agreed upon meeting time, yet still profusely apologized for being ‘late’. his smile was contagious, his demeanor reminding me of a golden retriever, and he had greeted me with a hug; treating me as if i was just one of the guys.

and then there was Nico.

the quoted ‘most responsible’ of the group had burst into the bar nearly forty-five minutes late, citing his reasoning as having decided to take a nap but his alarm never went off because his phone decided to restart. his eyes were still noticeably a bit bleary with sleep, and his voice was deep and scratchy, still warming up from lack of use during his nap. his accent was thick, and at first, i honestly couldn’t be sure what he was saying, but the boys had obviously been around him enough to get used to the accent, nodding along to his words and reassuring him that it was all good.

then he turned to me, and i could’ve sworn i could melt right then and there. big brown eyes that captivated me, staring straight into mine. well-groomed stubble graced his jaw, and my personal weakness; thick, pronounced eyebrows to top it all off.

i had seen him on my tv screen, any time i watched one of John’s games, but he was so much more attractive in person.

“Cap, this is my best friend since high school, y/n.” John grins, slinging an arm around my shoulder. Nico’s eyes flicker over to John before settling back on me, a smile spreading on his lips. “y/n, this is our captain.”

“well, hi captain.” i tease, outstretching my hand. a red flush paints across his face and he takes my hand in his.

“you can just call me Nico.” he chuckles, shaking my hand. “sorry again that i’m late.”

“no worries, Nico. these three have been very good company.” i assure him.

“i’m gonna go grab a beer.” he announces. my eyes dart to my now empty beer bottle and i stand from my seat.

“i’ll join you.” i tell him. “i need another.”

i follow behind him at a safe distance, navigating my way through the slightly crowded bar, but when Nico glances back and sees me struggling to push through a group of drunken men, his hand finds mine, pulling me with him.

“oh-” i let out a squeak of surprise at his gentle grip, and he squeezes my hand lightly. “thank you.”

we reach the bar and our hands drop, mine now gripping the edge of the wooden counter.

“no problem.” he shrugs, facing me as we wait for our turn with the bartender. “so, you’ve known John since high school?”

“i was a ninth grader in tenth grade algebra.” i nod. “he tore into the teacher for making me cry after i got dress coded on the second day for my shirt being too low cut.

“John insisted that it was misogynistic. he came to school the next day wearing a t-shirt that he had cut down into a low cut v-neck and then proceeded to rant about how much of a double standard it was that the teacher didn’t dress code him for it but dress coded me.”

Nico grins softly as i look over the crowd at John, a faint smile playing on my lips.

“sounds like him.” he chuckles. “always looking out for people.”

“he has a big heart.” i nod, turning back towards him. “he says i’m part of his ‘personal team’. i’m not sure what exactly that means, but i know it means he looks out for me. i’m really grateful for him.”

“sorry we kinda stole him from you.” Nico cringes but i laugh, shaking my head.

“nah. he was bound to go somewhere, i’m just glad it was here.” i look back at John, watching him laugh at something Jack said. “he’s happy here.”

“so are you guys…” Nico trails off, and my head whips around, eyes wide and my lips parted. i know exactly what he’s insinuating, it’s the same thing everyone thinks when they meet John and i together.

“no.” i shake my head abruptly. “never. he’s like my brother.”

“oh, okay.” his eyes scan my face, and when i turn to look at the bartender as she approaches, i can see him out of the corner of my eye, his eyes trailing down my body.

i smirk as he bites his lip, while i order two beers from the bartender.

“so, you’re… how old? twenty-six?” he questions.

“twenty-four.” i correct him. “i’m a year younger than John and i haven’t had my birthday yet.”

“so we’re the same age.” he nudges my shoulder with his, grinning down at me.

“for about another week, yeah.” i tease.

the bartender returns with our beers and Nico hands her cash, covering he and i’s drinks before i can get my card out.

“you didn’t have to do that.”

he shrugs before winking at me. “consider it an early birthday gift.”

“wow, a $5 beer! how lucky am i?” we laugh as we make our way back to the other three guys, Nico’s hand finding mine again amongst the crowd.

“y/n, there’s a surprise coming on the juke box.” John smiles, his missing tooth on full display.

“oh Johnny, did you lose your fake again?” i sigh, setting my beer on the table.

it’s an often occurrence that he takes the fake tooth out when he gets tipsy, losing it most times.

i ready myself to have to drop to the ground and find it, but he shakes his head, patting his pocket.

“nope! right here!” he grins, his chest puffing with pride. “ya proud of me?”

i giggle, patting his shoulder. “i am, Johnny. look at you, being responsible.”

the guys laugh, chirping him for the coddling that comes from me, but he waves them off.

we sit around at the table, the guys telling me all sorts of stupid stories from pre-games and even post-game celebrations.

i laugh as Jack tells me that his brother was supposed to come, but ended up staying home to watch a movie, and i defend Luke’s choice, saying that sometimes you just need some alone time.

it’s about twenty minutes later that a song starts playing throughout the bar, and my eyes meet John’s, who smirks at a job well done.

“oh Johnny, dance with me!” i hop up from my seat, stumbling slightly but Nico steadies me from his spot beside me.

“hell no.” John laughs, shaking his head.

“pretty please!” i plead, rounding the table and laying my hands on his shoulder. i give him the best puppy eyes i can manage, my lashes fluttering. “i’ll be your best friend!”

“you already are my best friend.” he cackles, shooing me away. “there’s no chance that i’m dancing in a bar not even meant for dancing.”

i pout, lightly kicking his shin, to which he just rolls his eyes and shoos me away.

“i’ll dance with you, y/n.” the thick accent that reaches my ears has me swiveling around to face Nico.

“you will?” i ask excitedly.

he nods, rising from his seat and holding out his hand to me. i grasp it in mine, pulling him towards an empty spot not far from the table. whilst doing so, i turn my head to look over my shoulder, sticking my tongue out at my best friend.

“go cap!” Dawson calls out, and Nico’s face flushes red as he holds onto my hips. my body is pulled against him, my hips grinding against his to the beat of the song.

“keep it PG-13, you two!” John levels me warning glare, his brows raised to show me he means it, but i wave my hand at him dismissively.

“he’s just boring, don’t listen to him.” i call out to Nico over my shoulder, and he lets out a strained hum in agreement.

i can feel him hardening against me as my hips sway along his crotch, but all i do is smirk, slowing down my pace in order to make it a little more sensual.

i look over at the table to find the guys attention no longer on us, instead joking amongst themselves once again. glancing over my shoulder, i look up at the Devils captain, an innocent expression drawn across my face.

“how am i doing, cap?” i whisper and his heavy lidded eyes find mine.

“doing great, schatzi.” his words are whispered in my ear, his hot breath fanning across my neck and sending a shiver down my spine.

i make a mental note to try and google translate the nickname when i get back to John’s tonight, but lord knows if i’ll remember.

the song ends and a new one begins, this one less sexual and more of a love song.

i twist in Nico’s grasp, facing him and resting my arm up on his shoulder, my hand toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. our bodies sway a little, back and forth.

“you’re pretty good looking, for a hockey player.” i hum, and he chuckles, his grip tightening on my hips.

“is that a compliment?” he teases.

“mhm. you even have all your teeth… from what i can tell.” he laughs again, nodding softly.

“i do.”

“pretty sexy.” i shrug.

“well, that’s a pretty low standard of sexy.”

“i’m an easy girl to please.” i wink up at him before untangling myself from his touch, walking back to the table with a new bounce in my step and a sway in my hips.

“you have fun out there?” Jack wiggles his eyebrows as i sit, and i glance over to make sure John isn’t listening before i reply.

“your captain- he’s single?”

Jack’s head tips back in laughter and i blush in embarrassment.

“yeah, he’s single. too focused on hockey for a girlfriend.” he finally responds before his lips press shut. my brows furrow for a second before Nico settles back down in his spot beside me.

“what are we talking about?” Nico raises his beer bottle to his lips, raising a brow at the hush that fell at his arrival.

“hockey!” Jack exclaims at the same time as i say “music!”

“hockey music!” Jack tries to drunkenly cover and i let my forehead fall into my hand at his stupidity.

“…hockey music?” Nico questions suspiciously, his eyes darting between Jack and i.

“big thing in Canada.” Jack nods. “you wouldn’t know, being from Switzerland and all.”

“…right.” Nico nods, and Jack throws me a horribly hidden thumbs up, but anyone who isn’t as drunk as Jack is can tell that Nico didn’t buy the lie for a second.

“y/n!” i turn at the sound of my name, finding John staring at me in waiting. “you ready to go? i need a shower.”

it’s then that i notice the new stain of beer all along his chest, his shirt sticking to his skin, and i laugh.

“yeah, let’s go, Johnny.” we bid goodbye to the guys, assuring them that we’ll see them tomorrow at the game, before we head out of the bar.

i send one last fleeting glance over my shoulder to Nico, his head tipped back in laughter and his hand clutched over his chest at something Dawson said.

“ya know, he’s not interested in a girlfriend.” John mutters on the walk to the car, simultaneously pulling his keys from his pocket and handing them over to me.

“what?” i feign innocence, helping him into the passengers seat. his six beers compared to my two that i had been nursing all night really took a toll on him.

“i just don’t want you to get hurt, rosie.” he pinches at my cheeks as i buckle his seatbelt and i roll my eyes at the nickname that’s stuck since high school.

John always did find it hilarious that i, as a 14 year old girl, always blushed when any older guys talked to me. including him, before we got so close.

“i’ll be okay, Johnny.” i assure him, closing the door and rounding the car.

it’s silent as i buckle up and start the car.

“as long as you know what you’re doing.” John holds his hand out and i take it in mine, allowing him to press a kiss to the back of it. “you’re my best friend, i just don’t want you to expect more from Nico and then get upset when he doesn’t give it.”

“John,” i sigh, pulling my hand away so i can put both on the steering wheel, starting en route to his apartment. “i’m not in the market for a boyfriend. especially not a long distance one. i’m just.. having fun.”

he nods in understanding and one corner of his mouth pulls up slightly. “yeah, me too. i like fun.”

i bark out a laugh, hitting his arm jokingly. “yeah, i know you do. mr. ‘if i leave with a girl tonight, can you stay at Jack’s?’”

he huffs at my interpretation of his voice.

“i love you, but i’m not letting you cock-block me.” he shrugs, crossing his arms.

“well, look at you now. getting home drunk, with beer down your shirt, and no pussy.” i joke, parking the car in the spot for his apartment and turning it off.

“hey, i came home with pussy.” he defends, gaping at me in mock offense.

“none that you’re getting.”

***

it’s sunday evening, the day before i leave.

the guys won their game last night, 6-2, but alas, i got too drunk with Dawson’s girlfriend, Ryleigh, to end up going out celebrating with them.

but Jack, Luke, Dawson, Ryleigh, Nico, and John were gracious enough to agree to a 2nd celebration tonight, so that i could experience a Devils win celly before i have to return home to Massachusetts.

i stare in the mirror at the little black dress that adorns my body, holding up two pairs of shoes, attempting to decide between comfort and style.

John walks past the open bathroom door, glancing over as he walks past before backing up and staring. his eyes squint and his lips purse before he makes a decision.

“the heels.” he tells me. “but bring the flats in your purse, so you can change when your feet start to hurt.”

i nod, looking over at him with a smile. “this is why you’re the harvard graduate.”

he laughs, shaking his head as he walks away, and i follow behind him to the kitchen grabbing my purse and sticking my flats inside.

“i’m warning you now, you might need to find somewhere else to sleep tonight. or else you may not get much.” John winks and i roll my eyes, but my smile sticks to my face.

“sure.” i retort. “i predict that this’ll go just like friday night and i’ll be helping you stumble through that door by midnight.”

my head nods over to the front door and his cheeks turn red at the reminder.

“not happening.” his head shakes as he grabs a water from the fridge. “i’m staying hydrated and i’m limiting myself to two beers.”

“i’m sure you are, Johnny.”

he crinkles his nose at my response before heading towards the door. “c’mon or we’ll be late.”

i rush behind him, half hopping as i pull my heels on my feet.

“slow down, i have heels on.” i whine but he just laughs.

“and little legs.” he snickers, earning a smack on the back for his comment. “ow! okay, sorry! jeez, you ever thought of playing baseball with an arm like that?”

“i’ll leave the sports playing to you. i’m good on the reporting side.”

John points towards our uber as we step outside the apartment building, pushing me towards it with a hand on my mid-back. he opens the car door and motions for me to slide in first before he joins me in the back seat.

the car ride is relatively fast, and just how i like it; quiet. our driver doesn’t attempt any small talk and John and i sit on our phones, occasionally showing each other a meme and making the other let out a silent puff of laughter. the driver bids us goodbye when we arrive to the club, and John walks straight up to the bouncer, telling him our names and allowing him to check the list to see that we indeed have a table rented.

Dawson, Ryleigh, and Nico are already there when we arrive, nursing beers. the two guys are discussing a bad play that occurred at last nights game, Ryleigh sitting idly beside her boyfriend with her chin in her hand and a mildly bored expression, but much to her delight, they drop the discussion when we arrive.

Dawson hops up from his seat, dapping up John before greeting me with a hug, Ryleigh pushing him from my arms as soon as he begins to pull away.

“thank god you’re here! i love hockey, i mean, i played it, but there’s only so many times i can hear the words ‘that play could’ve been prevented if…’ before i go insane!” she yells over the loud music, pulling me away from the table.

