#I am wearing a dress and I do not like it

[navybrat817]

All Dressed Up

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky visits a gallery to support his best friend and unexpectedly meets the girl of his dreams.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: First meeting, mild dirty thoughts, instacrush, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Okay, lovelies. A new AU. I'm sorry. @targaryenvampireslayer @tavners @starlightcrystalline @whisperlullaby @sgt-seabass @vesearlee , I feel like you all either heard me screech, encouraged, or helped me, and I appreciate you. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo and divider by the incredible @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t dress up for most people since it wasn’t his style. He would do so for any of his brothers though, especially Steve. His best friend since childhood, and his club’s president, he always had a love and talent for drawing and painting. And after working his ass off on his exhibit it would’ve been a crime for the vice president not to show up.

Steve promised if there was ever a day when Bucky’s writing became published he’d be by his side to celebrate too. As much as they liked to give each other shit sometimes about art and how they created it, the support was there through and through. The only catch for tonight was that he had to dress nicely to get into the gallery. So, instead of the usual leather jacket or vest he wore and jeans, he went with a plain black suit and white button up shirt.

He refused to wear a tie since it wasn’t a wedding. He had to draw a line somewhere. No one paid him any mind though as they walked around the gallery, and he was more than fine with that. This wasn’t his night.

“You should be proud, punk,” Bucky said, looking over the art lining the large wall, each piece crafted with care.

“I am proud, jerk,” Steve smiled. He hadn’t worn a tie either, and it made Bucky feel a little better. “And you know you don’t have to stay the whole time.”

Bucky knew that. He also knew members and prospects would be trickling in and out throughout the evening. “Not needed at the bar tonight, so I can stay as long as I want. But I might cut out early since I see your face enough between that and the club.”

Steve chuckled. “Still haven’t sold the place, huh?”

The brunette sighed. It wasn’t the first time Steve asked if he was going to sell the bar to focus more on writing. “Where the hell would you all hang out if I sold the place?” He liked the bar. It wasn’t just a great hangout for the club, but for his other regulars, too.

“There are other bars,” Steve teased. He said that, but he loved the bar, too. “You know I just want you to-”

“Follow my compass. I know. You’ve said that so many…” He stopped talking when he saw an unexpected angel walk into the room.

Well, angel was the word that came to mind since you were wearing a white dress and the light over your head illuminated you like a halo. But as his eyes swept over you, he wondered if there was a bit of a devil in you. He wouldn’t mind bringing that side out of you if you gave him the chance.

And here he used to think love at first sight was bullshit.

“Hey. Do you know her?” Bucky subtly nodded in your direction as you spoke to another woman, jealousy flaring up for a second at the thought of his best friend knowing you and not telling him. And if you knew Steve, that was that before things even started. While the blonde didn’t have much game growing up, he came into his own after his growth spurt, and everyone adored or wanted him.

Steve shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said, making Bucky’s shoulders slump in relief before his friend scrutinized him. “Jesus, are you eye fucking her? You are, aren’t you?”

Bucky wasn’t the least bit ashamed. “And I’ll keep doing it ‘til she looks at me,” he replied, wishing you’d at least spare him a glance and get a look at him in his nice suit. Maybe you weren’t into guys with tattoos and piercings, but he was certain he could change your mind if that was the case.

“How long has it been since you’ve been on a date?” Steve asked. “Just introduce yourself like a gentleman and see where that goes.”

“A couple of months? Something like that.” Tearing his gaze away to glance at his inked hands, he chuckled. “You think I’m a gentleman?”

He could be dangerous and downright dirty when the occasion called for it, but just because he rode a motorcycle and covered himself in tattoos and piercings didn’t mean he treated others poorly. He was raised better than that. Even with his ex-girlfriends, things never ended because he didn’t treat them well. They just weren’t the one.

“We both know you are. Sometimes,” Steve answered, smirking as a beat passed. “And she’s looking your way.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to find you looking right at him with a curious stare. You had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Which was nothing compared to your smile. It was like watching the sun slowly rise to meet the day.

Fuck, he was being sappy. You ruined him with a single stare, and he wanted to ruin you in return. Make it so you wouldn’t want another man.

You whispered something to the woman beside you before she nudged you forward and he realized Steve pushed him to move, too. It only took three more steps before he was right in front of you, the gentle smell of your sweet perfume filling his nostrils. Need slammed into his body as you smiled again, and he actually felt the blue of his eyes shrink as his pupils widened.

If Steve thought he was eye fucking you before…

“Hey,” he said, his voice raspier than usual.

“Hi,” you said. It was a voice he could listen to for hours and he wondered what it would sound like when you said his name.

“I’m Bucky.” He took a smaller step closer, trying his damnedest to block out any other man around him so you’d keep those pretty eyes on him.

You introduced yourself, too, and it was a name he would never forget. “I like your tattoos,” you added almost shyly. Almost.

If he had his way, you’d see the rest of them soon enough. “Thanks,” he smiled, holding one hand up to show you. “Dressed like this, I bet you think I’m part of the mob.” After getting dressed and adding the gold jewelry, even he thought for a split second he looked like a mobster.

“Are you or is that information I can’t be privy to?” you asked, making him chuckle. You didn’t skip a beat, and he liked that.

“Not part of the mob, but I am part of a motorcycle club,” he replied. He wore his patch with pride and that didn’t seem to scare you, which was good. “I also own a bar.” He didn’t know why added that part. You didn’t ask and he didn’t want to brag, but there he was.

“So, you ride a motorcycle, and you own a bar?” You glanced back at your friend to ask her, “Do you mind if I…”

“I’m good. You two talk,” your friend smiled, giving Bucky an encouraging wink. He looked back to find that Steve walked away, too.

You smiled as you faced Bucky again. “Well, I’m happy to hear more about either of those things if you have time.”

“Yeah.” A lopsided smile appeared before he could stop it. “I got time,” he said. All the time in the world.

Over the next hour, the two of you stayed close together and talked in between looking at Steve’s pieces. He told you he was there to support Steve and talked a little bit more about the bar he owned. A hole in the wall kind of place he fixed up. While he wasn’t a big drinker, he loved making them for his regulars, and his profession allowed him to get away with all the tattoos.

“I’ll have to stop by sometime,” you smiled before it faltered. “If that’s okay.”

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but his heart raced, and he wanted to see you smile again. “I’ll hold you to that,” he teased. “What about you? What do you do for work?”

You told him that you were a blood bank nurse and still fairly new to the area. While you didn’t have too many friends nearby, you liked your neighborhood and the one friend you had made invited you to the gallery since she was an art enthusiast. You also let it slip that you were single upon your move here, which he was happy to hear since he was, too, but he didn’t miss the note of sadness in your voice.

He could help fix it if you were lonely.

“I’m not seeing anyone either,” he stated.

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You don’t have an old lady?” His eyes went right to your lip when he bit it. “That is the correct term of endearment, right?”

“That’s right,” he said, his eyes soft. “Both of those things are right.”

You bit your lip again and he wasn’t sure if you were purposely trying to entice him, but now he wanted to bite your lip. “So, do you do anything for fun outside of riding and work?”

He almost groaned when you said “riding” and he had to shake his head to keep his mind from drifting. He couldn’t think of you being on his bike with your arms wrapped tight around him or you riding him or anything like that. “Well…”

He explained that he wrote a bit in his spare time outside of work and the club. It was a hobby mostly, but it would be a dream come true to get his work out there one day. If not, that was okay, too, because he had a decent life and didn’t need much. His bike, his brothers.

But to have an old lady…

“Maybe I could read…” you frowned when you saw the time. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. I should get going,” you said, disappointment filling both of you.

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. The two of you were having a nice talk, and he hadn’t had a chance to ask about your hobbies yet. “It’s still kinda early. Do you really have to go?” he asked, realizing just how desperate he sounded. God, if the prospects could hear him right now… He just didn’t want the night to end.

“Yeah, I do. I’m actually working a blood drive tomorrow and could use the rest,” you said, smiling sadly. He felt like an ass for asking you to stay when you had work to do. “I don’t know if you’ve heard anything about it, but you’re welcome to stop by if you want to donate. I always have this fear that people won’t show, which I realize sounds ridiculous.”

Bucky mentally kicked his ass for not knowing about a local blood drive. He was usually more on top of those sorts of things. “Where’s it at?” You gave the location and time, which was all he needed. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

And every single club member would be there, too, if they knew what was good for them.

“Really?” you smiled, your hand bumping his when you turned to face him. “You’ll go?”

He let his fingers brush yours and he smiled to himself when he felt the light shiver. “Of course, doll.”

“Doll?” you giggled. He hoped he didn’t offend you. “I hope you show,” you added in a small voice, your gaze focused on the ground.

Frowning a bit, he wondered if you didn’t believe him. Did someone let you down before? “If I say I’ll be there…” He lifted your chin, so you’d look into his eyes. He needed you to see the truth in them. “I’ll be there.”

You exhaled, staring deeply into his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you whispered.

He grudgingly released you, knowing he had to. Besides, if he kept touching you, there was a good chance he’d pin you against the wall and show you what a work of art you were. “Good night,” he whispered, watching you go back to your friend. She linked her arm with yours as you glanced back, keeping your eyes on Bucky until you were out of sight.

He exhaled, mentally kicking his ass again. Why the fuck didn’t he ask for your number? You two hit it off, and you wanted to see him at least in some capacity beyond the blood drive, right?

Steve made a beeline for him as he stayed rooted to the spot. “It looks like you two hit it off. You know you didn’t even say hi to Chris or Sam or-”

“We’re going to a blood drive tomorrow,” he cut in. He hoped people would show, but he gave you his word he’d be there, and the club was all about giving back to the community.

The blonde’s eyebrows pinched. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Blood drive. Tomorrow. Everyone,” he said, giving his friend a hard stare. “You’re the president. Make it happen.”

“You’re the vice president, which means you supervise plans for club events or gatherings. That includes last minute things,” he pointed out, his eyebrows shooting up as Bucky got his phone out and typed quickly. “You’re serious about this?”

“Is it too much to say, ‘You better fucking be there or you’ll pay for it later’?”

The blonde grinned. A shit-eating, knowing grin, and he wanted to smack him. “This is all for her, isn’t it?”

Bucky sighed. He hadn't expected to meet someone so perfect tonight. “She’s a nurse and I wanna help. Besides, it’s good for the community and you’re all about that shit.” And he had to make a better impression after not asking for your number. “Will you at least promise you’ll be there?”

“To watch my whipped best friend fawn over a pretty nurse? Hell yeah.”

“Beautiful,” he corrected him. “She’s beautiful.”

And while Bucky would fawn over you tomorrow, he also hoped he’d get your number.

So, what do we think so far? Part of this writing style was slightly different for me, but I like how it turned out! I still need to give this reader a nickname and the AU a name, but this is a start. I can't wait for the whole club to show up at the blood drive. I also have something silly and cute planned for these two. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[xinganhao]

🍨 svt spoiling their partner.

★ prompt: how ot13 spoils their partner? 🥹🥹🥹 i am just a girl give me treats c/o @shinwonderful

ⓘ established relationship, pet names, fluff. headcanons under the cut. special thanks to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping! ♡

🍨 read more?

seungcheol 𖹭 planning dates. he will refuse to let you lift a finger for your day out. everything will be meticulously laid out, finetuned to be something that you'll enjoy. his goal is to lessen the mental load of decision-making and planning; he wants you to be able to focus solely on enjoying the surprise, and he'll break his back to make sure that happens.

jeonghan 𖹭 'parallel play'. even if the two of you might not be interested in the same things, that's okay. he's happiest to spend quality time with you at home, where the two of you are free to do your own thing within eachother's presence. just being in your vicinity already makes him content, and so he plans everything around the two of you getting to explore and share your respective hobbies.

shua 𖹭 acts of service. need help with your taxes? need someone to fill up your tank? he's already on it. he'll say that these are all 'little things', call it the bare minimum, when it's apparent that he makes it a conscious effort to make your day-to-day easier. his brand of spoiling you comes in the form of quietly doing things that will improve your quality of life.

junhui 𖹭 buying clothes you'll like. he can't help it, really. when he sees an article of clothing that he thinks suits your style? when he finds a local brand that shares your advoacy? he's already pulling out his wallet. he likes the idea of dressing you up. nothing makes him happier than knowing you're wearing an outfit that he entirely picked out for you.

soonyoung 𖹭 daily reasons why he loves you. people always joke that he has a bit of a motormouth, so why shouldn't he use it on talking about you, you, you? he's big on words of affirmation, on making sure you never doubt how he feels for you. he'll point out the little and big things that make him adore you, and it's never the same reason twice.

wonwoo 𖹭 indulging your interests. he may not always understand these trends— blind boxes, must-have fashion pieces, et cetera— but he'll never make you feel bad about it. if there's anything that you want, he's already doing everything within his power to get it. his greatest joy is seeing your face light up once he's gotten you your 'priority' item; it's why he keeps doing it in the first place.

jihoon 𖹭 trying new things for you. there's a long list of things that jihoon never thought he'd do, but then he started dating you. time and time again, he willingly goes out of his comfort zone to accompany you on the little adventures and experiences that you ask to go on. he does these things scared, does them anxious, does them begrudgingly,— does them all for you.

seokmin 𖹭 meals he thinks you'll like. he's the type to have dozens of tabs open for homemade recipes dot com. he knows he's an amateur at this, but he's undeterred in trying. whether it's a trending pastry on tiktok or the comfort meal that your mother makes you, he's determined to learn it so you're always eating well.

mingyu 𖹭 getting-to-know card games. he gives as good as he takes, which means mingyu's way is to listen and remember. a night where the two of you can just have deep conversations with no interruptions is his ideal evening. he will know he succeeded if the two of you end up talking until the sun rises, feeling like the hours haven't passed at all.

minghao 𖹭 postcards from tour stops. he loves art and he loves you. his postcards are pocket-sized reminders of those facts, always packaged with a few choice words that are sweet and sincere. his trinkets are very "i-got-you-this-because-it-reminded-me-of-you" in nature, and you know each one was purchased with you at the front of mind.

seungkwan 𖹭 getting you your favorites. he figures he should put his industry connections to use somehow. he's always amused by how happy you get over a rare photocard, signed album, or concert tickets, and so he keeps it up. buying dozens of albums, contacting other labels, bearing the arduous ticketing. your excitement at the end of it makes it all worth it.

vernon 𖹭 producing songs. he hadn't really pegged himself as the making-music-for-the-sake-of-it type until he met you. now, he revels in getting to send you a track that's for your ears only. all the lyrics just seems to flow naturally when it's you inspiring him, and so he sends you works-in-progress with reminders that you're the only intended audience.

chan 𖹭 at-home massages. he's all too familiar with the aches of an ailing body, so he knows exactly how and where to work on you. he always does what he calls 'the works'— a good bath, scented candles, essential oils. he lets you take your time, and he takes his time with you in helping you unwind.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[ivyues]

Unfiltered Beauty: Stray Kids' reactions to their S/O not wearing makeup often

Bang Chan

You sat on the couch in Chan’s studio, scrolling through your phone while he adjusted the levels on his track. You’d come straight from home in a hoodie, hair tied back, and no makeup on.

“Can you stop?” Chan suddenly said, leaning back in his chair.

“Stop what?” you asked, looking up at him in confusion.

“Being so distracting,” he said, smirking.

You furrowed your brow. “I’m literally sitting here doing nothing.”

“Exactly,” he replied, spinning his chair toward you. “You’re sitting there, looking all natural and gorgeous, and it’s ruining my focus.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “So, you’re saying I look better without makeup? That’s just a roundabout way of dissing my makeup skills.”

“No way!” he protested, leaning his elbow on the armrest of his chair as he grinned at you.. “Your makeup skills are great, but you don’t need them. You’re stunning just as you are.”

“Nice save,” you teased, laughing as his grin widened.

Lee Know

Lee Know leaned against the doorway, watching you on the floor surrounded by his beloved cats. You were wearing one of his oversized shirts, your hair loose, and your face completely bare. Dori lay sprawled in your lap, soaking up your affection, while Soonie eagerly chased the string you were wiggling.

“What?” you asked when you noticed him staring, your voice tinged with curiosity.

“You look so…at home,” he said softly, a smile tugging at his lips.

You looked down at his shirt, then at the cats. “Well, your clothes are comfy, and your cats worship me. What can I say? I fit right in.”

He chuckled, walking over to crouch next to you. His hand gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “No makeup, messy hair, and still managing to outshine everything in this room,” he murmured, his eyes warm as they met yours.

You smirked, leaning closer. “Even Dori?”

His lips twitched into a grin. “Okay, let’s not get carried away.” He pressed a quick kiss on your lips before scooping Dori off your lap. “But you’re definitely a close second.”

Changbin

Steam billowed out of the bathroom as you stepped into the bedroom, wrapped in a fluffy towel. Your damp hair fell over your shoulders, and your freshly scrubbed face glowed naturally. Changbin looked up from his phone and froze, his eyes lingering on you.

“What?” you asked, shifting under his gaze as you walked to the closet.

“Nothing,” he said, setting his phone aside. “I just realized something.”

You turned, curious. “What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear makeup around me,” he said thoughtfully, standing up and walking toward you.

You blinked. “Really? I mean, I only wear it for big events or when I’m feeling fancy. Otherwise, it’s too much work.”

His lips curved into a smile. “I like that. It feels like you’re showing me the most real version of yourself. That’s special.”

You softened at his words. “It’s not really a big deal, though.”

“It is to me,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. “You’re beautiful just the way you are. No makeup, no filters, just you.”

You smiled, leaning into his chest. “Thanks, Binnie. You’re pretty great, too.”

“Of course I am,” he teased. “But better get dressed before I spend the next hour telling you how amazing you are.”

Hyunjin

You walked out of your room wearing light makeup for a casual outing with Hyunjin. He looked up from his phone, his eyes widening as he took in your appearance.

“You’re wearing makeup?” he asked, standing up.

“Yeah, I felt like it today,” you replied, adjusting your jacket. “Why, does it look bad?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s just…you don’t usually wear it. It’s like seeing a rare art piece that’s been hidden in a museum vault.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Hyunjin.”

He grinned, stepping closer to study your face. “Maybe, but it’s true. You’re already a masterpiece, whether it’s painted or not.”

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re too much, you know that?”

“I know,” he said with a wink. “But you love me for it.”

Han

Han came home after a long day at the studio to find you in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you stirred something on the stove. You were wearing one of his hoodies, your face bare, and your hair in a messy bun.

“Hey,” he greeted, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

You turned your head to smile at him. “Hey, you’re home early.”

He rested his chin on your shoulder, inhaling the comforting scent of your shampoo. “You’re like a walking comfort zone.”

You chuckled. “Is that a compliment?”

“The best kind,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “No makeup, no stress, just you being perfect.”

Felix

You were tying your sneakers, ready to head out for a quick grocery run with Felix. As you stood up, he glanced at you, his eyes lighting up.

“You’re not wearing makeup?” he asked, smiling softly.

“Do I need it for the groceries?” you teased, grabbing your bag.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I love that about you. You don’t feel like you need to impress anyone.”

“Well,” you said, bumping his shoulder playfully, “I still want to impress you.”

He reached for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “You already impress me every single day. Makeup or not, you’re perfect.”

Seungmin

Seungmin was scrolling through his phone while you cleaned up after dinner. He paused on a photo of you from a recent formal event and held it up.

“This one’s nice,” he said.

“Thanks,” you replied, glancing at the screen. “I did the makeup myself.”

He grinned mischievously. “It’s good.”

“Good? Just good?” you said, pretending to be offended, crossing your arms.

He chuckled, his gaze softening. “I mean, you don’t really need it. You look better without it anyway.”

You smirked, lightly slapping the back of his head with the towel. “You’re lucky I like you, Seungmin.”

I.N

You felt exhausted, so you put on a little makeup to cover up the dark circles under your eyes before your boyfriend came over. When he arrived, he tilted his head, studying your face.

“You’re wearing makeup?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” you admitted, rubbing your arm. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I'm feeling tired and didn’t want to look like it too.”

He stepped closer, gently taking your hands. “You don’t need this,” he said with a small smile. “I like you the way you are, even when you’re tired or feeling off. You’re always my favorite person.”

You felt your heart swell at his words. “Thanks, Jeongin.”

He grinned, squeezing your hands. “Now come on. Let’s watch a movie and relax. We can also take a nap if you want.”

[pathologicalreid]

merry christmas, please don't call | s.r.

in which Spencer pens an email to you, since you've already blocked his phone number

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: nondescript break up, described as spencer's fault, reader is mentioned to have worn lipstick, yearning, word count: 907 a/n: and the worst part is!!! that we both know!!!!! we are doing kind of an unofficial margotmas/reidmas! really i've just been building up christmas ideas for a while lol

To: xreader@gmail.com From: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com Subject: Merry Christmas

Hey,

Spencer shook his head, that was too casual.

Good afternoon,

Much too formal.

Hello,

Too rigid.

Darling,

I passed by the house that you told me you adored. It used to be your dream house; you’d always show me the Zillow listing whenever you were browsing. The owners didn’t put up their Christmas lights this year, and it looks like they’re getting ready to sell. I haven’t been online to check the listing, that was always your thing rather than mine.

Do you remember the house? It had four bedrooms for our kids to sleep in and a library with stained-glass windows. You always told me the stained-glass windows were your favorite feature of my apartment. I keep it covered now; the colored glass just serves as a painful reminder of you.  

Emily called me last week. I suppose no one told her that we weren’t together anymore because she asked what our holiday plans were. I haven’t made any since you left. I’m finding myself hopeful that we get called on a case over Christmas so that I don’t need to be surrounded by the world celebrating while I continue to wallow in the memories of you and me.

That’s all I have now: memories. We made so many of them over the course of three years that I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that having an eidetic memory is a curse just as much as it is a blessing, but with you gone, I know it’s more of a curse. I see you when I close my eyes as if your features have been permanently tattooed on the back of my eyelids, but when my eyes are open, everything is exponentially worse.

You left in such a hurry, so you were bound to leave a few things behind. When I went to make a cup of coffee and found one of your mugs in my cabinet, JJ and Penelope had to practically scrape me off the kitchen floor. There was still a lipstick smudge on it, a piece of our history the dishwasher couldn’t quite wash off. Your necklace was on the bedside table, though maybe that was left behind on purpose. I wish we could go back to the day I gave it to you, you could wear the same green dress, and maybe work wouldn’t get in the way. If I could, I’d call you to ask why you left it behind, but you’ve blocked my number.

There was no need for you to leave me things to remember you by, how could I ever forget you?

I’ve been finding myself grateful that you got so close with Garcia during our relationship, she doesn’t give me any explicit details on your life when she updates me. I never ask, but she knows I want to hear.

It’s a rather odd phenomenon to have once had someone who you shared everything with, only to one day find they want nothing to do with you. I always find myself reaching for my phone to send to a message, or leaning over to show you a line in my book, but you’re not there anymore. I don’t hold any malice in my heart for you, even after you called it all off. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t be the boyfriend that you needed, and I’m proud of you for realizing you wanted someone better. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.

Maybe I still have some growing up to do. There might be some sort of emotional stunting as a result of my less-than-orthodox upbringing and education, which makes sense when you consider two of my most common nicknames, “boy genius” and “kid.” One day I could find myself in the same place you were, ready for more, but maybe then I’ll be with someone who is ready for the same things as I am. She’ll never be you though. You’ll always hold that special place in my heart.

Speaking of my upbringing, my mom keeps asking about you. Each time we talk on the phone, she asks if she can talk to you, but I’ve been telling her that you’re still working or are otherwise preoccupied. I know I shouldn’t lie to her, but if I tell her, she’ll inevitably forget, and I’ll be forced to recount the story of how I lost the best thing to ever happen to me forever. That would be my eternal damnation. There’s Sisyphus and Tantalus and Spencer Reid, slowly becoming nothing but a myth. I wonder if I’m a story that you tell your friends at O’Keefe’s.

I go there sometimes, just to see if I can catch your gaze, but you’re never there.

I know this is your favorite holiday, and I don’t intend to ruin your holidays with my message. I suppose I just needed to see if you still dream about that house. To see if you still dream of me the way I dream of you.

Merry Christmas,

Spencer

He clicked send nervously, ready to snap his work-issued laptop shut when it chirped with a notification. Surely you hadn’t responded that quickly. Spencer opened his inbox once more, checking the latest email.

To: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com From: mailer-daemon@googlemail.com Subject: Delivery Status Notification (Failure)

Message blocked.

Your message to xreader@gmail.com has been blocked. See technical details below for more information.