“let’s go get drinks!” she shouts and i allow her to lead me toward the bar, looking over my shoulder to find the guys sitting at the table, back to discussing last nights game.

Ryleigh and i push our way through the crowd of sweaty dancing bodies, stopping at the bar, and rather than waiting politely like Nico and i did at the bar, she waves down the bartender immediately.

“a martini, please!” she tells him, the attention immediately draws to me after she orders and my mind is left blank.

“uh, a tequila sunrise and a beer please. corona.” i sputter off the first things that come to mind and the bartender nods, setting off to make our drinks.

“two drinks?” Ryleigh questions.

“the beer is for John.” i clarify and she nods.

“so what’s up with you two anyways? are you like, together?”

“no. just friends since high school!” a look of realization settles across her face before her lips pull into a smirk.

“oh okay, that explains why Dawson was teasing Nico earlier.” i bite my lip at the mention of the swiss man that sits across the club.

“what do you mean? what was he teasing him about?”

“you.” she wiggles her eyebrows, but then turns to give a nasty glare as a drunken man stumbles into her back, pushing her into me. she spins back to me with a smile, after successfully making the man cower with just a look. “he was asking Nico if he was gonna take his chance with you. i thought it was weird, because i definitely thought there was something going on between you and John, but if you guys are just friends then it makes sense. so, are you gonna sleep with the captain tonight?!”

“well-” i’m cut off by the bartender, our drinks being slid in front of us, and Ryleigh tells him to put them on the tab for our table, which is under Jack’s name.

“did you just basically make Jack pay for our drinks?” i laugh as we make our way back through the crowd towards our table.

“he won’t even notice.” she waves dismissively. “now, what were you saying?”

i open my mouth to respond, but we’ve reached the table now, so i just send her an ‘oops’ look as she pouts.

“sweet, that for me?” John cheers, holding his hand out for the beer.

“no, this is for you.” i smile sweetly, holding out the cocktail and making his face drop. the guys laugh and i notice Jack and Luke have joined the table now.

“haha.” John deadpans. “you know i don’t do tequila. or orange juice.”

“yeah, you’re weird.” i crinkle my nose, handing him the corona and sitting down beside him, right across from the man Ryleigh were talking about minutes prior.

he looks so good. his hair is slicked back but not gelled, his facial hair cleanly groomed, and he wears a black button up. i can’t even see the rest of his outfit under the table, but i already know that it would make me instantly wet.

“hello, y/n.” Nico smirks when he sees that he’s caught my eye, his accent like music to my ears.

“hi, captain.” i’m grateful for the dim lighting of the nightclub, hiding the blush that rises to my cheeks upon being caught.

“did you like the game last night?”

“oh, yeah. i had a ton of fun, and you guys played great.” i reply. “it was nice being able to watch a game and not have to take any notes for articles.”

he laughs and butterflies dance in my stomach at the sound.

“maybe you should visit more often then.” he raises an eyebrow and i bite my lip, nodding.

“maybe i should.”

he seems content with my agreement, sitting back in his seat and tuning back into the conversation of the table. but i’m still entranced, watching him take a sip of his beer, his tongue gliding across his lip to retrieve a drop that clung to it.

i feel a nudge to my side and i see John smirking, wiggling his eyebrows as his eyes flick between me and his captain.

“shut up.” i stage-whisper, kicking his shin under the table. his face scrunches in pain, and jaw drops before he mouths ‘soccer’ and i roll my eyes.

i turn back around to find Nico watching us with an amused expression, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a smile, and i immediately flush.

“hey Ryleigh, wanna dance?” the blonde grins at my words, nodding excessively and untangling herself from Dawson’s arms.

she waits at the end of the table for me to meet her, locking arms with me when i do so, and we make our way to the dance floor, not too far from the table.

we sing along to the song with smiles on our faces, bouncing our bodies. this continues for a few songs before she holds my hand in the air as i lower my body slowly, grinding my hips in the air as i drop and then bounce back up.

my line of sight gravitates towards the table, locking eyes with a smirking Nico, who’s already watching me. i keep the eye contact as i grind my hips against the air, running a hand through my hair then letting it slide down my body. feeling confident, i send him a wink before i turn back to Ryleigh.

it’s not but a moment later that she grins, wiggling her eyebrows before quickly excusing herself to the table, and i’m left confused until i feel hands rest upon my hips, a body pressing against my back.

“were you a dancer at one point? or are your hips just naturally this fucking entrancing?” the swiss accent is whispered into my ear, his stubble scratching against the side of my neck, causing a delicious sensation to run down my body.

“guess it’s all natural.” my neck cranes to look back at Nico, making a point to wiggle my hips against him.

he groans, pulling my body closer to his, and i’m just about ready to let him have his way right then and there, on the dance floor where everyone can see.

“you gonna take me home with you tonight? or are you gonna let your chance slip away again?” i’m barely audible over the loud music, but i know he’s heard me when he smirks once again, his hands gripping my hips a little tighter.

“you know i’m not looking for anything serious. right, schatzi?” there’s that nickname again, and though i can’t guarantee, i know it means something good.

“and what makes you think i am?” i hum.

he chuckles lowly, his hand leaving my waist in order to tangle with mine. he doesn’t speak, rather pulling me back towards the table.

my mood deflates, believing that he’s decided i’m not worth it, but i’m mistaken when he holds out my purse, raising an eyebrow when i don’t take it right away.

“have you changed you mind?” he questions and i snatch the bag from his grasp, letting him lead me away.

i wave a goodbye to the table, who’s now chirping us, Dawson wolf-whistling and Jack calling out a ‘get it, Neeks!’. John is shaking is head, but his smile provides me with the comfort of knowing that he’s not actually bothered by me hooking up with his teammate.

i learn that Nico’s apartment is a mere ten minute walk from the club, and all ten minutes are spent in the quiet sexual tension that reverberates between us.

it’s not until the elevator doors close, that his lips crash upon mine; his hands on my cheeks, and his body presses flush against me, no space left between us. my spine arches, my upper back coming in contact with the elevator wall, but he just pushes me back further, our lips moving in sync.

the kiss is sloppy, our tongues exploring the others mouths and our hands tangled in each others hair, but it’s cut off quicker than i’d have liked by the doors opening.

he pulls away rather hesitantly, leading me down the hall and hastily unlocking his apartment door. he steps in first, holding the door open for me, and i follow after him.

i don’t get much of a chance to scan my surroundings before his lips are back on mine. my body being caged against the now-shut door. my teeth graze his bottom lip, his hands gripping my waist tightly. his kisses trail away from my mouth, now littering down my jawline and onto my neck.

my breathing is heavy as his tongue flicks across my pulse-point, his hands sliding lower to grab my ass under my dress, and i gasp as he nips at my neck, soothing the sting with a kiss.

my hips grind up to meet his but he steps back, his eyes meeting mine. his lips are swollen, and tinted with my red lipstick, and wicked smile on his face as he begins to lower himself to his knees. my hands drop with him, my purse hitting the floor with a thud, and his fingertips lightly graze down my thighs before pushing the hem of my dress up.

“is this okay?” my heart beats faster at his question, my head nodding in approval, and he accepts my consent, pushing my dress even further up my torso. “hold this.”

i obey his instructions, the satin fabric cool in my trembling hands. he knocks me off balance when he pulls one of my legs up, my thigh now resting on his shoulder, and if i hadn’t already been leaning against the door, i surely would have fallen.

his eyes keep contact with mine, peppering kisses up my thigh until he reaches my core. his tongue darts out to lick me through the lace of my thong, and a moan pours out of my lips, my eyes closing and my head dropping back against the door. my hands tangle into his hair, both to steady my balance, and to ready myself for him.

his hot breath fans over my pussy as he licks once more, and i’m unable to stop myself from grinding against his tongue, making him chuckle as he pulls back. i whine at the loss of contact, my eyes flying open, and i look back down just in time to watch him pull my panties to the side. his eyes flick back up to mine and i whimper when he makes direct contact with my throbbing clit.

his tongue swirls around it and i cry out in pleasure, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Nico.” his name falls from my lips like a prayer, and he pulls back making me pout.

“don’t go calling me by my name now.” my mind is fuzzy, my body alight with pleasure, and i wrack my brain to understand his meaning until it hits me.

i’ve been calling him ‘captain’.

“yes, captain.” i whisper, my voice sultry as i use the leg that’s hooked over his shoulder to nudge him back towards me.

he chuckles lowly at my neediness, but resumes his assault against my clit, flicking over it before dragging his tongue down to my entrance. he licks me like it’s his last meal, spreading my wetness around the area before and letting his nose bump against the bundle of nerves.

i shudder, my hands tugging against his hair while simultaneously pushing him deeper, and he moans against me, sending the vibrations straight into my core.

“captain.” my voice catches in my throat, i can feel myself getting closer to my orgasm the longer he continues, and when he sucks my clit between his lips, rolling it as his fingers prod at my entrance, i know i won’t last much longer. “i’m so close!”

he slips two fingers in, curling them and making me groan at the feeling of fullness. his tongue works against my clit as his fingers pump in and out, building that familiar feeling in my stomach, my hips stuttering against him.

“right there!” i squeak out as his fingers brush against just the right spot, and he takes the initiative to hit that spot a few more times, his pace speeding up. “oh god- i’m gonna come!”

with just a few more licks against my clit and the feeling of his fingers against my g-spot, my legs shake, my knees beginning to buckle as i release all over his hand and tongue.

he pulls away, rising to his feet and smirking at the sound that leaves my lips from the feeling of emptiness where his fingers once were. his hands now hold my hips to keep me upright, his chin and lips glistening with my cum, and i bite my lip at the sight.

“you taste so good, beautiful.” i’m sure that if my pussy wasn’t already throbbing, it would’ve started at those words.

his hand comes up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss. i can taste my arrival on his tongue and lips, causing me to moan into the kiss.

he pulls back, his hand lacing in mine as he pulls me towards his bedroom, and it’s then that it sinks in.

i just got tongue fucked against a door.

i giggle at the realization, making him look back at me with furrowed eyebrows and a smile.

“we only met each other just the other day, but god, the way you make me feel.” he grunts out, as we enter his bedroom, turning us so i walk backwards, the backs of my knees hitting the edge of his bed.

“you’ve got me feeling some type of way too.” i smirk, pulling his lips back down to mine. his lips part and i slip my tongue past them, pushing against his own.

“i’ve never come that fast.” i whisper against his lips. “it was surreal.”

“i’ve never gotten down on my knees like that for a girl.” he chuckles. “always kinda thought that was a figure of speech when it came to guys, but when i had you there, it’s like it came naturally for me to just kneel down and fuck you with my tongue.”

i pull away with wide eyes.

“are you telling me that was your first time giving oral?” i gape and his head tips back in laughter.

“no! did it feel like it was?”

“definitely not.” my cheeks turn red and his hand cups my face, his thumb trailing over my blush.

“i’ve obviously given oral, just never in that position.” he clarifies. “it’s always been in bed, or the one time on the couch.”

i laugh at his scrunched nose.

“that one wasn’t extremely comfortable.” he confesses, his head tilting.

“i can imagine.” i joke before pulling his head back down for another kiss, tired of the small talk.

he sucks at my bottom lip, his hand sliding around my head to tug at my hair, pulling my head back.

“tell me what you’re thinking.” he whispers, his voice low and raspy. “tell me what you want.”

my eyes flutter, rolling back in my head at his demanding tone.

“i wanna ride you.” i confess breathily.

his touch disappears as he steps back, my eyes shooting open to watch as his hands magnetize to his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it from his pants. his shirt is next, unbuttoning it and allowing it to fall open, giving me the chance to admire his wonderfully sculpted abs. he pulls the shirt from his body before he unbuttons his pants, his eyes watching me as mine watch him get naked, widening slightly when he pulls his pants and boxers down.

his erection springs free from the confinement of his pants, the tip red and already leaking pre-cum. my tongue drags across my bottom lip, but he shoots me a warning look, reminding me that i can’t suck him off if i want him inside of me. and oh how badly i want that.

Nico walks around me, rounding the bed and searching in his nightstand before his hand reappears with a foil packet, the dim lighting of his bedside lamp glinting off of it. i watch silently as he sits in the middle of the bed, gnawing at my lip as he tears open the foil, rolling the condom on with a groan.

his eyes stare me down, his brows raising in waiting.

“i wanna see you undress now.” he tells me, shaking me out of my trance.

my hands tremble as i slip the straps of my dress off my shoulders, pulling my arms out and letting the satin dress glide off my body into a pool of fabric on the floor. i kick my heels off next, letting them fall to the wood and tangle in my dress, before lastly bending over to pull my my thong down my legs, stepping out of it and dropping it to the floor to join my other items.

“you’re so fucking sexy.” his praise gives me a boost of confidence, my spine straightening. “come here and then turn around.”

his finger curls, drawing me towards him, and i crawl up the bed to straddle his waist.

“i said turn around.” he reminds me, his hand coming up to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.

i nod, turning myself around so my back faces him, looking over my shoulder to find his eyes glued to my ass. i smirk in amusement, rolling my hips so his dick slides between my wet folds.

“fuck.” he groans, grasping at his base and tapping it against my clit, teasing me a couple times.

“please, captain.” i plead, my head falling forward as my eyes squeeze shut.

the head of his cock lines up with my cunt and i take the initiative to back up onto him, filling myself up with his length. i let out a breathy sigh in contentment as he moans at the feeling of my walls closing around him.

my eyes roll back in my head as i grind onto him, the pleasure wracking my body is intense and i can’t keep myself from crying out as he thrusts his hips up into me.