[feralarsonistschewingsand]

I am pretty feminine, not girly girl, but I like long flowy dresses and sewing and flowers etc etc

And yet I still get the "girl" presents which don't reflect my interests from some relatives. I don't wear makeup or use scrunchies and yet I have so many scrunchies. It shouldn't be that hard to ask my parents. Even when you do reflect Gender, they still get it wrong cuz it's their assumption :/

Gendered parenting is so weird. As a little kid I was a total daddy's girl, I was told I would always try to sneak the garage, I was always very interested in everything he was doing and would follow him around while he was working, but while my family was never the type to outright say "you can't do that because you're a girl", they simply didn't entertain the idea that I could possibly be interested in cars. Then when my little brother was born, it was just assumed he would become a mechanic like our dad because he was a boy. Even though he, unlike me, didn't like being in the garage much and wasn't all that interested in what dad was doing. Once he got to a certain age, dad started making him help and would drag him away from his actual interests for it, which lead to a lot of arguing and not much actual learning.

Gendered expectations sort of create doubles of children. There's the real child with their actual personality, interests and behaviors, and then there's the Gender Child.

My real brother hated soccer and team sports. The Gender Child that existed only the minds of the adults in his life enjoyed playing soccer because that's what a Boy Child likes.

Growing up, I always felt like adults didn't actually know me as a person and they weren't interested in getting to know me. Because they felt they'd already learned everything there was to know about me when they were told "it's a girl".

When I talk about how I never got gifts I actually liked from my relatives (to this day I still don't like getting gifts that aren't something I picked out myself), it isn't actually about the gifts themselves. I don't even remember them. What I do remember is the feeling of being given gifts that were seemingly not bought with the real me in mind. They were for the Girl Child™️ version of me. The me that adults wanted me to be, not who I actually was.

[fatherbrat]

cw. prequel to this. college au hockey player!sukuna. fatherbrat’s 2nd hugh hefner costume mention. reader is drunk. crack-esque. sfw, 1.3k words.

the first time you meet sukuna is at a halloween party. 

(it’s technically your halloween party. it isn’t your house or anything, but the boys that live there are happy to let you host as long as it means a house full of girls and none of the responsibility of setting up. you're happy to fulfill their requests, since it means you can have things go your way and then dip at the end of the night, leaving the post-party cleaning up to them.)

needless to say, you and sukuna do not make good first impressions. you would blame the alcohol, but honestly, it wouldn’t have gone any different if you were sober. 

he arrives at the party in a group. you recognize one of them—the tall, smiley one with impossibly white hair who sits behind you in biochem. he’s dressed up like a character from an snl skit, clad in an ill-fitting suit and round sunglasses with a present box glued to his pelvis.

you don’t recognize the one who comes in behind him, but he’s sexy and tanned and has a mustache. he’s also wearing the same costume as the white-haired one. gojo, you remember. isn’t he on the hockey team?

you immediately pull out your phone, searching up the school’s official instagram page for the hockey team. there they are, front and center in the most recent post. the third guy with them—the one with black hair and the scar that runs through his lip—is in the picture too. he’s wearing a batman costume now, half-assed but recognizable enough. at least he has on the mask. 

you squint at the last man in the group and frown. your gaze drops back down to your phone. 

in the second row of photos is a carousel full of pictures of this pink-haired brute. sukuna, the apparent team captain. his personal account is tagged, but it seems too professional to you, public and polished to perfection for recruiters. 

anyways. he’s here. at your halloween party. wearing an outfit you deem completely unacceptable. 

you down the rest of your (sixth) drink and toss the empty can onto the kitchen counter before making your way towards the group of men, wobbly as ever.

gojo is the first one to notice you. “hey,” he beams, “cool party.” he puts his arm around the guy with the mustache—shiu—and wiggles his eyebrows. “you like our costumes?”

you ignore him, something you wouldn’t do sober, but you’re on a mission. 

you point at sukuna, jabbing your nail into his chest. “where the fuck is your costume?”

sukuna glances down at your finger, then your costume, then your face. “you don’t see the jersey? i’m a fuckin’ hockey player.”

you pull back your hand, disgusted. “first of all, drop the attitude, mister. second of all, that’s not a costume. you’re on the hockey team.”

someone snickers. the one dressed as batman, you think, but you don’t turn around to check. sukuna’s face morphs through a few different emotions—amusement, annoyance, astonishment. he eventually settles on agitation, pissed that he hasn’t even gotten the chance to get some liquor in his system before dealing with bullshit like this.

“you wanna talk about costumes? you’re wearing underwear and a robe,” he says, gesturing towards you with a dismissive wave. 

you gasp and plant your hands on your hips. “this isn’t just underwear, idiot. it’s lingerie. i’m wearing a garter belt, for fuck’s sake. and thigh highs! plus you forgot about my hat?”

you use your entire arm to point at gojo. “who am i dressed as, dick-in-a-box boy?”

his face is flushed from laugher. “sexy hugh hefner. obviously.”

you throw your arm up in the air and let it fall against your thigh with a smack, not noticing the murderous glare sukuna sends towards gojo. someone somewhere turns down the music a bit.

“see!” you exclaim, addressing sukuna once again. “this is clearly a Sexy Costume™. and you know what else makes it a costume? i would never just leave my house like this on a typical day. it’s not a regular outfit in the slightest.” you speak slowly, wanting to make sure he understands every word. 

“you wanna know what makes this Not a costume?” you continue, still talking slow as you wag your finger up and down sukuna’s body. “it’s a regular-degular outfit. literally anyone can put on that campus store-bought jersey and wear it with those jeans on a normal day.”

sukuna starts to speak, but you cut him off. “didn't you see the sign out front? ‘no costume, no entry.’”

his jaw ticks. his right eye twitches. “yeah, i saw the fucking sign. i don’t-”

“oh, great,” you interrupt. “so you don’t know what a costume is and you can’t read. perfect. that hockey scholarship must be doing a lot of heavy lifting, huh?”

even in your inebriated state, you immediately know that was the wrong thing to say. the little crowd that gathered to watch your back-and-forth takes a collective inhale. sukuna looks downright irate, fists clenched at his sides as a storminess settles over his face. 

gojo lets out a long and low whistle, the kind that cartoon bombs make right before they hit the ground and explode. he pats your shoulder twice before abandoning you altogether. the rest of the crowd follows, leaving you to contend with this bear you repeatedly poked.

the music returns to its original volume, but it sounds like the speaker has been moved. away from you and closer to the living room.

maybe it’s the alcohol in your system, but you swear you can see literal steam coming out of sukuna’s ears. you sway on your feet a bit, waiting for him to say something. a thought occurs to you as you watch him pinch the bridge of his nose and breathe deeply, but you keep it to yourself, screwing up your lips in a physical attempt to keep from digging your grave further.

sukuna didn’t even want to come to this party in the first place. he actually mentioned the sign out front to the guys before they came in, trying to use it as an excuse for him to go home. his plan was to make an appearance, drink a beer, and then escape after thirty minutes. but here you are, this drunk stranger yelling at him for being dressed like a normal fucking person. the urge to stay strikes him. he wants to linger just to piss you off. 

“are you done?” he asks you.

you cross your arms. “are you leaving?”

“no.”

“then no.”

just as you’re about to dig into him again, sukuna’s thinning patience snaps.

“stop being a fucking bitch about this, alright? just relax. you’re acting fucking crazy.”

your jaw unhinges itself and you stand there, gawking. sukuna seems about ready to walk away, cracking his knuckles and looking somewhere behind you. your eyes land on his cheek, reddened and ready for a smack. you draw your arm back, wanting to make sure you gave him a slap that stings—and he catches it mid-air.

“are you serious?” he scoffs. you glance at your hand, his fingers around your wrist, the scowl etched into his face.

he glowers at you, not letting go when you try to shake your arm free. so you do the next logical thing.

you spit on him.

a glob of your saliva lands just below his eye. you smirk, satisfied. he drops your arm and curses, lifting the bottom of his jersey to wipe his face. then you make your first smart decision of the night and turn around, running back to where the rest of the party is to hide amongst the bodies.

he yells after you, but it’s drowned out by your giggles and the sound of chatter as you get nearer, bumping into countertops and side tables on the way.

someone pats your back and puts a drink in your hand. you pray you never have to see the captain of the hockey team again. 

tags. @nonamevenus @lavenderdaydream97 @rinofcike @gdamnackerman

[tiamathh]

Walk Walk Fashion Baby

Hi girlies new year new style ykwim anyway this is a pac that i have been wanting to make for a long time but i was like idk how many ppl will like it etc but now idc about all that i want to have fun so here it is!! Have fun and stay hydrated. muah <33 also my paid readings are open there are a few slots (15) if anyone's interested xx ciao <3 like and rb if you like xx

Masterlist / Paid Readings + FB / Tip jar

Pile 1

Hi pile 1! You need to try that classical, timeless, style, i know it can be annoying to look at all the beige and muted tones but its so much more than that like, picture this, a tailored blazer or high-waisted trousers that fit like a dream. tbh I am also getting pearls for some reason so maybe adding neckklaces as accessories can be something you are interested in to incorporate in your style next year. Start with a simple white shirt, a fitted black dress, or a pair of cut jeans. Then you can accesorise with delicate gold bracelet, a black bag, or a string of pearls again with the pearls they are calling for you right nowww.

Moreover, another style you can incorporate is just as sharp, and elegant so like the whole academia aesthetic, regardless of light or dark that doesn’t matter but what I am trying to say is, clothes with shape. Like cinched wastes and just clothes that create shape for you are like something you really should give thought to. It’s about being comfortable but also looking effortlesss while doing it all, I think basics like camis, just plain shirts/tshirts are something you need more of in your closet because theres so many ways to style them other than just for formal wear. Like one style inspo is literally Proncess Diana cannot get more elgant than her istg, enjoy muah <33

Pile 2

Y’all this is my pile you guys are my PEOPLE ok to begin with you need to stop being afraid of colour and looseness like not everything has to be tight and fitted especially just because the microtrend world says so. Experiment with “loud” colours and different textures, things you may have thought are “odd” and don’t look good, because trust me the way it can all be pulled together is crazy and so much fun!! Layer, the most important part, stack rings and bracelets and go for those colours that lowkey hurt your eyes because fashion is about colour and pattern and texture and taking all of it out of fashion just makes it dull imo.

Start with a bright coloured tshirt, maybe something like yellow, then layer on, very “indie kid” aesthetic like the high saturation stuff. Mixed with that I am also getting maximalism to the MAX layer layer layer, stack stack stack you should look like a walking apparell store (kidding) seriously though if you have been feeling like you want to experiment with something like this and oxidised jewellery and mixing different styles mainly because all of your wardrobe is mismatched (me) then go for it because I promise it will come out looking way better than you may have imagined. 

Pile 3: 

Ooo I love this, okay so very romanticised, very coquette but not really, this is also the pile which will look so good in pastels in lighter colours. All I am getting in my head are those pictures of people on picnics in their flowy outfits and dresses looking so pretty and at peace, bows and dellicate bangles, just a very dainty aesthetic im thinking light fabrics and romantic fashion like lace-trimmed dresses, pastel skirts and floral prints, very fairytaile-ish. Ruffles or embroidery too and just magical overall. Also the complete opposite of pile 2 here, minimalist aesthetic may suit you a lot so try it out next year!

I am talking about keeping it simple, not too much with the accessorising and maybe a staple or statement accessory piece that goes with everything and anything you wear. Also for some of you with this simplistic style, you may have to be pushed to try on something more glam too like a bold red lip when it comes to makeup, like be bolder with your makeup experiment with more purples, pinks and reds while keeping the outfits simpler. 

All Rights Reserved tiamathh©® DO NOT PLAGIARISE, REWORD, STEAL!

[robinsgrl]

FEARLESS

chapter three. boobs and beers

pairing ⇢ rafe cameron x plus size!reader

word count ⇢ 4.7k

warnings ⇢ fatphobia, insecurities, mention of a panic attack, boobies lol, uhmmmmm shopping as a fat girl, heather should be her own warning, daddy issues, mentions of alcoholism.

authors note ⇢ heyyyyy….. im sick and i am soooo fatigued but i wanted to release this, i’ve been spoiling the kildare nights readers and i needed to give fearless some attention. sorry for any mistakes queens, love you guys! gimme ur thoughts!!

“Why are we here?” You ask as he plops down onto the seat across from you at the mall food court. He slides over a cup of fro-yo at you. A frown falls to your lip when you take a peek in it. “You get plain fro-yo?”

His eyebrows furrow, shrugging. “Yeah?”

You scoff in pure disbelief as you glance into his own cup. Plain chocolate. “That’s… like… a crime.”

Getting up off your cold metal seat, you pick his cup as well and walk back into the frozen yogurt shop. The cute worker behind the register has a bored expression on her face until she spots you. A bright smile falls onto your face, as does hers, as you meet each other. “Heather.”

“Gorgeous!” She squeals happily as you walk over to the register with the tall guy trailing after you, watching the two of you curiously.

“My friend here, he doesn’t know the art of fro-yo. Is there any way we can add some toppings? Promise I’ll pay for every cent.” You ask her sweetly. The red head nods happily, ushering you to go on in.

You can feel Rafe’s eyes on you as you walk over to the toppings station. A wave of embarrassment flushes through you as you realize something. This makes you look fat. You are. You are a big girl but you try and hide it. With big sweaters, baggy jeans, eating small portions when out— not showing others that you come to the fro-yo place so often that the cashier knows you by name.

“My dad and I come here all the time.” You don’t mean for your words to sound so defensive but it’s what you’ve had to do most of your life. Defend yourself. “It’s the one thing he can afford.”

His eyebrows furrow, head tilting gently. You realize he’s not one for many words but his looks say a lot. He’s curious about you. And confused. “Isn’t your dad rich?”

You take a quick peek at him and feel a weight lift off your shoulders when you see his eyes have moved to scour the toppings. “Anthony isn’t my dad.”

He nods, ahh-ing. “Right, he’s your step-dad. What about your real father?”

You shrug lamely, not really wanting to talk about him. “Nothing. We just like fro-yo. Are you seriously putting Graham crackers in your fro-yo?” You ask, eyes wide and with a glint of disgust at his choice.

His eyes squint with annoyance as he looks up at you. “What’s wrong with Graham crackers?”

“Everything.” You reach over the toppings and scoop up a spoonful of gummy bears. “Graham crackers are like… green peppers on your pizza.”

This gets a reaction out of him. “You don’t like green peppers on your pizza?”

You scoff out a laugh, “I don’t know how we’re gonna get along with all these differences between us.” Your tone is playful as you speak this. You reach over and grab a few maraschino cherries and plop them on your fro-yo.

“Now that, I can get behind.” He scoops up the cherries and loads them into his cup. He’s scooping up Oreo crumbles beside you as you take him in. There’s a slight stubble growing on his jaw, a green baseball cap on top of his head. He's a lot more laidback than you’ve ever seen. He's usually in khakis and polo shirts. Today, he’s wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a baggy hoodie, with thick sneakers that you’re sure cost a fortune.

“You know,” you speak up after a moment, his eyes turning to you. You can’t make eye contact, eyes looking everywhere but his eyes. “We’re twins.”

“What?”

You point to his clothing and yours. You’re wearing baggy jeans and a baggy hoodie. “We’re dressed alike.” The two of you are done and back at the register, weighing your cups for the price. Heather begins ringing you two up and you’re about to swipe your credit card when he beats you to it. “I had that.”

But he ignores you as the payment goes through and Heather wishes you two a good day. “First things first,” you’re walking down the mall side by side, eating your fro-yo. “You need to stop dressing like me.”

“Hey, this is comfortable.” You defend yourself.

“Comfortable won’t get you anywhere. You have to show some cleavage every now and then.”

This offends you, a scoff leaving your mouth. You’re glaring up at him but he doesn’t seem to care, eyes moving to and fro, checking the mall out. “Why do I need to do that?”

“Real talk?” He asks you, eyeing you as if trying to see if you’ll get offended or not.

You take a deep breath in and nod. “You look like a little boy.”

You should be offended. But you can’t. Instead, a laugh bubbles out of you and you have to cover your mouth to hide it. “N-no, no I don’t.” But you don’t believe your own words. You sigh, eating another spoonful of fro-yo. “Okay thine.” If your mother were here you’d be getting a scold for talking with your mouth full.

Rafe simply rolls his eyes at the sight and hands you a napkin which you happily take. You chew on your cold gummy bears for a moment before speaking again. “Fine. I’m guessing that’s why we’re here?” You look around the mall with a soft and annoyed huff. “Where to first, sensei?”

You can see he’s visibly holding back a smile when he says— “Victoria Secret.”

The store is unbelievably pink. But your eyes flicker about the store and the mannequins with a sparkle to your eyes. You’d never stepped foot in this place unless Scarlett was at your side. Nothing about you ever felt sexy and she came here to feel sexy. So you never found your footing in the store. And now, with Rafe at your side, you feel even worse. Surface level, you only see undergarments for skinny people. Smaller people. And the idea of not finding anything and Rafe watching you get shut down makes you dread the rest of your day.

“Never seen someone look at mannequin boobs and frown.” You’re brought out of your painstakingly insecure thoughts at the sound of Rafe’s voice. You peek up at him and are surprised to see a softer look to him. Well, as soft as Rafe Cameron can get. “Seriously, it’s just bra shopping. And pantie shopping. I thought girls went crazy for this shit.”

“Okay, misogyny.” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. To anyone else, it would look like a natural pose but you’re hiding your chest, as if that would stop this from happening. “I’m just… shouldn’t I do something else before shopping?” You hope he understands what you mean.

But he doesn’t. He shakes his head, “nah.” His nonchalant response sends a twinge of annoyance through you, biting down on the inside of your cheek. He starts making his way into the store, too much interest in his face when you call out to him.

“Seriously, Rafe, I’m too big for this.” This stops him in his steps turning to you with a look on his face that you can’t decipher. Not that you ever can, Rafe Cameron is an incredibly hard person to read.

“There’s a plus-size section.” Are his words and you feel a wave of heat come over you. Your mouth twitches as you try to hide the shame you’re feeling. But it seems you and Rafe don’t have that in common— you wear your feelings on your face.

“Look before we… I should probably, I don’t know… lose some weight.” Is your response to him, eyes refusing to meet him at all.

He sighs loudly, and you sneak a glance at him to see him rubbing the inner corner of his eyes with what you think is annoyance. And this only worsens your intense feelings of insecurity. And he speaks, “you don’t need to lose weight to be hot, ___. You’ve got a stunning body, you just have to know how to work it.”

Your eyes widen as they meet him for the first time in a while. And oddly enough, you can see he’s telling the truth. You wanted to see a lie on his face. You wanted to be proved right and know that he’s just as disgusted by you as all the boys in your school. But you can’t find it. “Now, are you gonna keep fishing for compliments or are we gonna find a bra that makes your boobs pop?”

You bust out laughing at this, covering your face with your hands in a shy manner. “Fine, but you have to promise to never repeat the word Boobs to me. Like, ever again.”

“How about breasts?”

“Gross.”

—

One of the kind ladies in the shop finds a few pieces for you that fit well. Surprisingly, you have a good time. The lady is unbelievably kind and finds you matching sets. And you come to realize you’ve never had a positive female shopping experience.

Most of your shopping was done with Scarlett and your mother at your side. And they seemed to be the unstoppable duo that knew just how to put you down. Your mother would grab at your stomach when you tried on a shirt that didn’t fit quite right. “This is where you need to focus,” she’d point at the spots that she felt needed to be fixed. “Next time you’re at the gym, focus on this. Talk to my personal trainer, he’s there all the time.” You went to the gym the next day. Apparently, she had spoken to her trainer and he grabbed you in the same way your mother did. You never went back again.

Scarlett. She’d make it a competition. If you found a top that made your eyes crinkle with the thought of wearing it proudly, she’d find the smallest size there was and try it on. Once you’d see her walk out with a top you were carrying on your arm, you’d set it down. She puts you to shame every single time.

So, now that you’re in a new shop, wearing a new push-up bra that fits like a perfect corset for your chest, you feel anxious. Beyond anxious. There are people everywhere. Chats coming from every single direction. But the last thing you need is to have a panic attack in front of Rafe. You barely know the guy.

“Okay… so what now?” You ask, clearing your throat to push away the bad memories of the store.

“Now, we shop.”

It takes an hour. A long hour to walk throughout the store and have him pick out outfits for you. Having him know your size was absolutely terrifying. But he didn’t bat an eye as you told him and he jumped right into it. Every now and then, he’d find an ugly shirt and hold it up to you and he’d mutter a joke. Jonah would love this one, is his go to. And before you know it, you’re no longer on the verge of a breakdown.

You’re in the dressing room and for the first time in your life, you don’t worry about how you look. Or how the jeans fit you a little too snug around your hips. You don’t feel panic at the thought of trying clothes on in the stuffy dressing room.

You come out in the first outfit and Rafe immediately busts out laughing. The green jeans are ridiculously long and the top is a corset top with blue hand-drawn flowers on them and ridiculously large bows at the shoulder straps. You knew it was a joke outfit but it was nice to mess around.

You jokingly strut, pretending the room is a runway. “Keep it in your pants.” You laugh as you give him a spin and this only makes him laugh some more. You feel a sense of pride for making Rafe Cameron laugh. Sarah’s text flashes through your mind. A man who hasn’t smiled in years. And yet, he’s holding onto his side as you strike another odd pose.

“Alright, alright,” his smile is pretty, you notice. And contagious, unable to hide your own as you listen to him. “We need to get serious.” But he’s still chuckling. “Try on a real outfit this time.” So you do. He likes them all. A few shirts ride up over your belly a bit too much and some jeans don’t fit over your thighs but you leave the store with eight new outfits.

Usually, you leave with hurt feelings and nothing but.

You two are on the ferry back home when your day together is over. It’s a forty minute wade back but neither of you seem to care. He’s sipping his Big Gulp drink and watching as you try and balance the water bottle lid on your nose.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to do.” There’s a tinge of amusement to his tone.

Your head is thrown slightly back as you keep trying but it’s to no avail, it keeps toppling over. With a huff, you pick the cap up and shove it into your pocket. “It’s a trick my dad usually pulls. It’s better with a quarter though.”

Avoiding the topic of your father is a skill you take pride in. Your mother always turns into a sobbing mess when you bring him up. Your step-dad isn’t ever really home and when he is, it’s awkward. The only person you could share him with was Scarlett. That was the one topic she never snarked at you over. Not to your face, at least.

“Can I ask?” You turn to him, criss cross on the bench that you two are sitting on, wind blowing your hair. You tuck a strand, nodding. “Where is your dad?”

“The cut.” You answer honestly. Your mother hides him from her new rich friends. She hides her past from all of her new rich friends. Her story isn’t as compelling as Ward Cameron’s. He built his way up. Your mother caught the attention of an older man and married him. She’s ashamed about it.

This seems to shock him but he’s not Rafe Cameron if he doesn’t try and hide it. “And you’re close?”

You shrug, turning to the cloudy sky. It’s easier to talk about hard things when you don’t have to look at anyone, you find. “We’re… we definitely have a relationship. But… it’s hard to build on it when my mother doesn’t know I’m talking to him.”

You can feel his eyes on you, mouth slightly parted as he takes your words in but you can’t turn to him. “She forbids you from seeing him?”

You hum a small ‘mhm’. “He’s a stain in her perfect life.”

“Not in yours?”

“He’s a…” you pause, searching for the proper words. “An escape. Like… in Coraline. The door. He’s my door to a… less suffocating world. Without the buttons, of course. And alcoholism.” You try to joke. He doesn’t find it funny, the look on his features softened and taking you and your words in. Letting them settle. “He’s not perfect. I get why my mom left him. Why she wanted better. He’s a drunk who can’t keep a steady job. When we go out, I buy us dinner. He couldn’t take care of my mom or me so…”

“So she found the next best thing.” He finishes off for you. You turn to him at this, nodding as your hair keeps blowing in the wind. You don’t feel exposed in the way you do when speaking of your father to anyone. Rafe’s not judging you or figuring out how to use it against you. His eyes are sincere. Face stoic, but his eyes are sincere. You hate eye contact but if it means getting a better grasp of Rafe, you’d never look away. And you don’t.

“What about you?” You ask with sincerity. “I heard the rumors. The Cameron men butting heads.” You admit sheepishly.

He sighs, turning away. It’s his turn to look away while speaking of the hard stuff in his life. He lays back on the bench seat, long legs stretched out and kicked back up on the rail. “Well… you know… fathers…” it doesn’t take much to see he doesn’t want to speak of it.

Instead, you nod, a small and sad laugh leaving you. “Yeah… fathers.”