“that’s it, baby. scream it out.” he grunts, his voice tight. “let my neighbors know how good i’m making you feel.”

i bounce my hips, my hands finding his thighs to best support myself as i do so. his hands grip my waist so tightly that i’m sure there’ll be bruises there tomorrow, but i can’t find it in myself to care, the pleasure overtaking any kind of pain.

the room fills with the sound of his dick pumping in and out of my wet pussy, and the echoes of our moans. my breath shaky as i call out.

“yes, captain!” my words are breathy but loud, and he thrusts up harshly at the nickname. “oh my god!”

he taps my ass, pulling me off with his grasp on my hips, and rising to his knees, leaving me on all fours in front of him, before he slams back into me. my breath hitches, my arms giving out as he speeds up his pace but never relenting in his harsh rhythm.

my upper body presses into the mattress, my jaw dropped open as shaky moans fall from my lips, whimpers escaping every few thrusts when he hits a certain spot, my hands gripping the sheets as i buck my hips back into his.

“feel so fucking good.” he huffs, and i look back to watch his face contort in pleasure, his sweaty hair falling into his eyes. “like you were made for me.”

his hand slides down my spine, making me shiver and arch my back, his dick hitting in just the right spot.

the knot in my stomach winds itself tighter and tighter, like a thousand rubber bands wrapped around a water bottle, just waiting for it to burst. and i know i’m done-for when his free hand circles around to rub my clit, still a bit overstimulated from our previous activities in his apartment entryway.

“holy fuck.” i choke, my pussy clenching around him. his grunt reaches my ears and my legs begin to tremble. “gonna come! please, captain, can i come?”

“go ahead, baby. make a mess on my cock.” he hums, and that’s all it takes for my breath to catch, my face turning red as i reach my second orgasm of the night, burying my face in the sheets to muffle my sobs.

his strokes become sloppy, faster and less rhythmic. “fuck- i’m gonna-”

i nod my head at his choppy words, whispering a few resounding ‘yes’s before he stills, his hips stuttering as a low sound leaving his throat as he releases into the condom.

i squeak as he pulls out of me, pulling me up against his chest before flopping back onto the bed.

“oh my god.” i breathe, listening to him pant, my eyes still screwed shut.

“tell me about it.” he huffs breathlessly, squeezing me to his side.

“like, oh my god.” i emphasize, causing a laugh to push past his lips.

he slips out from the bed, discarding the now used condom in the trash can before disappearing into the en-suite bathroom, coming back with a wet washcloth. he kneels beside me on the bed, cleaning me up before getting back up and throwing the washcloth in the bathroom sink and leaving the bedroom altogether.

my brows thread together in confusion, but i’m much too spent to follow, so i lie in the bed waiting for his return. which ultimately comes as he enters with two water bottles and my phone.

“this was going off in your purse.” he tells me, handing me my phone and a bottle of water.

i thank him as i check the device, finding three missed calls from John and a few texts.

___

from: Johnny Hockey 🏒♥️

whoops, sorry, forgot you were boinking!

___

from: Johnny Hockey 🏒♥️

you’re still coming home tonight though, right?

cause sorry to burst your sex bubble, but i’m not packing your shit and dropping by Nico’s at 8am to get you for your flight.

___

i let out a cackle at my best friends choice of words, typing back a response and letting him know i will, indeed, be going back to his apartment.

“John?” Nico guesses correctly, his arm snaking around my waist as i lock my phone.

“yeah.” i nod, allowing him to pull me tighter to his chest. “he wanted to make sure i was still coming back to his apartment to pack my stuff. plus, we have plans to get breakfast before my flight tomorrow and he was making it known that he would not be picking me up from here to do that.”

Nico chuckles. “so you’re leaving now?”

i feign offense, clutching a hand to my heart.

“trying to get rid of me so soon, Nico? right after we meddled about in these very sheets?!” i joke, and he shakes his head.

“nah, i guess you can stay a little bit.” he teases back, rolling his eyes jokingly and making me giggle in response.

“so…” i trail off, looking over at him. “round two?”

“wouldn’t this technically be round three?” he laughs. “you’re insatiable.”

i shrug with a cheeky grin. “just trying to make the most out of this night. i can’t guarantee when i’ll see you next.”

he smirks, hovering over me, his lips trailing kisses down my body, lingering on my tits.

“in that case,” he starts, pausing to let his tongue swirl my peaked nipple, successfully pulling a moan from my lips. “i can think of a few more ways to spend tonight.”

i bite my lip as i smile, one thought screaming in my hazy mind.

tonight will be fun.

[urdreamydoodles]

Wolverine x Fem!Reader

Jealousy

Logan struggles to understand the unfamiliar feelings he has toward you, a kind-hearted and beautiful mutant loved by everyone at Xavier’s School. As jealousy simmers beneath the surface, he eventually realizes that you’ve had your heart set on him all along.

Logan watches you from the corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest, trying not to scowl. You’re smiling, as always, laughing at something Gambit said, your eyes glowing with warmth. It’s a look that seems to be meant for everyone around you—but never for him.

He grunts, glancing away, trying to shake the feeling that's been gnawing at him for days. It’s ridiculous, really. Why should he care that every single guy in the mansion seems to orbit around you like you’re the sun?

You’re a teacher at Xavier’s now, like him. A mutant whose powers are as impressive as they are mysterious, though no one seems to care much about that. The way everyone talks about you, they’re more focused on how sweet you are, how you have a way of making anyone feel at ease, even in a place full of battle-hardened mutants.

And you’re... well, Logan’s never really put much stock into beauty, but there’s no denying that heads turn when you walk into a room. The sight of you, with your gentle smile and graceful movements, draws attention whether you intend it to or not. It’s irritating how many men around the mansion make fools of themselves trying to get you to notice them. Gambit, with his endless charm. Angel, always hovering around with those damn wings. Nightcrawler, with his shy smiles and sweet words.

It shouldn’t bother him. He doesn’t get jealous. He’s Logan, for crying out loud. Wolverine. He’s been through too much, seen too much, to be worried about a pretty face.

But here he is, in the back of the room, glaring at Gambit like the Cajun just insulted him. Which he hasn’t. Not yet, at least.

You say something to Gambit, and his grin grows wider. He leans in closer to you, brushing a hand against your arm like he’s always been allowed to touch you that way. Logan feels his fingers twitch, an unfamiliar anger rising in his chest.

Get a grip, Logan, he tells himself, gritting his teeth.

“Logan?” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, soft and warm, and suddenly you’re standing in front of him, looking up at him with those bright eyes of yours. He didn’t even notice you walking over.

He clears his throat, straightening. “What?”

You give him that smile, the one that knocks the breath out of everyone around here. “I’ve been trying to say hi all day. You’ve been avoiding me?”

Logan huffs, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. “Ain’t avoiding you. Just busy.”

“Busy glaring at Gambit?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. It’s like you can see right through him, and that makes him all the more uncomfortable.

“I wasn’t—” Logan stops himself. Damn it, you’re too good at this. “What do you want?”

You tilt your head slightly, your expression softening. “You alright, Logan? You seem... off.”

“Off?” He frowns, his brow furrowing. How are you always so perceptive? He should be better at hiding this. Hell, he’s had centuries of practice keeping people at arm’s length, but with you, it’s like you’ve been cutting through that barrier since the day you arrived.

You reach up, laying a gentle hand on his arm. Your touch is soft, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to flinch—not because he doesn’t like it, but because it sends a jolt through him. Like something raw and unexplainable stirring in his chest.

“You can talk to me, you know,” you say softly. “I’m here if you need anything.”

There’s no pity in your voice, no patronizing tone. Just genuine concern, like you actually care about how he’s doing. It confuses him. He’s used to people being wary of him, keeping their distance. But not you. Never you.

Logan shifts, feeling the weight of your hand on his arm, and glances away, unable to meet your eyes. “Ain’t nothing to talk about.”

You give him a small smile, dropping your hand, but not stepping back. “Alright. But if you change your mind, I’m around.”

You turn to walk away, back toward Gambit, who’s still waiting for you. And Logan feels something sharp twist in his gut.

Before he can stop himself, he reaches out, grabbing your wrist gently. “Wait.”

You pause, turning back to him with a curious expression. “Yeah?”

Logan hesitates, his grip loosening slightly. He’s not good at this—never has been. Words fail him more often than not, and emotions? Well, he doesn’t like dealing with those either.

But the thought of you going back to Gambit, of you laughing with him again, letting him get close to you... Logan doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

“I—” He struggles to find the right words, his jaw tightening. What the hell is wrong with him? “I don’t like... seein’ you with all those other guys.”

Your eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

Logan lets out a low growl of frustration, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t like it when they’re all over you. Gambit, Angel, all of ‘em. They act like you’re some... prize or somethin’.”

You blink, clearly not expecting that. “Logan, they’re just being friendly. We’re all close here.”

“Yeah, well, they’re too damn friendly.” The words come out harsher than he intends, and he curses under his breath. He didn’t mean to sound possessive, but that’s exactly what it sounds like. He doesn’t even know why he’s saying this. What’s it to him if you like Gambit or Angel?

But the thought of you being with someone else, of you smiling at them the way you smile at him, makes something ugly twist inside him.

You look at him for a long moment, as if trying to piece together what’s going on in his head. And then, to his surprise, you smile—really smile. Not the polite kind you give everyone else, but something softer, more real.

“Logan,” you say gently, taking a step closer. “Are you... jealous?”

He bristles immediately, his face hardening. “Jealous? Hell no. I don’t get jealous.”

“Uh-huh.” Your smile widens slightly, and for a moment, Logan swears he can see a hint of amusement in your eyes. “You sure about that?”

He grumbles something incoherent under his breath, unable to come up with a proper response. Damn it, how did you manage to get under his skin so easily?

“Logan,” you say again, softer this time. “If you want to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to keep pushing me away.”

Logan feels his heart clench, the sincerity in your voice throwing him off balance. He’s not used to this—to someone actually caring. Especially someone like you.

“I just don’t like sharin’,” he mutters finally, his voice gruff. “That’s all.”

You tilt your head, stepping even closer so that you’re standing right in front of him. “Sharing what?”

Logan swallows hard, his gaze flicking away from yours. “You.”

The word hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, Logan wonders if he’s crossed a line. If he’s said too much. But instead of pulling away, you smile, your eyes softening.

“You don’t have to share me, Logan,” you say quietly. “I’m not interested in Gambit or Angel. Or anyone else for that matter.”

His gaze snaps back to yours, surprise flickering across his face. “What?”

“I’m saying,” you continue, your voice gentle but firm, “if you want my attention, you’ve already got it. You always have.”

Logan stares at you, his mind racing to process your words. You... what? How long has he been trying to figure out what the hell he’s feeling, only to find out that you’ve felt the same way this whole time?

He lets out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You laugh softly, stepping even closer, until you’re almost pressed against him. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, Logan lets his guard down, just a little. He reaches out, resting a hand on your waist, and looks down at you, his voice low and rough. “You sure about this?”

You nod, your eyes meeting his with unwavering certainty. “I’m sure, Logan.”

And just like that, the tension that’s been building between you for what feels like ages finally breaks. Logan pulls you closer, his grip tightening on your waist, and for once, he lets himself be honest with what he wants.

You.

Only you.

[lithepetal]

Second Chance Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist? Not to Aurora; more like stubborn, unreasonable, overprotective father.

Warnings: father-daughter fluff

Series Masterlist

Crisp, cool air swirled like an eddy around her, the crunch of leaves underfoot as she jogged along the familiar path through Central Park. Aurora’s brown hair flapped in the breeze, wisps from her ponytail plastered against the nape of her neck and face by sweat.

Exiting the park, she merged onto the bustling sidewalk, her nose filled with the aroma of coffee and freshly-baked bagels. She raced past several street vendors, could practically taste the first savory bite of an everything bagel, her stomach grumbling in protest when she bypassed all of them. Determined to beat her father, she continued onward with an empty belly and only mild regret.

Aurora loved Manhattan, everything the cultural mecca offered. Opposite the laid-back vibe of California, she found that, after they moved following the incident with the Mandarin, she was happy to call NYC ‘home’. At age 11, she started ballet, and though she never dreamt of becoming an Avenger, Tony breathed a little easier each night knowing her flexibility and grace could get her out of not all, but at least some, potentially dangerous situations.

The newly-renamed Avengers Tower loomed ahead, and still, her father had yet to catch up. Exhilaration fueling her steps, her pacing and agility worked to her advantage. Her tennis shoes bleated against the concrete, pushing her closer and closer to her destination.

At last, she reached the high-rise building and stopped in front of the entrance, doubling over. Panting, she side-eyed her father as he jogged up next to her. “You’re getting slow in your old age, Dad.”

“I think,” Tony huffed a winded breath, “the term for sassing your old man is grounded.”

They entered and took the elevator to the kitchen, Aurora noticing the concern layered beneath her father’s usual veneer of sarcasm. Opening the fridge, she grabbed two bottles of water. Tossing one to him, she said, “Nice try, Dad. I’m going on my field trip.”

“An entire weekend…” Tony began, reigniting their argument over whether he was going to permit her to go. The field trip was already paid for, but she had a nagging feeling that was Pepper’s doing. While short of outright telling her ‘no’, he did everything in his power to persuade her against it. “You’ve never been out of my sight for that long.”

“You’re gone all the time,” she pointed out, “for much longer.”