The ferry stops at the port a while later after thirty minutes of talking about your classes to him. He’s dropping you off at home, bags of clothes at hand. “By the way, we’re going to a party tonight.” And he drives off, leaving you stumped.

—

—

Debut one of your new outfits. What the fuck does that mean? You can’t picture yourself going to a party in clothes that aren’t your comfortable ones. Your comfort hoodie and sweats are what you spend most of your time in when out of school.

Getting ready without a friend is depressing. Usually, you’d have Scarlett at your side fluffing up your hair and helping with your makeup. Not that you wore it often but on the rare occasions that you needed to go to an event with your family, she was by your side. And it was during those moments that her honest side shined the brightest. She was careful with you. Honest but not brutal.

You shake your head to get yourself to stop thinking about her. You don’t want to be affected. You don’t want her to have this much of a hold over you. You need to stop loving her.

“Woah, what happened to you?” Anthony’s voice is heard as you make your way to the door. You freeze in your step, not wanting to see him. Your mother had gone on a so-called spiritual retreat in Puerto Rico without telling you so now, you were under Anthony’s care. But he didn’t have kids of his own and you came to him when you were twelve years old, he never had to take care of you.

You turn in your spot, a stiff smile on your face. “Uhm… nothing. Just… going out… to watch a movie…”

He gives you a bore expression, hand in a bag of chips. “You don’t put on a mini-skirt to watch a movie. You’re going to a party, aren’t you? God, you’re a baby, you shouldn’t be wearing that.”

You scoff, “bye, Anthony.” You open up the door and slam it as he’s telling you to be careful.

Rafe’s truck is in your driveway and he’s standing out of it, leaning up against the hood. His eyes are closed and he’s bopping his head gently, singing a quiet song. The sound of your shoes hitting the gravel of the driveway catches his attention, eyes immediately opening and on you.

Your smile is shy as you hold your arms out, showcasing your outfit. It’s a black mini skirt matched with a simple black and low cut top, a leather jacket over it. Simple. But extravagant for you. “So… how do I look?” You really, really want to know.

His eyes are taking you in. Starting from the shoes you picked out, to your thick thighs, your hips, your waist, your chest (which you’re proudly wearing your push-up he bought you), your neck. And he settles on your face. Done up in makeup, hair let loose in its natural form. He gets up off the hood of his car and walks up to you. “You look…” he pauses, eyes flickering across your face again. He's lost in thought, eyebrows furrowed slightly, tongue lightly ghosting his dry lips. You nervously put your weight on your other foot, and this awakens him. “Fine. You look fine.”

“Oh.” You didn’t expect much. But you also didn’t expect very little. “I mean… like, if Jonah were to see me do you think he’d be… starstruck and completely in love.”

This gets something out of him, a small snort of a laugh. “Give a girl a push up bra and she thinks she’s a goddess.”

“Hey!” You laugh with disbelief as you walk after him, the two of you making your way to his truck. “You told me I need to be more confident!” He opens the passenger door with no qualms and helps you in. He closes your side of the door and hops into the driver's seat. “Okay, so what’s the game plan?” You ask as he starts driving out of your driveway, hand stretched behind your seat and looking back for any other cars.

“The game plan is,” he turns the wheel, the veins in his arms popping slightly but you have to force yourself to look away and straight at the road as he starts driving off. “Act nonchalant. People are going to notice the style change but you’re going to ignore it. If they ask, you simply wanted to try something new. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“So… if they compliment me, I… ignore it?”

“You’re hopeless. No, I mean, accept the compliments but brush off other comments.”

“Okay, I’m confused.”

He huffs and before you know it, the two of you are bickering. Back and forth. What he means. What you mean. It’s almost hard to remember that just last week you two weren’t even in the same world. Now, you’re in his truck, wearing the new clothes he bought you and bickering.

The walk into the party is nerve-wracking and all you can think of is how your thick thighs are in the wind. Which means you’re much colder than usual you’re not used to being cold outside, always so wrapped up in your warm clothes. You stop at the patio of the raging house, looking up at Rafe. “So… this is where we part ways?”

This visibly confuses him. “What? Why would we part ways?”

You shrug, “I don’t know… I didn’t come to parties often but the few events I went with Heather… we would part ways.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s stupid. I’m here with you.”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“I’m not being a dick.”

“That’s you being a dick. I’m not stupid for—“

“I’m not calling you stupid, god.”

“You’re here!” A loud squeal pulls you out of your mini argument with Rafe. Your eyes meet a pair of familiar brown ones. Sarah rushes to you immediately and practically jumps into your arms. You laugh happily as you hug her right back.

“I’m here!”

She pulls away from you with a small pour. She’s drunk. Kiara comes out from behind her, pulling you into a quick side hug. “Guess who else is here?” Sarah’s voice is loud as the four of you walk into the home which is blasting with music.

“Who?”

“Scarlett.” This makes your blood run cold. That little piece of confidence that you carried vanished. You weren’t feeling yourself anymore. She’d see you in your new outfit and would make fun of you.

“We’ve got your back.” Kiara’s arm wraps around your shoulders as you walk side by side. “You won’t have to deal with her alone.”

“By the way, you look so damn good!” Sarah squeals as you all make your way into the kitchen where Kie grabs a few beers and tosses one each to the group. Rafe catches his beer easily and when he notices the slight panic in your face, he catches yours next, opening it quickly for you. You take the beer mindlessly, listening to Sarah drunkenly babble. Kiara’s entertaining her, laughing when she says something she shouldn’t say far too loudly. And you find yourself enjoying it.

You always dreaded parties. When a kid went around inviting everyone, they’d stop with you and Scarlett but only invite her. They would barely spare a glance at you. And at the time, you told yourself it didn’t matter. You’d rather be at home and cuddled up in bed with your cat, binge watching a show. But this… you like this. You like that Kiara and Sarah are bringing you into the conversation even when you’ve been quiet for minutes. You like that Rafe’s by your side like a scary guard dog. Well, you don’t really like that part so much. People are staring. They aren’t used to the Rafe Cameron not having a baddie on his arm.

Kiara and Sarah are in the middle of dancing a silly dance in the kitchen when you turn to Rafe. “No ones even noticing me.”

He snorts out a scoff of a laugh. “I’ve caught like eight guys since we came in, looking at your boobs.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s not anyone noticing me. That’s them noticing my girls. And second, I told you not to say boobs to me.”

“Boobs. Boobs. Boobs. Boobs.”

“God, shut up. You’re gross. There’s no need to— stop!” Back to your bickering, a laugh leaving you when he just won’t quit it.

You’re both in a comfortable space when a shrill of a voice cuts you two off.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Time stands still for a second at the sound of Scarlett’s voice. You and your new friends immediately turn to look at her. And your eyes widen. You’re wearing the same skirt. A laugh bubbles out of Sarah and Rafe’s big hand covers her mouth to shut her up

“You know what I’m wearing.” You retort with a roll of your eyes. Heather angrily puts her red solo cup down, stomping closer to you.

“Do you know how embarrassing this is? You need to change!”

Kiara laughs at this. “Girl, get over yourself. It’s a skirt.”

Scarlett is very clearly exasperated. And upset. It’s weird seeing her so put off. Your eyes don’t leave her as she keeps throwing her tantrum. “It doesn’t even look good on you! You’re… you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Rafe is watching with an amused look to his face. He hadn’t seen the fight, only a few clips that were taken last minute. But he’d never seen them go head to head. And you know he’s been dying to. Rafe is many things but dramatically inclined was not one you had added to your list until recently.

You're about to answer. You’re about to fight back. You wouldn’t let her embarrass you in front of your new friends. Loud gasps and yells erupt when a drunk splashes onto Heather. “Dumb bitch!” It’s Sarah. She threw beer right at Heather’s face which is now dripping down to her clothes.

Scarlett, quick on her feet, grabs her own cup and tosses it. On you. You gasp for air as it falls in your nose. “What the fuck, Scar?! I didn’t do shit?!”

“For not fighting your own fucking battles!” She yells, so angry that her face is red. Which you’re sure is from embarrassment as well. “You’re weak! Always have been and always will be!”

Kiara gets in between the two of you, “back the fuck up.” She hisses. “She’s with us now.”

Scarlett laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. She looks behind Kiara and glares harshly at you. “Hanging with the pogues? Seriously? This is a new level of trashy. Even for you.”

“Alright, alright,” it’s rafe now that grabs your arm and starts dragging you away. “You guys are very dramatic.” He tells you as he takes to the other side of the house in the living room.

But you’re frowning. It’s hard not to be upset. And you’re dripping with beer. “My outfit…” you pull your arm from his, stopping. In turn, this stops him and he turns to look down at your sad figure. “It’s ruined…”

He’s quiet. And you’re about to tell him it’s time to call it a night. His hand grabs your chin, making you look up at him. There’s a look of determination on his face, which shocks you greatly. “You’re not giving up. I’m gonna make sure Jonah sees you for the hot piece of ass you are, alright?”

His words send a hot flush through your body. You hate how shy you get when he’s nice. Or when he’s trying to be nice. Even during his kind moments, he’s abrasive. But you’re learning to take him as he is.

“Now, push those boobs up and be confident.”

“Stop saying boobs!”

—

taglist. @pinkyqily @chalahyung01 @lunalvrsblog @teenwolfbitches28 @jayjsbaby @yawnzshit @mytimeiswaiting @tsshifting @always-reading @chimchimjiminie16 @ayy1234567 @acidfeens @congratsloserr @murdockcastleslut @cl4uus @clairesblouse @ange111 @daddydraco0

[cherrysurf]

Tall blonde and evil! | Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader

chapter 6; eh your not bad.

Just like he said the chauffeur arrived on time, with everything honestly it felt kinda nice to be spoiled by a man since your lack of male attention was little to none you basked in the moment even if it was from your shitty boss. I mean like you said before, rude,ignorant and yells a lot but treats the people who work for him with respect. Even if you two bicker constantly it became the norm it was comfortable and neither of you took it to heart thinking about it made a stupid smirk grow on your face “why am i smiling over this blonde bastard” you say in your head slapping your face to wake you up from this delusion, luckily you arrived to the mall finally bakugou's chauffeur said to call him when you were ready to be picked you, you politely thanked him and headed out into the mall. “mmh a red or black dress…” you say in your head looking over the vast amount of stores seeing what would catch your eye you passed by prada before you could find a store for a dress and decided to get the professional work outfit done and out of the way you walked in a bit nervous about the whole situation “hi how can i help?” a nice lady in her mid 40’s who still looked youthful as ever and looked like she carried herself very well approached you with a smile “hi yes my name is yn im here for an appointment” you say smiling back “ah yes your with me come come darling” she says guiding you to the back of the store and leading you into a room with many options of office like clothes that were all in the dark gray, black color pallets. Your eyes scanned the entire room to admire how beautifully decorated and secluded it was “here miss yn i’ve had a few already picked out for you, if you don’t like any of these or need an opinion im right here to assist you” she says “i’ll bring you some tea for right now while you get started on trying on outfits” she continues “thank you so much, i really appreciate it” you say smiling “my pleasure” she says with a small nod making her way out the room. The first two outfits didn’t look quite right on your figure, bakugou’s shopping assistant walks back in as you finish putting on the third outfit “wow that one looks stunning on you” she says in awe “you really think so? i think it’s really cute too” you say looking at yourself in the mirror “yes i do. We have it in white if you’d like to try it on?” she proposes “uhm do you think he’d mind if i wore white to the interview?” you ask nervously “not at all i think it would look even better, here let me go get it for you” she says “oh- okay thank you again” you say you weren’t entirely sure if bakugou would get upset at you for wearing something that wasn’t specifically laid out but it was just a color change and clearly he trusted her enough so why not take her advice, and oh boy was she right it looked absolutely beautiful on you “i think this is the one” you say feeling confident “i think so too. It’s perfect and professional, you can change and i’ll get that all set for you” she says “thank you so much for your help today i see why bakugou trusts you so much your choices are amazing” you say happy “thank you i’m glad he’s an amazing customer one of my top clients actually” she says “that’s something new i learned about him today i guess” you say “he’s a man of mystery at first but becomes really easy to read after a while” she says with a giggle “come darling let’s go to the front now” she says you collect your things and you both head to the front, you pay and thank her for everything and she bids you farewell.

“Okay dress and heels now let’s do this.” you say trying to hype yourself up but the hard truth was you only found a nice pair of manolo blanhink hangisi kitten-heel satin slingback pumps that were perfect but no dress at all. “why the fuck is it so hard to find a dress” you groan after hours of being at the mall then it suddenly hits you, that one crimson red dress that your mother left for you and told you to bring when you moved out to the city because “you never know when you need a nice formal dress” she said i guess she’s right all along you decided that you were done and over with today and called bakugou’s chauffeur to come pick you up to head home for a much needed nap.

hopefully this long chapter makes up for all the short ones bye guys

taglist; @kalulakunundrum @sweetadonisbutbetter @rednicotine @ikissfade @bakugouswh0r3 @allurearia @themultifandomgirl @junehasnotbeenfound @darhinadadragon @kodzubaby @harryzcherry @kholethecutie @s4ikooo1 @babylambdietcoke @lover-no-lover61 @sikuthealien @sahrii

[bloomzone]

2025: #5 CONFIDENCE ISN'T GIVEN

You’re not born confident. Confidence is forged. It’s earned when you decide—and I mean decide—to stop caring about what people think. You want to know why you don’t feel confident? It’s because you’ve spent your whole life chasing validation. You want people to like you. You want people to approve of you. You’re scared someone might have something bad to say about you. But FOR REAL nobody cares as much as you think they do. They’re too busy worrying about their own STOP GIVING SHIT

..✒️So why are you holding yourself back? Why are you giving other people the power to control how you see yourself? Let me tell you something—if you keep waiting for someone to tell you you’re good enough, you’ll be waiting forever. Confidence starts the moment you stop asking for permission to be yourself. You’ve got to walk into every room like you own it, even if you feel like a fraud. You think everyone who looks confident actually is? Hell no. They’re just better at pretending. And guess what? The more you pretend, the more real it becomes.

HOW TO BUILD CONFIDENCE

Own Your Flaws Let’s get this straight—confidence isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being real. Stop trying to hide the parts of yourself you don’t like. Everyone has insecurities. Everyone has doubts. But the difference between confident people and insecure people? Confident people say, “Yeah, I’ve got flaws. So what?” They own it. They wear their imperfections like armor.You’ve got to stop being afraid of judgment. You think your flaws are holding you back, but the truth is, it’s your fear of them that’s holding you back. Confidence isn’t about eliminating insecurities cuz we allllll have ones it’s about walking into a room and saying, “Here I am, take it or leave it.”

Get Uncomfortable You know what kills confidence? Comfort zones. You’ve built this little bubble around yourself, and you’re too scared to step out of it. You avoid challenges. You avoid risks. And then you wonder why you don’t feel confident. Confidence grows when you do hard things. When you push yourself. When you fail and get back up. You’ve got to start chasing discomfort like your life depends on it—because it does.Start small if you have to, but start. Speak up in a meeting. Wear the outfit you’re scared people will judge. Say no when you mean no. Every time you push through fear, you prove to yourself that you’re stronger than you think. And that’s where confidence comes from—action, not thinking about it, not talking about it.

Stop Comparing Comparison is the thief of confidence. You’re scrolling through social media, looking at people who seem like they have it all together, and you’re sitting there feeling like trash. Let me tell you something—nobody’s posting their failures. Nobody’s showing you their breakdowns. Stop comparing your behind-the-scenes to someone else’s highlight reel.You don’t need to be like them. You don’t need to have what they have. What you need is to look in the mirror and realize you’re the damn prize. You’ve got your own path, your own strengths, your own story. Own it. Stop trying to fit into someone else’s mold.

Take Care of Yourself and Let’s be real .. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’re sending a message to the world—and to yourself—that you don’t value you. You want to feel confident? Start showing up for yourself. Eat like you care about your body. Move like you want to be strong. Dress like you give a damn. When you look good, you feel good. And when you feel good, you carry yourself differently. That’s not shallow—it’s self-respect.

Talk to Yourself Like You Matter You’re your own worst critic. You say things to yourself you’d never say to someone else. “I’m not good enough.” “I’m so stupid.” “I’ll never be as good as them.” Stop. Stop talking to yourself like you’re worthless. Start hyping yourself up like you’re your own biggest fan. Look in the mirror and say, “I’ve got this. I’m unstoppable. I’m the one they need to watch out for.” It feels weird at first, but fake it until it’s real.

CONFIDENCE IS A MINDSET

Confidence isn’t about never doubting yourself LET ME EXPLAIN .. It’s about showing up in spite of the doubt. It’s about walking into every situation and saying, “I might not have all the answers, but I belong here.”

Stop overthinking. Stop waiting for permission. Stop letting fear dictate your life. People will always have something to say—'That hairstyle doesn’t suit you,' 'Why are you wearing that?' Who cares? Their opinions don’t define you. You like it? That’s all that matters. Stop living for their approval and start living for yourself.You’ve got everything you need to be confident—you just have to decide to use it. So, stop sitting on the sidelines of your own life. Get up. Take action. Be bold. Be loud. Be unapologetically you.

the world doesn’t need another copy. It needs you. And if you’re too scared to show up as yourself, you’re robbing the world of something incredible. Confidence isn’t given—it’s taken. So, take it. !

@bloomzone 📇

[trashwithvariety]

so this has probably already been talked about in great detail since the end of the show (hannibal) but I just did a rewatch and I can't shut up about it. the incredible level of subtle details in this show is already insane but I noticed it much clearer in my rewatch during season 3 part two how quickly we see Will change.

during *The Great Red Dragon*, Will is back to mostly his pre-Hannibal self. We see him married with a family out in the country with his dogs and more specifically his clothes (I am going to be very specific about what he wears in this because it's these details that are so subtle but make his change so much more crispy). He's wearing very practical, warm weather clothes, looks like an outdoorsman.

like, reminder that this ↓

is how he shows up to meet Hannibal again for the first time in years. Glasses, coat, clearly clothes he would not think twice about wearing anywhere, kind of like how he dresses in season one. It's also in his expression and his stature (which bless Hugh Dancy for his portrayal of Will because I don't know who else could have done the subtle changes so eloquently)

now let me take you to the episode directly after (And the Woman Clothed with the Sun) he first sees Hannibal and has to come back to talk to him

i'm sorry??? Immediately with the crisp button down, tucked in, with the top buttons undone, hair slicked back, NO GLASSES and look. Look at how he stands and his expression and how comfortable he is, hands in pockets.

okay further evidence. And honestly arguably the scariest piece

it's the dead-eyed stare for me. We all know what happened to Chilton after this, and it's the fact that he knew what he was doing. God, Will was never more like Hannibal than he was at the end of season three. Clothes are not much different on purpose because he's playing the game now.

Sidebar that in almost all the scenes that he's bitchily talking to Bedelia, he's also very well dressed as if he's taking Hannibal's place in his manipulation of her.

By the time we see him in The Wrath of the Lamb, he has already decided that he wants Hannibal back. Vaguely suggesting to Jack to use Hannibal as bait for the Dragon, as if he didn't very well consider all the outcomes would likely lead to Hannibal escaping. The way they're looking conspiratorially at each other in the back of the van. How Will isn't even remotely surprised he walks out unscathed or how he doesn't question letting him drive them to wherever they're going to meet the dragon.

And once they get to the cliffside house, and they get settled and Will?

His shirt is tight, his expression is the SAME as the one Hannibal had in episode ONE season ONE, as he watches Hannibal BLEED OUT and wonders probably what they will do.

There are plenty of ways everyone that worked on this show displayed how Will was changing but I loved how they used his clothes to do it and how Hugh used his expressions to differentiate pre-Hannibal and post-Hannibal Will.

I could write a dissertation on this show it's insane and I will never shut up about my murderous gay husbands.

[pantyhoseloverbahr]

Yes, I confess I definitely do and I'm loving that I do and it's getting near the point I won't wear my pantyhose and lace panties in secret or hiding....I'm prepared to just let it be known to all that I am a sissy boy that dresses like a slut and omg I love cocks to fuck me n cum deep inside my pussy hole n throat!

[thedemoninme141]

The Maiden Of Death PART 1.

Summary: They say opposites attract. But you? You weren’t her opposite. You were worse.

A/n: This is a new series, I actually had part 1 written like a month ago, But I didn't post it back then mainly because I won't write part 2 until I finish Her Heartbeat. I also am not really sure if you guys would like it, because its a bit dark. But I hope you do.

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Warnings: Violence at the end but you guys would be satisfied by it lol.

She met you in fencing class.

As Wednesday was walking through the hallways of Nevermore, on her way to the fencing class, she couldn't help but question herself, why had she returned?

Sure, she had defeated Crackstone. Tyler was locked away, the Gates family’s legacy was ash. Yet, despite her apparent victory over the forces conspiring against Nevermore, Wednesday couldn’t shake the hollow feeling of anticlimax.

So why?

Perhaps it was the faint pull of unfinished business. The photos of a shadowy stalker she’d received at the end of her first year were an unsolved loose end, but even those now felt underwhelming. Whoever it was hadn’t made a move worth her attention in months.

Or maybe she was here because it gave her the chance to humiliate Bianca this time. That thought warmed her more than she cared to admit. Bianca had always been the most formidable opponent in fencing, her skill matched only by her infuriating arrogance. Wednesday lived for that. She would never say it aloud, but Bianca was the only opponent worth her time.

As she entered the fencing room, the chatter of students died down. The tension in the room was immediate, Wednesday didn’t need to look to know that all eyes were on her. She had always been the odd one in this class, the only one to don a fencing uniform as black as her soul while everyone wore the casual white.

But something was different today. She caught sight of a figure seated casually in one of the chairs lining the hall but the reason her eyes found this one so fast because they dressed entirely in black fencing gear, just like her. Their mask and helmet obscured any hint of identity.

For as long as she had fenced at Nevermore, she had been the only one to wear black. This was an intrusion.

Her gaze shifted to Bianca, and for the first time, Wednesday noticed blood dripping from the other girl’s left hand. It was a small, angry trickle, barely enough to warrant alarm, but the sheer fact of it was startling. Bianca never bled. Not in fencing. Her form was too precise, her reactions too swift.

“Wait, that’s not Wednesday?” Kent was the one to speak out.

The rest of the students murmured, their gazes bouncing between her and the stranger. Even the coach was a bit confused.

Wednesday’s curiosity deepened but she said nothing.

Her dark eyes flicked back to Bianca. The siren’s usual air of superiority was gone, replaced by something raw and bitter. Humiliation.

Bianca Barclay had been beaten, and beaten badly, by... whoever this was.

“Barclay,” The coach said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Infirmary. Now.”

Bianca huffed, her glare locked on the figure in black. If looks could kill, the stranger would have been reduced to ashes. But they remained unmoved, offering no reaction.

As Bianca passed Wednesday, she slowed, her lip curling in disdain. “Not one word,” she muttered, low enough that only Wednesday could hear.

Wednesday tilted her head, her tone as cool as ever. “Careful, Barclay. Your blood loss is showing.”

Bianca huffed but she said nothing, stalking out of the hall with as much dignity as she could muster.

Wednesday’s lips curved in the faintest of smirks. Whoever this person was, they had achieved something remarkable. The idea that someone could dismantle Bianca so thoroughly sparked a flicker of excitement deep in Wednesday’s chest, a sensation she quickly quashed.

The possibility of being bested was not one she entertained lightly, but the idea of such a challenge thrilled her in a way she couldn’t deny. It was rare to find someone who could match her ruthlessness, let alone surpass it.

Her gaze returned to the masked figure. They hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even acknowledged the chaos they’d caused. They simply sat there, busy in their own world.

She took a step forward, “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade.

The figure didn’t respond. Their silence was deliberate, unyielding.

Wednesday’s lips quirked into something resembling a smile, dark, challenging, hungry. “If you’re going to steal my aesthetic, the least you can do is prove you’re worthy of it.”

A murmur swept through the room. Someone let out a low whistle, and the coach frowned, clearly torn between maintaining order and allowing the drama to unfold.

“Addams, this is not the time for theatrics,” the coach started, but Wednesday silenced her with a raised hand.

“It’s not theatrics. It’s a challenge,” she said, her dark eyes fixed on the seated figure. “Unless you’re too afraid to accept.”

For a moment, the figure remained motionless. Then, slowly, they stood. The black fencing uniform clung to their frame, and the mask’s darkened mesh remained inscrutable. They stepped onto the fencing strip—silent, measured, and deliberate and Wednesday adjusted her fencing mask.

The room collectively held its breath.

The coach sighed, knowing full well he can't stop Wednesday.

“En garde.” he yelled.