“I’m an adult. How old are you, again?” he asked offhandedly, as he fidgeted with the blender to make their post-run smoothies.

“Seventeen.”

“Precisely,” Tony retorted, gaze finally alighting on hers. “Seventeen. Too young to go off for the weekend on your own.”

Aurora rolled her eyes. “I’ll be with classmates and my teacher. Besides, we’re just going to the Smithsonian.”

“There ya go. Problem solved,” Tony exclaimed. “If you want a history lesson, we can invite Cap over.”

“Dad…” she groaned.

Not that she didn’t relish the idea of Steve dropping by—with the exception of Bruce, it had been a couple months since she’d seen anyone from the team. However, she didn’t understand why he was being so stubborn about letting her go on a class field trip.

Tony paused as he stared blankly at the assortment of greens on the counter, then— “Washington, D.C.”

“Yep.”

“Three whole days.”

“Mhm,” she answered, taking a sip of water and smiling into the bottle.

Tony leaned against the counter, arms crossed in front of him. “What if I said I have a bad feeling?”

“Hey, JARVIS?”

“Yes, Miss Stark?”

“Statistically, what are the chances of me getting kidnapped?”

“The probability of Miss Stark being kidnapped is 0.27 percent per 1,000 residents in the District of Columbia area.”

Aurora turned to her father with an ear-to-ear grin. “See, Dad, I’ll be fine.”

“Not helpful, JARVIS, you forgot to factor in she’s my daughter,” Tony reprimanded, garnering an apology from the AI. “And you, young lady, are too smart for your own good.” There was another lengthy pause, during which Aurora’s amber eyes glittered, sensing the weeks-long stalemate coming to an end. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah…” An uncharacteristic somberness settled over Tony’s features. Closing the space between them, he wrapped his arms around her, chin pressed against the top of her head. He muttered, “Be careful.”

“I will, Dad.”

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

things that remind me of the nerdy prudes

(because like two people reblogged this one i did forever ago for the losers and i forgot how fun these are)

grace:

getting veggie tales songs stuck in your head as an adult, knee socks, eating all your broccoli, sparkly butterfly clips, watching sunlight glint off a lake through the treeline, guinea pigs, friendship bracelets off a water bottle, being secretly glad when someone you don’t like turns out to be a bad person, a bunch of cellophane candy wrappers crinkling at the bottom of your purse, being a little too into archery at summer camp, pastel bible highlighters, banana pancakes, tying way too many ribbons around the advent wreath, leggings under dresses, daydreaming about how you’d escape if you ever got kidnapped, strawberry ice cream, roller skating with almost too much protective gear on, cloud gazing, obvious family secrets that everyone refuses to tell you, feeling weirdly guilty for ordering your steak rare, bringing too many swaps to girl scout camp so you can trade with everyone, asking a new friend for their email address, long denim skirts

steph:

really dry liquid lipstick you bought in your freshman year of high school but refuse to throw out, 24 hour diners, typing in all lowercase but never actually changing the setting in your phone, listening to music you hate but gaslighting yourself until you enjoy it, really dark purple nail polish that looks black, collecting crystals even though you don’t really believe in them, saying your team bella (but secretly being team jacob), getting mad your vape was confiscated at your high school graduation, one million rings, coffee ice cream, tinfoil in a microwave, exclusively wearing sports bras, shoplifting, pink monster, thinking cigarettes are really hot, never wearing a jacket even if your cold, penny boarding, drinking four loko, regretting four loko, refusing to put your hair up even when you really should, kuromi, half fallen down led lights, playing your mom’s old guitar, sour skittles

pete:

planetariums, being overly competitive at board games, ginger ale, using a chapstick until it runs out, really liking marshmallows, really liking hot chocolate, hating marshmallows in your hot chocolate, buying a bunch of cool notebooks and never using them, forever dm, pretending you didn’t find asdf movies as funny as you actually did, m&ms, freezing cold hands, hand-me-down sweaters, only ordering chicken fingers and french fries, being intrinsically trusted by cats, carrying a clarinet to school every day, skipping episodes of next gen if they don’t feature data, praying on the first day of school that your teachers didn’t have your older sibling, transition glasses lenses (that you absolutely regret), dry krave cereal, secretly finding most museums really boring, grow-your-own-geode science kits, wing tip tap shoes, messenger bags, only doing extracurriculars that look good on college applications

ruth:

your comfort gay newsies fanfiction from middle school, being jealous of your younger sibling, those phone cases with glitter and charms floating in water, team edward and team jacob, wishing you hadn’t quit dance, buying fun jewelry and never wearing it, being devastated your hair is too dark to dip dye in kool aid, sticky lip gloss, painting every nail a different color, self sabotage, crushed velvet scrunchies, the grease soundtrack, wanting to be a rockette when you grew up, never learning how to do make up, begging to do figure skating as a kid, begging to do beauty pageants as a kid, begging to do cheerleading as a kid, turquoise braces bands, sinclair gas stations, showing up to an audition that you didn’t realize had a dance call, dunkin’ donuts munchkins, squirrel girl comic books, one half of a best friend necklace you wore longer than you should have

richie:

trying to get the marble out of a ramune bottle, wearing big headphones 24/7 (even if they aren’t playing anything), staining your best friend’s bathtub blue with hair dye, sour patch kids, enamel pins, discord calls across like three different time zones, the charlie bone book series, getting in trouble for drawing in class, being the friend with a car but also being a terrible driver, a pokémon card binder, that one kid who was really, really good at cup stacking, wearing shorts in the middle of winter, thirty-nine minute long voice memos, being exceptional at claw machines, vocaloid songs, your pet parakeet hanging out on top of your head, that one vaguely traumatizing round of the pocky game from seventh grade, regularly broken duolingo streaks, getting in trouble for bringing a real katana to your freshman year halloween dance

[frannyzooey]

On The Green: 3

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Mature-ish? More space violence, gratuitous descriptions of Ezra’s body 🤡

A/N: thank you to both @the-scandalorian who always sets me in the right direction and gives me the best reassurance and @bageldaddy who, I’m pretty sure, is giving me more of an education than any English teacher I’ve ever had and thank god ❤️

Series Masterlist

—

For the next couple days, it rains. 

Sheets of it pour down, a steady drum against the roof, trails of it sliding down the windows. It creates rivers in the rich soil, deep trenches that lead to even deeper puddles, and the world outside looks like a muted blur from your seat inside. A smear of dark green, a blot of rich brown, the watery shape of roots that distort with every drop. 

Tucking your knees tighter under your chin, you give your legs a squeeze, hoping to squash the restlessness that thrums through them. 

“Anything new out there?”

You sigh, knowing he’s teasing. “No.”

“Fitting, the way you can sit still for so long, Birdie. Perched there in your little nest.”

The only blanket you have pooled at your hip, your headphones on the floor, and your notebook open and face down next to them, you suppose it does look a bit like a nest. You shrug. “Not much else to do.”

Ezra fiddles with a ship part in his hand, his head bent in focus. “Always something to do.”

After days stuck inside, it doesn’t feel like it. 

You’ve combed over every inch of the pod, putting it back to rights. Cleaning every surface, organizing every cupboard. The med supplies were pulled out and meticulously sorted, the food stores combined with Ezra’s meager offerings, the dash scrubbed free of every particle of dirt that’s collected on it over the years. Your fingers finding a few rusty drips of blood that were missed, you spent more time than necessary scouring every inch of the pilot’s seat until your fingers ached. 

One untouched compartment remained: your father’s private belongings. 

“Hand me that wrench, would you?”

Ezra extends his hand, and you crawl over to the open tool kit, rifling through it until you find the one he’s looking for. Handing it to him, you abandon your seat by the window and sit next to him. His fingers are thick and long, marred with the nicks of small scars, his fingernails short and black with permanent dirt—but his handling of the part is graceful, his touch deft when he uses the tool. 

“Tell me everything he said again, from the top.”

Resting your cheek on your knee, you recite every detail you can recall, your voice monotone with boredom. 

“He didn’t say much. A group of mercs hired him to help with the dig, but I don’t know where he met them. Called “The Queen’s Lair,” it’s supposed to be an untouched dig site that holds more gems than any other on this planet. A deposit the size of this pod. Depending on his source, the whole thing could be real or it could be nothing, but either way, he thought it would make us rich. He said it would be enough to retire on, that this would be our last run.”

Ezra huffs. “If the rumor is true, then he’d be right.” He passes the wrench back, looking at you. “If it’s true.” He waits a beat. “Do you think it is?”

You still had to get used to that – someone asking your opinion about something. You shrug. “It’s possible, right?”

“Sure, it’s possible,” he agrees. “Probable, though?” 

You pause to think, and his expression softens into a smile. “A dreamer like myself, I see.” 

“I don’t know about that,” you reply. “But as long as we’re stuck here, might as well look, right?”

He nods, thinking for a moment. 

“The Queen’s Lair,” he muses, dragging the words out in a slow drawl. He looks up, wiggling his eyebrows, and a small smile pulls at your lips. 

Mirroring it, he goes back to work. 

It had taken you all of a couple days to tell him about the reason your father came here. Tossing in your lot with Ezra the second you agreed to his deal, the idea of a hidden cache of gems that had the potential to make you both rich was too valuable to keep to yourself. You had the location; he had the digging skills. You had, as minimal as they were, details about who was waiting, and he had the skills to navigate the situation. 

You needed each other. 

Cautious around him for the first couple of days, you were surprised by his geniality. For someone who appeared so ruthless when you first met him, he was…kinder than you thought he would be with you. You had remained hesitant, convinced that it was a ruse to get you to lower your defenses, but after a while, you came to see that he was just desperate for someone to talk to. 

So were you, it seemed, for how easily the words slipped out once you let them. 

After a lifetime of being left to wilt alone in empty apartments, or being dragged around the universe only to be ignored until your father needed something from you, it felt good to have someone’s attention. His curiosity about you was endless, his questions never ending, and when you answered, he really listened. Not like he was searching for anything to give him a leg up on you, but rather just openly interested. His face was expressive, his eyes fixed on yours whenever you were talking, and even when you tried to shy away from the direct attention you weren’t used to, he never faltered. 

He was patient, a gift you’d never been given from anyone. 

Unfortunately, along with that came a blossoming attraction to the man, but you pushed that down. The pod was a tight space with two people, and he was broad. You couldn’t help but notice his presence. Especially at night, when it was just the two of you. 

When a blanket of tension seemed to build across the small space between your cots. 

When it was just you and him and the darkness; the steady sound of his breathing over the thrum of your restless limbs. 

Squashing down the nagging shame that surfaced every time you remembered that he was a stranger and also a murderer, you ignored that logic and leaned into the warmth of his companionship instead. 

Besides, even if he was planning on taking advantage, what could you really do about it anyway? 

“You mentioned a map?” he says, his brow furrowing in concentration. 

You tilt your head towards his cupboard. “I haven’t checked, but it should be in there. I remember him looking at it.”

Knowing you’ve been avoiding that particular cupboard, he nods. 

“How many mercs are waiting for him at the dig?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“What terms did he negotiate?”

“He didn’t say.”

Ezra shakes his head to himself, looking up. “The more you tell me about this old man of yours, the less I’m impressed with how he treated his partner.”

“I was never his partner,” you correct. “Just his daughter.”

He gives you a level glance, and you look away. Fiddling with the leg of your thermals, you change the subject. “Do you think it’s safe to leave the pod unattended?” 

“I’m not assured that she’s fit to fly in the state she’s in, but just to be sure, we’ll take this with us wherever we go.”

He holds up the part in his hand with a smirk, and you give it a closer look, huffing a laugh when you recognize it. 

The starter. 

He stands with a soft grunt, stretching. The muscles in his shoulders shift underneath his threadbare thermals, and you keep your eyes on them when he tucks the part away in his case. 

“I’ll need a digging partner out there, if this opportunity is what you say it is,” he says. “I think we should practice some, to get you ready. Is that amenable to you?”

You bite the pillow of your lip. “He never taught me that. How to dig,” you clarify. 

“Course he didn’t,” Ezra frowns, his voice sliding low with unamused disappointment. He shakes his head clear of whatever dark thought seems to pass through his mind, his expression softening. “All the more reason.” He bends, peering out the window. “Looks like it’s tapering off. The sooner we get some practice under your belt, the better.”

A swoop of relief flowing through you at the thought of leaving the pod, it mixes with excitement at the prospect of learning something new. Your father never trusted you with the actual digging – you had been brought along to carry things, made to follow for “assistance”, but he never let you touch the blade. You’d once thought it was a father’s way to protect his child from the dangerous job but quickly realized it was born out of impatience. 

Unfurling your tight limbs when he holds his hand out to help you off the floor, you grab your suits from the closet. Slipping them on in silence, you click your helmet into place while he secures the connection of your filters, and hunching to get through the door, you follow him outside. 

The ground is saturated with water, your boots leaving clear impressions in the soil as he leads you into the forest. He’s broad, even more so with his suit on, but the trees that surround you are still big enough to conceal his entire body, not to mention yours. The canopy of lush growth glistens with droplets, shafts of misty light piercing through it to highlight the floor of moss and growth underneath you. Vines and tree roots spread and crawl underneath your feet, no visible path that you can see.  

You follow the beacon of his worn yellow suit, his voice carrying through the comm into your helmet. 

“So, Birdie,” his voice sounds deeper through the link, scratchy with static. “If your father never taught you how to dig, what did he teach you?”

You huff under your breath. “A lot of things.”

Missing the low tone of your sarcasm through the radio, he continues in his conversational tone. “Anything useful?”