With her perfect stance and razor-sharp mind, Wednesday raised her blade. A precision tool she had used innumerable times, the weight of her foil in her hand was reassuring. The other fencer, whose mask concealed any emotion, mirrored her movements with eerie grace across from her.

“Prêts,” the coach said.

Wednesday’s focus narrowed. Her heart beat steadily. She would rule. She did it every time.

“Allez.”

The duel began. Wednesday moved first, her blade darting forward in a testing thrust. Her opponent’s response was immediate, a deflection so swift it was almost imperceptible.

Wednesday pressed forward, her footwork precise and aggressive. She lunged again, trying to draw her opponent into a mistake. But the figure in black sidestepped, their movements fluid and economical. They struck back, their blade skimming past her guard with alarming speed. Wednesday barely parried and dodged in time.

A flurry of attacks and counters. Wednesday’s strikes were measured, calculated to exploit any opening. Yet her opponent offered none. It was as if they were reading her mind, anticipating her every move.

Her frustration grew, simmering beneath her stoic exterior. She was Wednesday Addams. She did not lose.

Then it happened. In a single, breathtaking motion, her opponent disengaged, their blade whipping around her guard to land a clean hit on her shoulder.

The coach’s voice rang out. “Point. 1-0.”

The room exhaled collectively. Wednesday’s grip on her épée tightened. Her eyes narrowed behind the mask. She had underestimated them. That was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

They reset. The coach’s whistle blew. “Allez!”

This time, Wednesday took a defensive stance, watching her opponent closely. Their movements were fast, almost inhumanly so, but there was no sound—no labored breathing, no huffs of exertion. It was as though they weren’t human at all but a ghost sent to haunt her.

Their blade darted forward in the blink of an eye. Wednesday countered, attempting to draw them into a trap. But they saw through it, disengaging and circling to her left. She pivoted, parrying a thrust aimed at her torso, but their follow-up was too quick. The tip of their blade grazed her arm.

The coach’s voice rang out again. “Point. 2-0.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched beneath the mask. The students murmured, the shock evident in their voices. Anger flared in her chest, hot and unwelcome. She was not accustomed to being outmatched like this.

The next round began. Wednesday forced herself to focus, she studied their movements, searching for a pattern, a weakness. Their strikes were precise, but even precision had its rhythm.

Then she saw it—a slight hesitation in their retreat, a fraction of a second where their weight shifted too far back. It was enough.

When they lunged, she was ready. She sidestepped, her blade sweeping upward in a controlled arc. The tip struck their shoulder.

"Point 2-1" The coach whistled.

For the first time, her opponent faltered. It was subtle, a small hesitation as they reset, but Wednesday caught it. The way they froze for a heartbeat, their head tilting slightly as if registering the touch, was fascinating. She couldn’t see their face, but she imagined what might lie beneath the mask. Surprise? Annoyance?

She allowed herself the faintest of smirks.

But the pause was brief. The stranger reset, their stance as flawless as ever. Wednesday narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her foil. If they can get hit, she can win. She just needs to be patient.

The whistle sounded again, and they moved.

This time, it was a storm. The stranger’s attacks came faster, sharper, each strike more relentless than the last. Wednesday parried and countered, her heart pounding in her ears as she tried to keep up. They weren't getting tired, and Wednesday for a fact understood, this was must be because one of their powers, Was it fair? No. But it was... maybe a lit... amusing.

For every move she anticipated, they had another waiting in line.

She refused to give ground, but her endurance was waning. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, her breaths coming faster despite her efforts to control them. And then, just as she thought she might regain the upper hand, they struck.

The tip of their foil grazed her chest with clinical precision.

“Touché! 3-1."

The class went full silent, except a few gasphs.

Wednesday staggered back a step, her breath caught in her throat. She had lost. And it wasn’t luck or a fluke. It was a deserved victory. This opponent, whoever they were, was better.

Her gaze flicked to the masked figure, who was already lowering their blade, their movements as calm and unbothered as ever. They turned without a word, stepping off the fencing mat as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

Anger bubbled beneath Wednesday’s surface, sharp and unrelenting. Not just at her opponent, but at herself. She had lost, just as Bianca had.

But unlike Bianca, she wouldn’t accept it.

“Wait,” she said, the stranger paused mid-step but didn’t turn.

“I’m not finished.”

Taking off her gloves, Wednesday ripped off her mask, letting it drop to the floor with a loud clang. Her pale face, flushed faintly from exertion “One more match,” she said, “No helmets. No gloves. First blood.”

The figure paused mid-step. Slowly, they turned back to face her. The room held its collective breath as they reached up, removing their gloves with deliberate precision. Then, they raised their hands to their helmet and pulled it off.

Wednesday froze.

A cascade of hair fell free, framing a face that froze Wednesday in place. Deep blue eyes met hers, piercing and unreadable.

A girl.

For the first time in years, Wednesday Addams felt something foreign and unfamiliar. Her mind stumbled over itself, her usual composure shattered. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She could only stare. The sharp lines of the girl’s face, the way her eyes seemed to see straight through her.

The girl’s expression was unreadable, her silence almost oppressive. Her gaze was sharp, piercing, but there was no mockery in it, no trace of satisfaction. It was as though the outcome of their first match had been irrelevant to her.

That infuriated Wednesday more than the loss itself.

The coach hesitated before stepping back and raising his hand. His voice wavered slightly as he called out, “En garde.”

Her grip of her foil tightened as she drew her focus inward, forcing her breathing to steady. She couldn’t allow herself to think of the humiliation, This was about proving a point- to herself and to the girl who had dared to take her victory so effortlessly.

“Allez!”

The match began with a lunge from Wednesday, her blade aiming for the girl’s shoulder. It was a calculated strike, meant to gauge her opponent’s reaction. As before, the girl deflected with an unnerving ease, her blade redirecting Wednesday’s attack in a single fluid motion.

Wednesday pressed forward, her strikes coming faster, sharper, each one aimed to corner the girl into a defensive position. But her opponent was quick, impossibly quick, slipping out of reach with minimal effort.

Wednesday felt her frustration mount with each failed strike. No matter how precisely she aimed, the girl always seemed a step ahead.

Wednesday pushed harder, her movements growing more aggressive. She feinted left, aiming for the girl’s left hand, of course her attack was parried... but barely this time.

For the first time, her defense seemed less impenetrable. Wednesday seized the opening, striking with renewed vigor. But right then, Wednesday’s eyes locked on the girl’s, her heart skipping a beat. They were… haunting. Deep, unfathomable, and completely devoid of emotion.

And then, the girl did something that froze Wednesday mid-movement.

She shifted her stance; a slight adjustment to her footing, the angle of her blade. But as the girl moved, it became clear that this was something entirely different. Her grip on the foil changed, her movements adopting a fluidity that was both unfamiliar and unnerving.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. The stance was unusual, almost ceremonial in its precision. And then it clicked.

It was the stance of a katana.

The realization sent a chill down Wednesday’s spine. She had studied fencing extensively, priding herself on her knowledge of techniques from all over the world. But this was something else, something that Wednesday isn't an expert on...

The girl moved, and Wednesday barely had time to react. Her strikes came in sweeping arcs, each one faster and more unpredictable than the last. The blade seemed to dance, its movements impossible to predict.

Wednesday’s defense faltered under the onslaught. She parried desperately, her mind racing to adapt to this new style. But the girl’s attacks were relentless, her blade slipping past Wednesday’s defenses with alarming frequency.

For the first time, Wednesday felt out of her depth.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus. She couldn’t let this girl overwhelm her—not again. She lunged, aiming for a weak point in the girl’s defense, but her blade was deflected with a force that nearly knocked it from her hand.

The girl countered with a strike so precise, so swift, that Wednesday barely dodged in time.... or did she?

Because the girl had stopped.

It wasn’t a retreat or a hesitation. She simply froze, her blade lowering slightly as though she had no reason to continue.

Wednesday frowned, her gaze dropping to her arm. Her stomach dropped. A thin line of red traced its way down her pale skin, a tiny drop of blood beginning to bead at its edge.

First blood.

Wednesday’s foil slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor as the weight of her loss settled over her. She stared at the girl, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.

She had lost. Again.

The girl stepped back, her expression unchanged. There was no emotion in her eyes, no trace of satisfaction or smugness. It was as though the match had meant nothing to her, as though Wednesday had been just another opponent to dispatch.

Wednesday’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. The loss was infuriating, yes, but it was the girl’s indifference that stung the most. She didn’t care. She hadn’t even been challenged.

The girl bent to retrieve her helmet and gloves. She turned without a word, walking toward the exit as though the match had never happened.

Wednesday watched her go, her emotions a tangled mess of anger, humiliation, and something she couldn’t quite name. She had been defeated before by Bianca, but not like this. Not by someone who had reduced her to irrelevance with so ease.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to see Bianca, her left hand freshly bandaged. Bianca stopped a few feet away, crossing her arms over her chest as if she wasn’t sure how to start.

“Now you get it?” Bianca muttered, crossing her arms.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, “Get what?”

Bianca exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Why I lost.”

Wednesday remained silent, waiting for Bianca to elaborate.

“When she showed up in the black gear, I thought it was you.” She raised her bandaged hand, her irritation palpable. “So, naturally, I challenged her. Gloves off. I wanted to prove a point to you..."

“And yet here you are,” Wednesday noted, “Unproven.”

Bianca’s jaw tightened, but she pushed past the jab. “She’s not like anyone else. The way she fights? It’s... unsettling.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “She doesn’t fence. Not really. She reads you, adapts, and then it’s like she’s a step ahead of you the whole time. You can’t even throw her off. I tried."

“And failed.” Wednesday said flatly.

"So did you. But at least you got a point against her." With that, Bianca turned and walked away.

Wednesday remained where she was, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

Why did it feel like she was everywhere and nowhere at once?

She exhaled sharply, spinning on her heel and leaving the gym.

By the time she reached quad for lunch, the words had already outrun her. As she stepped inside, the chatter shifted noticeably, students stealing glances at her as though they couldn’t believe the day’s events.

And then there was Enid.

The werewolf practically launched herself at Wednesday, her vibrant energy an unwelcome assault.

“Wednesday! Oh my gosh, is it true? Did you actually.......lose?"

Wednesday gave Enid her death glare... which Enid is immune to, unfortunately.

“Everyone’s talking about it. Apparently, you got your butt kicked by the new girl in, like, the most epic way possible! Like, who even is this girl? And why is she just as dark and scary as you?”

“I am not discussing this.” The glare deepened.

“Okay, okay,” Enid said, holding up her hands. “But seriously, who is she? And why are you so.... intense about this?”

“I am not intense,” Wednesday said curtly.

“Come on, are you jealous? Or just annoyed that someone might actually be better than you?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Or… is it something else?”

Wednesday’s turned slowly, fixing Enid with a look that could have withered flowers. “Your penchant for meddling will get you killed one day.”

Enid smirked, unfazed. “Uh-huh. So, jealous and annoyed. Got it.”

Before Wednesday could retort, her gaze shifted to the far end of the dining hall.

There she was, sitting alone at a table. She had chosen a seat far from the crowd, her posture calm and unbothered, as though the buzz around her didn’t exist. The students nearest to her stole glances at her, some murmuring, and some looking at her like she was a ticking time bomb.

“You should go talk to her,” Enid whispered, leaning closer.

Wednesday tore her gaze away, fixing Enid with an incredulous look. “And say what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. How do goths befriend each other?” Enid said earning another death glare. She shrugging. “Besides, you two have the same energy; dark and brooding. You’re practically soulmates.”

“Ridiculous,” Wednesday muttered. But her eyes betrayed her, flicking back to the girl. She was so still, so utterly composed, it was unnerving.

Before Wednesday could decide whether to act, the girl stood, collecting her tray and leaving the hall without so much as a glance toward anyone.

She found out your name in alchemy class.

Alchemy was Wednesday’s next class, and she had hoped it would provide a distraction, But as she sat at her desk, her mind kept going back to that girl... and as she began the delicate work of combining reagents, She glanced at the door, almost involuntarily, as though expecting something... and she wasn't disappointed.

The room fell silent. Every student turned to look as the girl walked in, unhurried and unbothered. Her expression betrayed no hint of apology, no trace of acknowledgment for the disruption. She simply stepped inside as though she owned the space.

The professor sighed, “Well, if it isn’t our newest addition. Everyone, this is Y/N.” He gestured vaguely in your direction. “Y/N, I’d ask why you’re late, but something tells me you wouldn’t tell me anyway.”