“I know how to navigate.” You think of using your father’s last coordinates to find him in the seedier part of town. “I’m resourceful.” Rationing your vouchers, making sure they bought you enough food to last. “I’m actually not a bad mechanic.”

“Oh yea?” He turns to look to peek back at you for a moment. 

You immediately backtrack when you see a glimmer of hope on his face. “I mean, nothing like we need. I can try to help though, if you show me how. My father used to bring me with him everywhere but always left me behind, so I got pretty good at fixing things around the ship. He always wanted me to do the wiring because my hands were smaller than his. He said my fingers were more precise.”  

You remember the rest of it silently: the way his hands trembled and shook between doses. 

Ezra hums in acknowledgement. “And yet he never taught you how to dig?”

The moss softens your footsteps, flakes of dust floating through the thick air. 

“No,” you reply. “He tried, but…I don’t know. He was too impatient, I think.”

Memories of his harsh words come back: the biting clip of his reprimands, the disappointed yet dismissive tone he always had when it came to you. 

Ezra’s voice pulls you back. “Seems like a waste to me. If I had access to those fingers of yours, I would have made use of them.”

Your steps falter as his unearned praise catches you off guard, at his automatic assumption that skills he doesn’t even know if you have were wasted. Warmth unfurls in your chest, the edge of your mouth unconsciously lifting. Feeling slightly foolish and young at your reaction, you look down at your feet. 

You’re still thinking about it when he pushes through dense bush, halting you with his arm.  

Peering over his shoulder, you see a dark, gaping pit of disturbed earth obstructing your path. He creeps closer, toeing around the edge of it, and you follow, taking in the size and depth. Shallow but with steep sides, roots bulge out from below the soil, extending into the sky with gnarled fingers. Looking closer, you note pockets of earth gaping open just underneath each one. The whole site is eerie, appearing abandoned – though Ezra seems to know what he’s looking for. 

Standing on the edge of the pit with a narrowed gaze, he crouches, studying the crater. 

You watch with curiosity as he eases down the slope, into the dig site. Sitting on your butt, you carefully slide down the embankment to join him. 

You’re not experienced enough to know for sure, but everything about this looks barren to you. 

“Is there anything left in here?”

He flashes a smile your way. “If you know where to look.”

He paces the length of the pit, studying it. “Many sites were depleted during the Rush, but carelessness left some treasures behind.” 

He squats next to a thick, gnarled root, his helmet tilting in study. 

“Come here, Birdie.” His voice slipping into something softer and quieter, he motions you closer. “Here. You see it?”

His gloved fingers splay over the earth, dusting along tiny pin-prick holes that pierce the rich dirt, and he brushes away the crumbling top layer to reveal a deeper set. As if whatever is buried underneath needs access to the toxic air. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he coos. 

Blinking, it takes you a second to understand he’s talking to the hole he’s gently unearthing. He hums to himself, one of satisfaction when the earth tumbles away and an involuntary shiver of pleasure at the sound surprises you by rolling down your spine. Shifting your crouch, you push it down. 

“Hand me my kit?”

You reach for it, watching as he preps his tools. 

“I’ll go first, and then teach you how to do it. Watch my fingers.” 

Bracing his hand on the side of the site, he uses the strength in his other one to scoop into the pocket of soil until it completely opens. His arm disappears as he reaches into the dark pit, and trepidation spreads through you. He searches for something, his eyes lighting up when he finds it. 

"I knew somebody oughta give her a go,” he says with a smile. 

His hand wrapped around the root like a rope, he tugs with a soft grunt of exertion, and a thick, milky white root pearl spills from the hole. He keeps pulling, coaxing everything out and a bulbous pod covered in mucus emerges, sliding out onto the ground by his feet. Shifting onto his knees, he picks up his knife. 

“You want to be careful when you cut,” he starts to explain, motioning you to scoot closer. “Easy does it, with delicate things like these. One wrong move and the whole thing will go to shit.”

You hold your breath as he makes a careful incision, his knife slowly drawing across the top of the pod. Your eyes widen in half revulsion and half curiosity as it splits open, strands of thick mucus connecting each side. 

“I saw my dad do it once,” you say lowly, mesmerized by his deft movements. “Mess it up.”

The dark crown of his shorn curls shakes under the dome of his visor. “It’s a shame to waste it. All the effort it takes to get her to give it up, only to be ruined with a misplaced touch.”

A hissing sound slips through the thick air, and his fingers form a vee to hold the slick seam open. 

“That's the price for a dry breach,” he explains. “My chem will calm the brine.”

You have the bottle of pre-mixed chemicals ready in your hand, and he gives you a nod in thanks, taking it from you. Pouring it slowly into the crack, the pod disintegrates into a steamy cloud, a slimy puddle forming underneath. A core remains, and setting the bottle down, he holds up the unpolished gem. 

“Small, but still worth it.”

“You made that look so easy.” Clear experience in every movement he made, you’re still looking at the gem when he speaks. 

“Your turn.”

You look up at the words, unsure, and his gaze is steady and encouraging. “I’ll be right here. If you slip, it’s just a trial run.”

You frown in hesitation, and he chuckles. “Don’t look so serious, Birdie. The stakes are about as low as they can get. Come on.”

He jerks his chin towards something behind you, and crawling over to it, you follow. 

“Just there,” he says. “You can see her. Look.”

You follow his finger, and reaching your glove out, start to brush the crumbling soil away from the side of the pit. He guides you through every step with a patience you’ve not encountered before, every instruction murmured in a cadence so soothing that would be distracting if not for the intensity of your concentration on the task. 

Watch it, girl. Straight finger. 

You got it?

Hold it nice and tight. 

Oh. That’s perfect. 

The sense of accomplishment you feel when you hold up the gem is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. All of your other skills discovered through the lens of isolation, forged by way of necessity without the luxury of help, this one feels different. A safety net beneath you every step of the way, you know if you were to mess up, he would have saved you – but you didn’t. 

The faith he placed in you when he handed you the knife suddenly feels so much more earned, and you beam up at him with pride.  

“Not nearly as daunting as you thought now, was it?” He smiles back at you, holding his hand out for the gem. “Your father was right, by the way. Your fingers are nimble. The most precise and steady I’ve ever seen.”

You know he must be humoring you but the flush of validation flourishes in your chest as he tucks the stone carefully into the soft foam padding of his case. 

“I would have us stay out longer, but we didn’t charge the filters as much as we should have. Let’s head back and admire our loot in a more hospitable environment.”

Clicking it shut, he climbs the slope of the pit before turning to help you out. 

“Your first gem,” he muses, leading you back into the forest. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” you breathe, a small smile still on your face and you follow him, his constant stream of words fading into the background. 

Entirely dependent on the whims of your father, you’d been existing inside of an isolated bubble until now. You hadn’t been lying when you told Ezra you had no idea what you wanted to do, because the freedom to choose your own path was something that had never occurred to you. You’d been self-reliant, but always within the shadow of a burden. Your dad forced you into a caretaker role, and for the first time in years, as Ezra’s voice flows into your helmet from his, you feel the possibility of something else breaking through the fog. 

A glimmering edge of potential, the hue of an amber colored gem. 

The shift inside you sparks to life, a realization dawning on you: a life you never thought possible. For the first time since you landed on this planet, you see opportunity stretching out in front of you instead of a dead end.  Pride kindles in your chest as you walk back to the pod, and you think about sharing it with Ezra, but stating your excitement over something as routine for the competent man in front of you seems foolish. Like something you should keep to yourself, in order to protect it against the power you know other’s words hold. 

You make it to the edge of the clearing before it spills forth from your lips. 

“I can’t wait –” you start, your words interrupted by Ezra’s arm whipping out for the second time that day to stop you in your tracks. 

“Hello, stranger.”

Your head snaps up, both at the greeting itself and the tone his voice has slipped into: something colder than the easy geniality he’s been using with you all morning, an edge to it that you can sense without seeing his face.

“Can I help you?” Ezra’s hand rests on the thrower attached to his hip, and from your place behind him, you slowly reach for your own weapon strapped across your back. Peering over Ezra’s shoulder, you spot the edge of a man. 

Sneering through the visor of his dirty helmet, he looks starved, almost feral underneath the dome, his eyes dead with hunger. Dangerous is the first word that comes to mind, and when the man’s gaze settles on you, you shrink back behind Ezra.

“Pretty ship,” his voice crackles through the comm link. “Pretty girl.”

Your stomach bottoms out, but Ezra remains still.

“Both of whom belong to me,” he replies, steady and sure. 

Your fingers bury themselves into Ezra’s suit at his side, and you feel him straighten, standing taller in front of you.

“Seems like a lot for one man.” The man’s chin tilts up in a challenge, stepping closer. “Maybe I can take one of em’ off your hands.”

“As generous as that offer is, I will have to decline.” You can hear the casual smile on Ezra’s face, meant to disarm. “I’m partial to both, you see. I wouldn’t be able to choose.”

The stranger takes a step closer, testing. When Ezra doesn’t move, he takes another. 

“Actually,” the stranger confesses, “I’ve got a ship. It could use some parts, and I intended to take them from you…but I’d be willing to walk away.” He pauses a beat, tilting his head to look directly at you. “For her.” 

He smiles, and the sight of his rotted teeth causes bile to rise in your throat. 

“That is a bold offer,” Ezra drawls. “Unfortunately,” his voice dropping into a firmer tone, “She stays with me.”

The man’s greasy smile disappears, replaced with a menacing frown. 

“I’m not gonna ask again,” he growls. 

Ezra stands firm, shifting to cover you with the whole of his body and a tight tension fills the air, crackling amongst the slow floating dust. 

“Then I guess I’ll have to take her by force,” the man says, taking another step forward. 

Without any warning, Ezra whips the pistol from the holster attached to his hip and fires. You shrink at the first shot, scrambling to hide by the pod at the sound of a second one, and by the third, your ass hits the ground with a thud. A cold sweat soaks through your thermals, your pulse pounding as you watch Ezra saunter closer to the dead man with a relaxed gait and aiming his gun right between the man’s vacant eyes, you flinch when he pulls the trigger again. 

A crash echoes through the field, followed by silence. 

–

“It’s really a thing of beauty, isn’t it?”

Still reeling from the confrontation outside, you blink numbly at the refresher. 

“Um,” you swallow, taking a seat. “Sure.”

He seems so unbothered it’s disorienting, and you tug your boot off, placing it on the floor next to the other one. Needing him to go somewhere else so you can process what just happened alone, you attempt casualness. “You just gonna stare at it, or are you gonna shower?”

“You just gonna watch me, or are you gonna turn around?” he mimics. 

You pause, and he grins. 

“Either way suits me just fine, little bird. Just fine.”

He crouches to dig through a bin of his belongings, and you turn your back to him, your body slipping into the rote memory as you take off your suit. The difference between who he’s been the last several days with you versus who he just turned into is jarring, a slap in the face, a stark reminder of what he’s capable of. 

“You want to bathe first, or do you mind if I have the honor?” he asks from behind you. 

“Go for it,” you reply. 

You hear him pause behind you and turn to face him. A frown pulls between his dark brows as he studies you. “Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting for you to get your own relief. In fact, I’d prefer it.”

You shake your head, just wanting him to give you space. “I’m good. I’ll wait.” 

He nods and before you can turn back around, reaches over his head to strip his shirt off with a tug. Marks of rough won survival litter the skin of his back. A gouge here, the thin stripe of a scar there; some cleanly healed, some not. He leans forward into the fresher, turning the water on to let it run for a moment and you eye the dark curls that edge the nape of his neck. The wings of muscle that make up his broad shoulders seem so much wider with his suit off, so much wider against the small opening he stands in front of, and your eyes follow the strong plane of his back down all the way down to the dimples on either side of his spine, just above the waistband of the pants he’s already working open – 

Turning, his face registers surprise when he sees you’re still looking – yet he makes no effort to cover himself. Instead, he stands taller, confident in his bareness. His chest is covered in the same marks as his back, visible strength held in his arms, and dark hair collects in a swirl around his belly button and leads down, his hand obstructing where his pants hang open. 

“I’m – sorry,” you hastily apologize, heat rushing to your face. Averting your eyes, you get a glimpse of his amused smile before you turn your back on him again. 

You expect him to tease you, but he doesn’t. Instead, the door to the fresher clicks shut and you let a breath out you didn’t know you were holding. 

Finally alone, you close your eyes. 

He killed…again. Right in front of you, shamelessly, so confident in his own skills that you never sensed even a fraction of fear. Going back to the moment you both saw the man, you focus on the memory of his calmness, on the image of confidence he presented delivering that final shot. Almost lazy with it, like he was so desensitized by killing it didn’t even register with him. 

Searching deeper, where you should find fear, you find reassurance instead. 

He’s the one that took out the initial threat of his original partner, he’s the one who buried your father like it was nothing, he’s the one who has taught you about this place. Treating you like an equal except for when he needs to take out a threat, the way he slides into territorial protection should make you worry…but instead, it makes you feel safe. 

You don’t belong to him, but you don’t find yourself rebelling against the idea as much as you probably should. The stranger meant to take you, and when Ezra told that man you belonged to him, you should have shrunk away, probably should have mentally protested. Instead, you silently clutched him tighter. 

You hear him behind the door, water splashing against the tiles as he moves around and that swirl of hair above his waistband flashes behind your eyelids, along with an image of his thick fingers. The width of his chest, the rounds of his shoulders. The muscles along his ribs. 

You jam the heels of your hands into your eyes, willing it to stop. 

He’s a murderer. He’s a thief. He’s a dangerous man who has taken advantage of a situation in order to save himself. 

And yet, you breathe out, listening to the shower – he’s saved you every time too. 

–

You stay quiet the rest of the night, sitting with your thoughts. 

He notices, those dark eyes resting on you every now and then over the map. He’d waited until you were in the shower to go through your father’s belongings, a courtesy you silently thanked him for. 

Picking at your dinner, you finally ask him one of the questions weighing on your mind. “Am I really that much of a commodity around here?” you ask. “Is a girl that…rare?”

He stops eating, his expression turning solemn. He holds your gaze for a moment, answering honestly. “You have no idea, Birdie.”

There is a weight to the answer that gives you pause, and a clear implication that confirms the worry that you’re really not safe here – not just for the reasons you thought.

You go back to eating – or rather, picking at your food – and you feel him watching you. 

“It is not my intention to scare you,” he starts, “but it is important that you stay close to me. If anyone asks, you’re mine. You understand?”

You nod, the words sparking to life an empty ache inside you, and you swallow hard. 

“Not because I own you,” he continues, “but because they need to think I do.”

“Wouldn’t being your partner be enough?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I wish it was, but they…” He pauses, being careful with his words. “It’s been a long time since these men have seen a girl. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one. Your father was foolish to bring you here.” His hand splays on his chest, his thumb catching the worn collar of his thermal. “I would never hurt you, Birdie. But them? They’d do it in a heartbeat.”

You go quiet again, and he puts his fork down, leaning in. 

“Again – I don’t say this to scare you, but –”

“That man today,” you interrupt. “How can you kill like that?”

He misunderstands your question, his body language shifting into defensiveness. 

“It was all in the name of self-preservation, Birdie. It was nothing personal. Out here –”

“Can you teach me how?”

Your question takes him aback, his eyebrows popping up with surprise. 

You let the question hang in the air between you, fully expecting him to say no. He shouldn’t help you learn to protect yourself, you know it would be in his best interest not to. Despite that, you hold eye contact with him, pleading inwardly for him to say yes. 

You know he’d protect you, but you want more freedom than that. You want more, just like he taught you earlier.

Taking in your measure for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifts just a fraction, his dark eyes glinting with warmth – and pride. 

“Of course.”

[fleetingvow]

‘ BITTER SOLITUDE .

Wednesday Addams x Female Reader.

SYNOPSIS. wednesday has always loved being alone. she enjoyed the company of solitude and the opportunity for something haunted in the eerie silence, but somehow your presence was missing. did she do something wrong? ( 4.33k words )

WARNINGS. angst, usage of profanities, this is unproofread. spoiler to those who haven’t watched it yet. english is not the author’s first language. the timeline is a bit off. confession under the rain.

NOTE. written in third person’s omniscient point of view.

TABLE OF CONTENTS. you can find my masterlist by clicking this link. my requests are open, so feel free to send in anything you want me to write.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗦 𝗢𝗙 the typewriter halted. Enid had gone somewhere Wednesday didn’t care enough to acknowledge, resulting in the silence of the room that only whispered words of insanity inside her head — silent insanity. She turned her head to spot Thing settled on her dark bed, reading a travelogue magazine he found from Enid’s drawer, turning its pages tediously.

“Are you sure you gave her the note?” Wednesday monotonously questioned as Thing only answered a ‘yes’ with a tap of his finger on the sheets. Her eyes darted on the typewriter again, contemplating whether to use it or leave it alone for a while in order to wait for y/n with full concentration.

But she knew y/n’s presence won’t grace the room no matter how much anyone — most especially, Thing, would pine for it. She narrowed her dark eyes and tightened her jaw as she settled in her train of thoughts.

She used to like this state of living. She was alone or with Thing, but there was silence. The only thing that would bounce back to her ears was the sound of the typewriter clicking and Thing’s magazine pages turning. She loved solitude — lived for it, or perhaps the young Addams would even die for it, because of how much it was a rare luxury for her in Nevermore, but ever since she laid her eyes on a specific girl and her foot set in the divided room, she had grown used to the constant whines of invites to go outside and do some extracurricular activities that Wednesday either found too easy, boring, or stupid.

Y/N often complained about the homeworks they would get stacked with. She would normally curse at the teacher who gave it without a care in the world whether Wednesday heard or not. She felt comfortable enough to express her unnecessary emotions, as Addams would describe it, in the room with the half colourful and half devoid of hues window. She would wreak havoc and play games with Thing, gossip with him, and have a therapy session with him.

Wednesday was used to it, but she never wanted to admit it. Of course she didn’t. Because somehow, y/n had become part of the solitude that Wednesday found convenient even though she wouldn’t admit it aloud or even at all.

She argued that her presence was unlike any other that she found aggravating. That Wednesday didn’t have to put any effort in order to satisfy y/n’s needs in the established — friendship? Were they friends?

“Thing, why isn’t she here?” She asked again through gritted teeth, only gaining an ‘I don’t know’ from her companion.

No, she wasn’t her friend.

But if she wasn’t, why did her absence affect her so? Wednesday found it unsettling, and so unlike her dark cold self. Her eyes peeking through her eyelashes only narrowed even more, and much to her disgust, she wanted to do something about it.

Thing interrupted and made a few gestures, tapping, swinging, and folding his fingers to the girl who got more and more upset as she followed through with what he said.

“I sometimes wish that I don’t understand what you’re telling me,” she replied. “And it’s impossible that she would get upset over my silence. I’m always cold and silent. She should know that she signed up for it before being my . . . acquaintance.” Even without a certain tone in her statement, Thing could sense the venom in her voice. Y/N’s absence did tick Wednesday off.

He gestured, but before he could finish, she spoke again, “Finish that sentence, and I will pull out your nails and skin your fingers alive one at a time.”

Thing knew he crossed a line there. Why else would she threaten his nails?

The wooden floor suddenly creaked as Wednesday stood up from her chair, the typewriter long-forgotten in her wake to venture outside the room with a plan to confront her missing acquaintance.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀༉‧₊˚.

Wednesday knew where to usually find y/n, but much to her dismay, she wasn’t in Weathervane. Tyler hadn’t seen her either. The young Addams found him quite stubborn yet persuasive, but she had to decline his offer of coffee. She had pressing matters to tend to.

Y/N wasn’t with Enid. She wasn’t with Yoko and Divina either, nor Bianca. She wasn’t seen by Xavier the whole day, and her roommate mentioned her rush to go out of the room earlier in the fine Saturday morning.

This was suspicious to Wednesday. Y/N was always with either of them in Weathervane, the library, the field, or Xavier’s haven for his art. Where could she be? She shouldn’t be out and about when there’s a monster on the loose, ready to cut someone’s throat.

“You really don’t want her to see you?” Xavier questioned.

“No. I’m surprised she’s even out there looking for me,” Y/N replied, stroking the hued brush on the canvas. “But then again, it’s Wednesday. She’s probably only looking for me because she needs something.”

“She still thinks I’m the monster, honestly.”

“Well, you do have a lot of drawings of the monster for someone who isn’t it, but I guess I should trust you. Maybe more than I should trust Wednesday from now on.”

Xavier turned to her, eyebrows furrowing in bewilderment. He took the towel near his latest work and wiped his fingers, “I’m curious.”

“What?”

“What did Wednesday do to you? Why did you say all those things you said earlier?”

She shrugged and continued to smudge the blank paint on the canvas. She hated that the colour reminded her of the certain goth girl that made her feel things she shouldn’t be, but could she ever help it? Wednesday was a friend, but the circumstances now said otherwise.

“I won’t tell her.”

“Even if you did, would she care?” She asked bitterly without turning to Xavier, only paying attention to the work she was aimlessly doing.

“Y/N.”

“She didn’t do anything bad. It’s just — ”

“She didn’t do anything, did she?”

Y/N scoffed and stopped her work, looking up at the canvas with a sigh of defeat, “That’s exactly what she did.” She turned to him and set the brush aside, sardonically letting out a chuckle, “Ironic, yes?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

Was she not that obvious enough? Y/N thought she’d done her best to make anyone notice her actions when she was around Wednesday. She wanted them to know so that they could help her with her because she knew she didn’t have the guts to ask them directly, ‘Hey, can you help me with Wednesday?’ Because she found it pathetic. Wednesday obviously wanted someone who could speak their mind and have similarities with her interests, and if she found y/n to be so pathetic enough to ask, what was the chance that the young Addams would even look at her in a different light?

“Y/N, I really can’t help you if I don’t understand what’s going on. Wednesday’s already a puzzle. I’m not sure if I can solve her and you at the same time. She’s not doing anything which is upsetting you because? Maybe my brain’s just a little rusty, but could you elabor — ”

Taking deep breaths in and out weren’t enough. She had to be straightforward with saying what she truly meant with her careful words, “God, Xavier! I want her to notice me!”

“But she does notice you, y/n.”

“You don’t get it.”

“I do. Trust me, I do.”

She shook her head, took the cobbler apron off and hung it on the frame of the canvas, not caring whether the paint had dried off or not. “Thank you for letting me in here and rant to you, Xavier.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I think I just need a little moment to be alone now,” she mumbled and smiled. Xavier thought y/n had always been good at smiling at everything. If witchcraft was told to be her greatest gift, it was not. Smiling was.

But now he wasn’t sure.

Y/N thought her smiling at everything was a curse. It made her bottle what was truly in her chest.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀༉‧₊˚.

It was as if the day wanted to make everything harder for her as she found herself on Enid’s bed, lying quietly on her stomach with Thing on her side, turning the pages of the lotion options on the brochure y/n gave and promised to buy for him if he ever chose one. It seemed hard to be away from Wednesday, but she was about to accomplish her task of ignoring her completely when Enid decided it was nice to invite her to her room only to ditch her as a part of an elaborate plan.

Jokes on her, y/n knew what she was doing. When she said she wanted help, she didn’t mean now. She was too clouded with anger and teenage angst that she wasn’t in the mood to confront the busy as ever Wednesday Addams.

“Where were you?” Wednesday suddenly asked, not stopping from typing words into the typewriter.

“Xavier’s.”

“He said he did not see you the whole day.”

“And what does that make him?” The girl next to Thing inquired, her voice ice and cold. If Wednesday’s cold shoulder existed, y/n’s was much colder than an atlantic iceberg: She tried to shake it off, but she knew her well. She knew something was wrong, and it had to do with her.

“A liar, no less.”

“A friend.”

Wednesday didn’t respond any longer. It was futile to try to ease the tension in the room, and she had to not care or she would let her get in the way of her clear thinking. She was nearing the edge of the monster mystery in the woods, and she was sure it was Xavier, but there was no specific evidence. Her fingers typed aggressively again on the metal contraption, thinking about what they must have been discussing in his shed, what image they painted on the canvas, what disgusting expression on their faces they used while being near each other.

“Something’s on your mind,” Y/N suddenly stated. “Thing, could you go and ask Enid to come here?” She whispered to the pale hand as it crawled outside the room, leaving her and Wednesday alone.

There was no answer from the raven-haired girl. Now she was giving her the cold shoulder. Y/N has had enough thinking it was her fault. She sighed and stood up from the colourful bed, putting on the pair of black loafers she owned for when she went to class. Turning to the door to leave, Wednesday suddenly spoke.

“Everyone was worried.”

Y/N turned her head to her direction. She was still writing. She didn’t know exactly how to feel after the sudden statement. Should she be happy? Why did she feel slightly relieved? Could it mean that Wednesday cared for her? Maybe Xavier was right. Maybe she did get noticed by the certain girl. She wanted to smile, she wanted to ask, she wanted to keep asking more and more. This was her now. Living off a three worded sentence that came out of the Addams’ black painted lips.

“Were you?” Y/N questioned.

She did not respond again. It became a habit of Wednesday, but this one took a little longer than usual. Y/N did not budge from the door, though. She wanted an answer from her. At this point, she was desperate for a sign of anything, giving meanings to simple things only to confuse herself again.

Could Wednesday be holding herself back from giving her a transparent response?

“No.”

Y/N’s hopeful thoughts suddenly shut down as a bad flip on her heart created a shattering pound, dropping the beating chamber on the knots of her tied stomach. Her eyes slightly blinked in disappointment, licking her dry lips to provide moisture as she defeatedly glanced at the girl who had her back facing her.

“Wednesday, did you ever see me as a friend or anything more than just someone you’d talk to on certain occasions just because you needed something at all?”

The clicks stopped just as the door slammed shut behind Y/N, leaving Wednesday to sit on a conundrum of what she’d done wrong and what mistakes she’s been making.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀༉‧₊˚.

SUNDAY. Wednesday didn’t like the Sunday activities that Nevermore had planned for its students. She hated it more when she didn’t spot y/n amongst the crowd in the field. She wanted to say she didn’t notice her absence, but she deemed herself too busy to worry about the little things.

She did catch a glimpse of her on the clear afternoon in the path of Xavier’s shade. She wanted to gauge out her own eyes and vomit acid on them.

After her question the previous night, she hasn’t been able to get a clear grip of her mind to write her novel.

Y/N was an absolute distraction that she was glad to finally get rid of.

MONDAY. Wednesday thought she was over it, but the temporary absence of the girl in her mind was cut short when her sharp eyes spotted her in the corridor, her signature extras on her style standing out as she walked alongside her roommate who rambled things y/n found funny enough to laugh at.

Much to her dismay, her shoulder brushed past hers, causing both of them to stop and look back at each other.

The young Addams didn’t know which was the twist of a curved knife: Was it the fact that she was wearing pastel nail polish or her? Was it the fact that y/n looked at where she was going again and recovered too quickly? She didn’t know anymore whether the question referred to the encounter or some other things, but it was making her blood boil.

TUESDAY. That night, Wednesday enjoyed the midnight breeze and performed one of her cello solos in front of the silver moon and the mist in the sky accompanied by the over-observant stars. She wanted to scream, but she never screamed. She didn’t like shouting or being vocally loud. So, the only outlet? Music. She wanted it to be more grim, angrier, louder, and better. She didn’t care who or what heard. She was getting sick of the thoughts inside her head that she wanted to drown it all out by focusing on one thing.

However, no matter what she did, nothing seemed to cure it. Every twist of the tunes on the cello only reminded her of y/n's laughter from the distance, her eyes crinkling as she listened to the stories of someone else, meddling in their business. Y/N shouldn’t care about the peanut butter that her roommate got on her shirt — she shouldn’t even care about anyone at all. Why should she? How could she? The tune got more aggressive, making the hairs of her body stand, feeling the rhythm of her disdain.

Her face wouldn’t get out of her head. The more she wanted it out, the more it became vibrant and clearer, more stubborn to push away. Just like Y/N in the span of days and weeks that she knew her. She had always been there, not leaving her side. Wednesday never acknowledged her or anyone so much, and she knew it put people off, but not her. Not until —

Wednesday frowned.

Not until that day y/n asked — no, practically begged her to come to Weathervane because she said she had something important to say.

The music ended. Thing sat on the stand and made a gesture. The girl knew what he was asking about. Now it was clear for Wednesday. She had never been oblivious, but the fact that she never acknowledged anything that had to do with y/n when she was constantly pining for her already made her much of a fool than she thought. That’s why she asked her the question a few nights before.

Y/N was under the impression that Wednesday never cared, or that she failed to see her.

Which, if she was frankly speaking, she did fail yet foolishly at that. Wednesday wanted her own space, her own time, her own pace. Y/N wanted an action, and she knew she couldn’t give her that. Their differences were setting each of them aside, away from each other, but now that it was clear, Wednesday knew exactly what to do.

Even if she found it most humanly pathetic.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀༉‧₊˚.

WEDNESDAY. Surely the afternoon rain was not the right weather for archery, but y/n needed the comfort of the serrated edges of the arrows whipping past the air. The rain was just a bonus. Her thumb brushed past her ear as she blinked, concentrating on the dead centre of the target. Before she let the nock go, she felt a presence almost as dead as her grandmother on her side.

“I didn’t know rain and violence enticed you.”

Startled, y/n turned her head to look at the origin of the voice, letting go of her shot as it hit the centre with a sound. She sighed and gave her a warning look before she spoke, “It’s about to get more violent if you don’t step aside, Wednesday.”

“You’re getting better at your threats.” Wednesday plainly stated, earning a scoff from the girl who held the arrow on her side. “Hello, Y/N. Your archery is impressive.”

Did she do it right? Did she give a nice compliment? Will she take it well? Wednesday would owe Thing if it worked, but she’ll decapitate a piece of his finger if it didn’t. She didn’t know if she was in the right mind or was y/n looking more goddess-like under the stormy clouds.

Her hair was wet with rain falling down on her face. Still, her eyes sparked a feeling in Wednesday’s chest, something that got right up her throat that she swallowed immediately to refrain. She looked at her up and down, noticing how the lustrous shine of the weather made her seem like she was the weather.

“Get to the point, Addams. If you’re kissing my ass for a favour, it’s not going to work.”

Y/N wasn’t making it easy for her. She was going off what Thing told her she would say, and it was making the whole situation difficult to surpass. What should she say now? If she went out with the truth, how pathetic would she look?

Wednesday defied feelings.

But could she now? Especially when it was the truth, and Y/N was staring right at her face, flushing a certain disgusting colour on her cheeks that she hated and swore never to let on her skin. The deathly cold temperature of her body was running hot from the look she was giving her. Her Uncle Fester was surely away, but she felt electric sensations stabbing her insides. As much as she loved stabbing, she would like it better if she was the one holding the knife.

“You’re wasting my time — ”

“I did notice you, even from the very beginning that the page of my life in Nevermore turned. That was until I got preoccupied by what was hiding in the forest, seeking its next victim. I feared that I will destroy this school to ruins, hurt the people I do not care about, and the people I tolerate.” Wednesday suddenly started. She walked closer to the girl who ruled the archery grounds and continued, “I admit I lost sight of you since then. Hence why I’m here. To apologise to you for my irresponsibility.”

The lack of emotion in her voice would have ruined the whole speech, but for y/n, it was the lack of something else. She was expecting her to tell her more, rather than just a simple sentiment that left her hanging whether Wednesday reciprocated her feelings or not. However, she understood completely that no matter how many days, weeks, months, and years that she planned to ignore the certain Addams, she would never manage to have her see her in the way she wanted. A ‘no’ is a ‘no’ after all, even if it was delivered indirectly and unpolished.

Y/N nodded and turned to the target halfway when Wednesday spoke again, noticing the deprivation of enlightenment in the speech she gave. The girl in the darker uniform sighed and looked down, unable to meet the eyes of the girl before her as she questioned, “The day you told me you had something important to say, what was it?”

“Does it matter? You didn’t care enough to show up and know.”

That caused a slight intoxicating heartache that made her come to her senses and feel the searing gaze of the girl. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to join you, but now that I realise the gravity of the matter, I wish to know what you wanted to say.”

“You have an idea as to what it was.” Y/N was tougher to crack this time around.

“But I want your enlightenment, y/n.” But Wednesday was more stubborn than she ought to be.

“You really won’t leave me alone for shit, won’t you?”

“Not unless you tell me.”

Y/N’s furrowed eyebrows only met again closely. She threw the bow down to the ground and marched past Wednesday, not wanting to tell her what it was or it will make her look pathetic again. If she told her, she wouldn’t be able to help herself. How would it look when a deep-feeling person cried in front of someone who didn’t give a fuck about anything?

“Y/N.”

“Wednesday, you’ve done enough damage and I’m trying to stay the fuck away from you and steer clear out of your way but you keep appearing with your stupid braids!” She exclaimed exasperatedly. “You just see me when you need me for something. You don’t notice me like you said you have. You never looked at me in the perspective that could show more of what I could be! You never see more than someone to satisfy your convenience, and if I’m just that, just a speck of dust on your shoe, just leave me be, okay?”

That was it. Wednesday never saw her this angry before, but the displeasure of emotion it brought felt well-deserved to herself. After all, she was the reason for it.

“Because I’m tired of throwing myself to someone— you, and not see it being given an answer to. If you wanted me to stop, you could have said so, but no. You never truly noticed, did you?” Y/N’s voice cracked, and there she knew, she had to keep it brief before she started embarrassing herself before Wednesday. The girl who never cried ever since she reaised it never did anything. “That day I invited you to Weathervane, I intended it to be something more than friends would do. I wanted to tell you how I felt around you, because you were a part of everything I did ever since I started showing up in your dorm every single day and saw so much of you from afar. The mood I get from you affects the whole day ahead. I was fascinated about how you knew so much yet also knew so little. You never truly realised how perfect you are in every single aspect, and even the tainted side, I embraced it all, because that was how willing I was to devote myself to you. I knew I wouldn’t have a shot because even if I knew how you’d take a three-minute break from writing or which type of drink you’d usually order, I don’t know anything about you. I don’t even know if you liked people like me. Fuck, do you even like girls at all? I don’t know, because do you even want me to know y—”

Wednesday has had enough of her angry outburst slash teenage angst confession under the rain slash rant, because now that the letters of each words have reached her ears and processed in her head, and her heart pounded in sync with the cello solo constantly playing in the back of her mind, she felt impatient with waiting for the end of Y/N’s dramatic confession.

Impatient that she couldn’t wait another second to march forward, aggressively pull her by the collar and crash her lips against hers, taking the girl by surprise as Wednesday pulled away shortly after before mumbling, “You always talked too much.”

“Wait, does that mean—?”

Wednesday wanted to roll her eyes, but her emotionless stare at Y/N’s face already gave the answer the girl was looking for, as well as another surprising kiss that warmed their bodies in the cold misty weather, hearing one another’s hearts go wild inside their chests like birds begging to be freed into the wild.

Wednesday hated teenage angst, but now maybe there was a part of it she tolerated.

Suddenly, a squawk from the distance was heard, followed by a crow falling right next to them, causing the two to pull away and look.

Y/N could have sworn Wednesday smiled, but she was quick to recover from the plague of crescent lips.

“In case you were wondering, that was a sign of approval from my dead ancestors.” The young Addams informed.

She wasn’t sure why y/n didn’t scream or take what she said before back and say she regretted it all, but Wednesday liked the circumstance as it was.

It was just her and y/n, the dead crow on the archery field, and the peculiar teenage outcast angst under the cliché rain.

“If you tell the others any vivid details about this, I will kill you, calcify your heart and keep it in my drawer.”

“I’d like to see you try, Mary Shelley.”

[inaflashimagine]

lo mejor (i)

pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader (can be read as reader being latine)

summary: nueva york had no shortage of places that sold empanadas. unfortunately, that didn’t equate to all of them being good.

but he continued to find himself going to your restaurant, a few of the other spider-people less than convinced that it's just for your food.

a/n: as a latina who also eats empanadas to cure their hanger, i just needed to get this off my chest. will be a multi-part fic!

3k wc. no warnings for this chapter, other than a litany of english + spanish curses

masterlist | one | two

–

“I’m in hiding. He’s angry at me…again…”

As much as the kid was growing on Jess, she sent an unimpressed look at the flickering hologram. “In other news, water is wet.”

“But seriously, how can he expect me to write a report only 5 minutes after I finish a mission? He’s worse than my AP Lit teacher, and Ms. O’Connor was—”

“Gwen, I’m gonna stop you right there. Because we’ve been through this before. You know how to fix this.”

Though her face was covered by her mask, the widening of her goggles before her shoulders sagged in defeat showed Jess that Gwen knew exactly what to do.

“But can’t you come with me? What if I mess up the order?”

“Are you kidding me right now? Didn’t you want me to ‘chill with the hovering’?”

Gwen sighed, already starting to swing her way through Nueva York to get to her destination. “I know, I know, I’ll go. Do you want anything?” 

“No need, it sounds like you might have to buy the whole store to be in his good graces again. Good luck.”

Her mentor logged off before hearing her star pupil groan in frustration—what was supposed to be an effortless day was quickly becoming a pain in her ass.

Like countless times before, Gwen quickly changed into her set of ‘futuristic’ civilian clothes to blend in with the rest of the long line at the tiny, but packed, restaurant. If it weren’t for the enticing smell of freshly baked dough, Gwen wondered if this would all be worth it. She’d have to cancel the jam session with Hobie if this plan didn’t work, lest she face the wrath of the villain of the week, Miguel O’Hara.

But when she finally saw a familiar smile and a warm pair of eyes greeting her behind the counter, she realized that Jess was right—she knew how to fix this.

Or rather, you did.

“Mi gringa favorita! It’s been a while. How many empanadas does el jefe need?”

–

Miguel was having a bad day. 

It started with the usual suspect: Peter B., un pendejo who believed that Miguel and Jess actually wanted to hear about his daughter’s bowel movements.

Not to mention the impromptu comedy club Miguel had to break down so everyone could get back to doing the jobs they forgot they signed up for. (Nothing was more irritating than being surrounded by unfunny people who genuinely thought their endless quips and corny jokes landed. Every. Single. Time.)

Then for the umpteenth time, he had to tell Gwen to turn in her reports on time. Yet that was nothing compared to her latest efforts in convincing Miguel to let Miles visit HQ and gently explain (gently because, “He doesn’t know any better!”) that he’s the biggest threat to the multi-verse. These poor attempts, unsurprisingly, fell flat. O’Hara warned Jess that the girl would be a liability, and each day he grew closer to sending the kid back to Earth-65 if she decided to pull any tricks. 

But the worst part of this dreadful day was when a nervous, slightly cowering Chef Spidey told his boss there were no more empanadas. 

“What?” Miguel’s brows furrowed in confusion, indifferent to the uncomfortable silence that enveloped the cafeteria at the sound of his incredulity. “What do you mean, there’s no more empanadas? Who ate the last one?”

“He promised me not to tell you!” 

And with that, Miguel stalked to his office where he was currently sulking in, seriously considering changing Peter B.’s portal watch to a day pass as punishment for apparently eating over a half dozen empanadas.

Just as he was about to give Lyla the command, his associate in the heart sunglasses suddenly appeared. “Gwen Stacy will be here in a minute, might want to start lowering your platform.”

“Maldita sea, didn’t I tell you to not let anyone in?” He pinched the bridge of his nose—he’d much prefer for his ears to be rattled with Peter B.‘s ramblings and even Ben Reilly’s moping over Gwen’s incessant whining about how crappy the current Spider Society establishment was. (She was spending way too much time with Hobie.)

“Hey pal, that’s not a nice word, and she comes bearing gifts that you’ll like.”

“Oh really?” he remarked dryly, arms crossed as he began his descent. “She finished the ten detailed reports she owes me?”

Yet Miguel caught the heavenly smell of beef empanadas before seeing Gwen’s sheepish face. And did he also catch a whiff of chorizo and cheese?

“Hi, Miguel. Heard you haven’t had lunch yet, sooooo…” Shaking off her nerves and avoiding that terrifying gaze, she held out the two large boxes as her apology. “And I’ll submit those reports by tonight, I promise.”

An eyebrow raised, he webbed the boxes toward himself and held them even more tightly when he saw where they came from. 

His eyes glossed over the mascot of Mama’s Empanadas, a smiling and waving empanada that almost seemed to assure him that his hanger would quickly be cured. But it was the words hurriedly scribbled at the bottom that displaced the rage he’s felt all day with a weird pang in his chest:

“Buen provecho, Jefe :)”

Miguel quickly turned away, hoping he seemed more composed than he actually felt. As the floor to his office slowly began to ascend, he said, “I’ll give you one more day to finish those reports. But don’t think it’s because this bribe worked.”

“Of course.” Gwen hoped the amusement wasn’t clear in her voice, smirking at the shoulders of the tall man lose their tension as he began eating the ‘bribe’. Would Hobie even believe her if she told him what just happened? 

“Thanks, Miguel. See you tomorrow!”

He didn’t even register her last words, eyes closed as he savored the explosive taste of smoked chorizo and finally allowed fond memories to flood his brain.

— 

Nueva York had no shortage of places that sold empanadas. Unfortunately, that didn’t equate to all of them being good.

It’s not that he didn’t know how to make them–he’s sure that he could follow his abuela’s recipes that his ma once gave him–but he just didn’t have time. After all, nothing was more convenient than cashing in the perks of the suit to cut a long line and grab free food. But once Lyla finished the goober she was working on (“It’s not a goober, Miguel, it’s a gizmo!”), he’d have even less time to do anything other than jump into different dimensions, some of which would certainly not sell empanadas.

This explained why after changing into sweats following a grueling shift, he found himself staring across the busy street at Mama’s Empanadas, the hunger in his growling stomach overwhelming. The small restaurant was engulfed by flashing neon lights and signs boasting the quality of their food in both Spanish and English. The place was always swarming with people whenever he swung by, but as closing time approached only a few stragglers remained. 

And so did you.

Miguel hoped that you were the owner of the shop rather than an overworked employee, considering that he couldn’t remember the last time someone else took your position behind the counter. But even from this distance, he could see your cheery smile while you welcomed new patrons and the regulars, almost as if you were genuinely happy to be serving them on a late Friday night. 

With all the running around he’s been doing lately, he couldn’t even remember the last time taking on the Spider-Man mantle gave him the same joy he spotted on your face miles away.

O’Hara felt his phone vibrate as he saw the latest message from Lyla illuminating his screen.

“Got some news to share! Might want to deliver the bad stuff in person though.”

“Que chingada,” Miguel cursed, rubbing tired eyes as he contemplated whether to reply. How could the news get even worse after Earth-1610 lost Peter Parker, their only Spider-Man?

Raising his head, he watched you approach the storefront to activate the electrified gates that would close the shop. 

And for reasons his brain would never be able to explain, he felt himself panic, almost as if his body jolted awake as he deftly weaved through honking cars and found himself in front of you, the only barrier being a pesky glass door that would take a millisecond for him to break.

Yet he was surprised to see you hold your ground, and even more shocked to see you flash him an annoyed look he’s never seen you give to any other customer. Shoulders tense, he was ready for you to begin berating him for being a nuisance and to leave the fuck off the premises. 

“Eres un idiota? ¡Casi te atropellan!”

Miguel blinked, not sure he heard you correctly. Sure, calling him an idiot is warranted, but he was not almost run over by those cars. Even if he did get hit–which, again, he wouldn’t–then the car would be hurt, not him. 

Instead of explaining himself without implicating his alter persona, or at the very least say something remotely coherent in English or Spanish, Miguel found himself even more gobsmacked when you opened the door and ushered him inside, frantically asking him questions in a random jumble of Spanglish as you tried inspecting a man seemingly twice your size for any injuries.

“¿No hablas español? Should I call 911, mierda, is this guy catatonic? Should I have moved him? Are you hurt?”

Feeling your hands shake his shoulders finally snapped him out of whatever funk he was in, confusion washing over him as he tried to piece together what just happened in the past minute. Heeding your obvious concern, he sighed and did his best to ignore the absolutely embarrassing predicament he put himself in.

“Estoy bien,” he assured you, his relief matching yours as you let go and immediately exhaled. “I really am fine, I just wanted to try the empanadas before closing.”

There was that exasperation again, your deadly expression sufficient in asking him ‘Are you serious?’ that your high-pitched words of “En serio?” were quite unnecessary, in his opinion.

“Was running across a congested street not serious enough?”

You scoffed before glaring at him for a few more seconds, though he could see the uncertain shift in your eyes. “This isn’t some twisted joke to rob me, right? Last thing I need is having Spider-Man beating you up and breaking my new glass counter.”

Miguel couldn’t hide the wry twist of his lips, fully aware that he could be thrown out at any minute but still curious to hear your opinion. “Not a Spider-Man fan?”

“As long as he doesn’t destroy my property, I wouldn’t even mind defending the dude on J. Jonah Jameson’s stupid podcast.“ You shrugged casually, already beginning to make your way behind the counter after deeming Miguel to be harmless, despite looking like he could crush you with his pinky. 

He didn’t know how to respond, still perplexed about why you hadn't kicked him out yet. 

He soon brushed those thoughts to the side when his mouth watered upon seeing you point at the remaining golden-brown pastries. “Well, these will be on the house, since you almost died in front of my restaurant. We only have 3 chicken left, 2 guava and cheese, and 1 chorizo with potato.”

Miguel felt his phone vibrate again–no doubt it was Lyla. 

And for the first time in a long time, he turned off his phone, not even bothering to view the message as he chose to look at you instead.

“I’ll take them all.”

–

When you first decided to take over your family’s restaurant, your tía taught you how to handle rude customers while also giving you advice on how to treat the nice ones so they always returned.

However, there was nothing in her playbook on how to treat the weird customers.

And Miguel O’Hara was the weirdest by far.

You took a light sip of your café con leche as you stole a glance at him starting his second empanada, the sight of such a quiet, large man sitting in a tiny seat and restraining his urge to inhale the food in one go quite comical. Much like how he ate the first one, he attempted to seem unaffected by the taste of the meaty filling. 

But after doing this for so many years, no one could ever hide their reaction from you. Especially the pure happiness one got from eating a toasty, savory empanada. 

And seeing the dark red-brown eyes of the intimidating man briefly widening and softening in amazement only made you want to find more ways to recapture that fleeting moment. To lengthen it and bask in its warmth, even if that meant countless hours of mincing, seasoning, kneading, and baking. 

“¿Entonces? The only thing you’ve said these past five minutes is your name. ¿Que dice el juez?” you teased, leaning back and smugly folding your arms as you already knew what his verdict would be. 

It was a choice you instantly regretted, almost falling out of your chair as he stopped looking at his half-finished empanada and focused all of his attention on you, a gaze so intense you briefly pondered if you left the oven on with the sudden swell of heat suffocating you.

He pursed his lips and rolled those impossibly broad shoulders, yet another action that made the room feel uncomfortably stuffy for no good reason. “It’s one of the best empanadas I’ve ever had in my life.”

Now it was your turn to be surprised, expecting to hear a ‘good’ or maybe even a ‘great’, but not the highest of praises. 

A pregnant pause ensued before a hearty laugh escaped you.

It was impossible to suspend your disbelief–all of this coming from one of the hottest guys you’ve ever seen enter this shop? Only when pigs fly, or as your abuela preferred to say, “Solo cuando los cerdos vuelan.”

“¡Mentiroso! Lo dices como si fuera la última Coca-Cola en el desierto.”

He had to know that his half-glare really was just him smoldering. There was no way this man was oblivious to the effects of that gaze. 

“I don’t think I’m a liar or particularly funny. Though I actually would appreciate a Coca, si la tienes.”

You desperately hoped that your immediate sigh sounded one stemming from annoyance rather than relief–having an excuse to get up and look for a can of soda rather than the brooding dude a mere foot away from you was the only way you’d stay sane through this strange night.

“I do appreciate the kind words,” you said after recollecting your composure, the cool air blasting from the fridge reminding you to retain at least some semblance of professionalism, “but these aren’t even the freshest batch. No way they’re the best you’ve had.”

Miguel raised an eyebrow as you handed him the can. “I didn’t say the best. And you don’t have any with a glass bottle?”

You rolled your eyes before plopping back into your seat. “If I did, I would’ve hit you in the head with it quite a while ago. And especially now, after your challenge.”

“It’s not meant to be taken as a challenge–”

“Ah, but I’ll take it as one because my family’s reputation is riding on this. Or else mi abuela, que en paz descanse”–you pointed to the framed picture of the sweet, old lady right above the cash register–“lanzará sus chanclas poderosas, and I don’t want to get hit by those, they’re stronger than that car that was about to run you over.”

The roll of his eyes was obnoxiously overt, but you barely caught a glimpse of the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, masterfully hidden by taking a sip of his coke. 

“How would this so-called challenge even work?”

“You’re asking the wrong question because that’s an easy answer. The next time you come, I’ll bake you a fresh batch of your favorite empanadas, no matter what kind and even if you come 5 minutes before closing.” Listing the types with each finger, it’s hard to contain your excitement. “Baked, fried, sweet, savory, you name it.”

“¿Y si no me gustan?”

“¡No seas tonto! Yet another dumb question, because you’ll not only like them, you’ll fucking love them. The right question is whether you’d think they’re the best.”

You swore he inched closer, the once faint smell of sandalwood from his cologne now overpowering your already-fried senses. “And what if they’re not the best?”

“I’ll get two more attempts afterward. If they still don’t meet your palate’s expectations, which honestly isn’t a worry of mine, then you’ll get free empanadas for the year.” It’s said without hesitation, with confidence you have no idea how you mustered all of a sudden. 

Out of all moments to be driven by pride, you choose to do so while tightrope walking on a straight razor.

And you wondered if Miguel read your mind because, for the first time, you heard his laugh. It’s a sardonic one, but its deep timbre was as attractive as his face and meshed well with his incredibly dry sense of humor.

Maybe the walk wouldn’t be as bad as you imagined.

“You’re either extremely arrogant in thinking you’ll win, or too trustful in people to believe they wouldn’t scam you with this deal.”

“But you’re not just some normal person,” you reply simply, amused to see his shoulders slightly stiffened, “and I believe you when you said you’re not a liar. Call it a gut feeling.”

“What do you even get out of this?” he asked, puzzled at how you just weren’t setting yourself up for failure. He didn’t need Lyla for him to visualize the thousands of ways you could lose.   

Your wolfish grin showed a lot more than your words. “Nothing, other than making my family proud. Anddd perhaps receiving a five-star review on Yelp wouldn’t hurt either.”

Running a hand through his hair, he shrugged before lifting his soda can toward you. “That’s the least I could do. But don’t think I’ll make this easy for you.” 

You gently clinked his can with your cup of coffee as your eyes locked with his, wondering what the hell you just got yourself into.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

–

translations (please lmk if you need more):

Mi gringa favorita - my favorite white girl

El jefe - the boss

Un pendejo - a dumbass

Maldita sea - goddamn it

Buen provecho, Jefe - Enjoy your meal, boss

Que chingada - what bullshit/wtf

Eres un idiota? ¡Casi te atropellan! - Are you an idiot? They almost ran you over!

No hablas espanol? - You don't speak Spanish

Estoy bien - I'm fine

Que dice el juez - What does the judge say?

¡Mentiroso! Lo dices como si fuera la última Coca-Cola en el desierto - Liar! You say it as if it was the last coca-cola in the desert

Una coca - A Coca Cola

Si la tienes - If you have it

Que en paza descanse - may she rip

Lanzarla las chanclas poderosas - she'll release her powerful flip-flops

Y si no me gustan? - And if I don't like it?

No seas tonto - Don't be silly/dumb

[sanasballoons]

Just finished watching ‘My Life with the Walter Boys’ and I have some thoughts:

- I can tell I’m too old to watch this shit bc the weird love triangle with two brothers just gave me the ick.

- Jackie was edging on Bella Swan territory but she was nice and actually had some ambition beyond being obsessed with a boy so she was slightly better. Still like nearly every other character in the show more than her though.

- Also they gave my girl the most ugly boring name - Jackie Howard? Really?

- I wanted to see more of both Nathan and Danny, such sweethearts. Also if there is a season 2 - Danny and Erin pls!!!!

- WHY DIDN’T WE GET TO SEE THE PLAY?!

- Nathan and Skylar, adorable but how Skylar resisted those huge blue eyes for so long is anyone’s guess.

- Alex was a bit of a whiney little bitch but Cole was INSUFFERABLE. Why did he do literally anything he did? He was an asshole who nearly redeemed himself before stripping it all away at the end.

- Cole ruining his mums speech is what made him unforgivable for me, what a tool.

- Felt sorry for his friend too even though he was kind of an asshole, he was obviously just trying to cling onto their friendship and Cole just didn’t seem to care much.

- Basically Cole is a selfish asshole who isn’t nearly as deep as he thinks he is.

- Kiley deserves the world, Alex doesn’t deserve to even make direct eye contact with you sweetie, he has no taste. JUSTICE FOR KILEY!

- Tara also deserved better than that teacher guy.

- Loved Grace as well, she reminded me of myself at that age.

- If there’s a season 2 my girl Erin will become my favourite character I know it. She’s not quite the ‘bitchy cheerleader with a secret heart of gold’ character I love, but she was getting there.

- Love Katherine. And George is HOT!