You said nothing, offering only a blank stare before scanning the room. The only empty seat was beside Wednesday. Without hesitation, you walked over and sat down.

Wednesday stiffened, her focus now completely obliterated. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, you seemed utterly unbothered by the attention of the room, just as she was at her start here in Nevermore.

The professor resumed his lecture, but Wednesday barely heard a word.

She pretended to focus on the lesson, her pen moving across her notebook. But her eyes betrayed her, darting toward you at every opportunity.

She should have been focused on the experiment, on proving her superiority in yet another intellectual endeavor. But all she could think about was.... those eyes.

Every time Wednesday stole a glance at you, she found herself lingering, her gaze caught by the depth of your stare. There was something unsettling about it, something that gnawed at the edges of her mind. She hated it. And yet, she couldn’t look away.

The rest of the class passed in a haze, when the professor finally dismissed them, Wednesday gathered her things ignoring you. She refused to acknowledge you as you rose and left the room, as silent and unbothered as ever... but she did. As she watched you disappear into the corridor, Wednesday felt a twinge of something she couldn’t name. Curiosity. Frustration. Whatever it was, she was sure she didn't like it.

She first talked to you in the library.

If she could eradicate botany from this school, she would. She despised the assignment. Plants were irritatingly alive, with their need for sunlight and water and their incessant growth. And worse, they were resilient, continuing to thrive no matter how much she wished otherwise. That their existence shared the same planet as hers was one of life's more enduring inconveniences.

But what annoyed her more was giving these green nuisances even a moment of her attention. It was an indignity she had endured only to achieve perfection in her report, which, of course, had been flawless. That's why she had come to the library, she needed a book, Comprehensive Biology.

And there you were.

At the far corner of the library, you stood alone, scanning the shelves.

Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed. She hadn’t planned to confront you, but the sight of you, unbothered and aloof, stirred something in her. Frustration? No, she refused to acknowledge such a trivial emotion. It was something deeper. A need to understand. To assert control.

She approached quietly, her hands clasped behind her back as she stopped a few feet away. For a moment, she simply observed. You were searching for something, your eyes moving methodically over the spines of the books.

“Lost?” she asked finally, her tone sharp and cutting. Her voice broke the silence like a blade slicing through cloth. “Or have you simply forgotten how to read?”

You turned your head slowly, your expression unreadable as you looked at her. For a moment, there was nothing, no reaction, no flicker of recognition. Then you tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity in your eyes.

“Who are you again?” you asked, your voice devoid of malice but also of any warmth.

The question hit Wednesday like a slap. Her expression didn’t falter, but inside, a slow burn began to rise. Who are you again? The words echoed in her mind, each one twisting the knife of insult deeper.

“Who am I?” she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief and irritation. She stepped closer, her dark gaze locked onto yours. “I’m the person you defeated. Twice. Today. The one you sat beside in class today. Or has your memory been as unimpressive as your personality?”

You blinked, unperturbed, and returned your gaze to the books. “Oh,” you said simply, as if the information had already slipped from your mind. “Right.”

The dismissiveness of your voice made Wednesday’s jaw tighten. Most people crumbled under her sharp tongue or recoiled from her glare. You, however, seemed utterly immune

“You’re remarkably unbothered for someone with so little reason to be,” Wednesday said, her voice icy.

You pulled a book from the shelf. “And you’re remarkably persistent for someone who lost.”

Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. The audacity. The nerve. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to strangle you or applaud your ability to get under her skin.

“I don’t lose,” she said firmly.

You finally turned to face her fully, the book resting in your hands. “Then what do you call what happened earlier?”

Wednesday’s glare could have melted stone. “An anomaly. One that will not be repeated.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression still maddeningly neutral. “If you say so.”

Most people would have shifted under her gaze by now, stumbled over their words, or tried to appease her. You did none of those things. Instead, you opened the book, flipping through its pages showing your complete disinterest in the conversation.

“Why are you here?” she asked finally, her voice quieter but no less pointed.

“Looking for a book,” you replied simply, your tone making it clear that the answer should have been obvious.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “And what, pray tell, is so fascinating that it brought you to the library instead of, say, gloating over your victory?”

You closed the book, sliding it back onto the shelf with the same quiet precision that marked everything you did. “I don’t gloat. Victory isn’t worth much if it’s expected.”

The words struck a chord.

“You’re insufferable,” she said finally, her voice a low growl.

You tilted your head again, considering her words. “So I’ve been told.”

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What type of outcast are you?”

No reply.

Her irritation spiked. “What’s your power? You must have one, unless the administration suddenly decided to admit normies."

Still no reply.

Wednesday huffed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Ignoring me is ill-advised. I’ve been known to make people regret it.”

You pulled a book off the shelf, inspected it briefly, and then replaced it with a calm that bordered on infuriating.

Wednesday stepped closer, her boots silent on the carpet. “I asked you a question.”

Without a word or any visible motion, a glint of metal appeared in your hand. A knife, sleek and deadly, materialized out of nowhere. Wednesday froze, her body tensing as her hand instinctively moved toward her own hidden knife. But she stopped short when you spun the weapon in your fingers with fluid ease, offering her the handle.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious and calculating. She didn’t take it immediately, instead scrutinizing both you and the blade. After a moment’s hesitation, Wednesday stepped closer, her hand brushing against yours as she took the knife.

It wasn’t an ordinary knife; it was a parrying dagger, the kind designed to trap and break an opponent’s blade... and it looked old, centuries old.

“Conjuring weapons,” she said slowly, her tone even but laced with curiosity. “Is that your ability?”

"Something like that." you answered.

Before she could probe further, you let out a quiet sigh, your gaze drifting back to the shelves. It seemed you still hadn’t found what you were looking for. As you stepped away from the shelf and headed toward the exit, Wednesday tried to stop you. She held out the parrying dagger, “Here. Take it back.”

"Keep it." You said simply without even glancing back, leaving Wednesday standing alone in the dimly lit library, the dagger still in her hand. She slid it into her pocket, her mind already plotting how she would uncover the truth about you. She didn’t just let things go. And she certainly wasn’t about to start with you.

She understood a bit more about you during botany.

Breakfast was, at best, tolerable, and at worst, a chore. The only reason she even bothered was the unavoidable biological need to sustain herself.

She surveyed the room with her dark eyes, already calculating the path of least interaction to her usual seat with Enid.

But her gaze froze mid-scan.

You were there.

Sitting at her table.

Sitting in her seat.

And beside you, chattering as though her life depended on it, was Enid Sinclair. Did Enid mistook you as Wednesday?

And beside you, animatedly chattering as though her life depended on it, was Enid Sinclair. Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed as she stood by the entrance, taking in the scene. How did you end up here? Of all the tables, all the seats in the dining hall, why hers? . You, however, were picking at your breakfast with the same disinterest Wednesday reserved for Enid’s most frivolous stories.

Enid noticed her almost immediately, waving excitedly. “Wednesday! Over here!”

Wednesday suppressed the urge to roll her eyes but failed. She stood rooted for a moment, weighing her options. She could walk away, claim another seat, and avoid the unbearable company of Enid and you. But that would mean admitting, if only to herself, that she was bothered. She was not one to surrender her territory so easily.

With a sigh that carried all the weight of her disdain, Wednesday made her way to the table. When she reached the table, she didn’t ask for her seat back. She was too mature for that.

Enid beamed. “Look who joined us! Isn’t this great?”

“It’s something,” Wednesday muttered, her tone flat as she slid onto the bench across from you.

You didn’t look up from your plate. The lack of acknowledgment was grating, though she couldn’t decide why.

“So,” Enid said, her voice a mix of excitement and curiosity, “Y/N was just telling me, well, okay, not telling, more like I was guessing, that she’s not really into breakfast food. Isn’t that funny? Like, how can anyone not love pancakes?”

Your fork paused mid-air for the briefest of moments before continuing its journey to your mouth. You didn’t respond.

Wednesday, who understood that pointless chattering annoys you as much as her... maybe she could try "The Enid Way"

“Perhaps Y/N finds pancakes as insipid as she finds conversation.”

Enid blinked, clearly unsure whether to laugh or defend herself. “Uh… okay, rude? But honestly, you two could totally bond over being broody and, like, totally impossible to read.”

Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you then, a sharp, probing look. “I wouldn’t say impossible. Predictable, perhaps. There’s a certain monotony to Y/N’s silence and I do not find it intriguing at all.”

You glanced up, finally meeting her eyes. There was no irritation in your expression, no spark of retaliation, just an unreadable calm that only served to unnerve her further. “And yet, here you are, commenting on it,” you said evenly before returning to your plate.

It wasn’t the sharpest retort, but the way you delivered it, like an afterthought, as though Wednesday’s presence barely registered, made it sting all the same.

Enid looked between the two of you, her eyes wide with the kind of excitement only she could muster. “Oh my gosh, this is like watching two glaciers collide! I mean, not that you guys are slow or cold or anything. Well, maybe a little cold. Anyway, isn’t this fun?”

“No,” Wednesday and you said at the same time.

Enid burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “See? You’re already bonding!”

Wednesday shot her a look that could curdle milk, but Enid was unfazed.

Eugene was approaching their table but he stopped short when he saw you, his gaze darting between you and Wednesday. His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Uh… are we seeing double, or is this the person who—”

“Finish that sentence, Eugene, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Wednesday said.

Eugene’s eyes widened as he nodded quickly. “Got it. Not finishing the sentence.” And just as Eugene joined the table, her attention returning to you. You were wiping your hands with a napkin, getting ready to leave. Wednesday can tell, your hate for social interaction, raged more than her's. Perhaps, she can use that against you.

As Enid watched you stand and leave without so much as a goodbye, she sighed dramatically, "You two would make the perfect brooding couple.”

Wednesday shot her a withering look. “Your penchant for romanticizing everything is both exhausting and nauseating.”

Enid just grinned. “Admit it, Wens. You’re curious about her.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Enid was right. You were a mystery, and Wednesday Addams hated unsolved mysteries almost as much as she hated losing.

Wednesday walked into her botany class with her usual measured pace, her eyes scanning the room as she adjusted in her seat. She didn’t expect much from this class... wait... she forgot to pick up her botany book from the library last night because of you...

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with venom. It was only fitting that you had managed to distract her into forgetting something as trivial yet necessary as a textbook. You were becoming a consistent thorn in her side. And speak of the devil,

You entered the greenhouse. Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you for a moment as you made your way to the empty seat beside her. You sat without so much as a glance in her direction.

When the class began, the new teacher, whatever her name was Wednesday doesn't care, droned on about invasive species and their effects on native flora.... just like you invaded her perfectly built world.

You weren’t writing anything down.

Your notebook remained mostly untouched, save for a few idle scribbles. Instead, you stared straight ahead, your gaze fixed on some undefined point, your expression unreadable.

For all your skill in fencing and your mysterious arrival at Nevermore, there was an emptiness in you, that Wednesday can feel now...

You didn’t belong here or maybe you belonged too much, in a way even Wednesday couldn’t define.

She first won against you during lunch....

During lunch, Wednesday sat at her usual table with Enid, who was excitedly recounting the latest gossip she’d overheard from the other werewolves. Her voice was a constant hum in Wednesday’s ear, background noise she had learned to filter out with practice.

Then Enid’s chatter abruptly halted.

“Y/N!”

Wednesday turned her head to see Enid bounding across the dining hall. You stood near the entrance, holding a tray of food with the same level of enthusiasm one might have for poison. Enid grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward their table with a persistence that could only be described as infuriating.

You shot Enid a glare that could have killed a lesser person, but the werewolf had her practice with Wednesday's death glare so she seemed unfazed. As you passed other students, you glanced down at Enid’s hand gripping yours with something bordering on confusion, as though physical contact itself was a foreign concept.

“Come on!” Enid chirped, her cheer undeterred by your visible disdain. “It’s not like it’ll kill you to sit with friends!”

“I wasn’t aware we were friends.” you said flatly.

“Not yet,” Enid said brightly, as if your protest were merely a formality.

Wednesday watched the exchange with a mixture of intrigue and irritation. How did Enid always manage to worm her way into the lives of people who radiated darkness like storm clouds? She had done it with Wednesday herself, and now it seemed you were the next victim.

When you reached the table, you didn’t sit immediately. Instead, you crossed your arms, glaring at Enid with a mix of irritation and reluctance.

“Sit!” Enid chirped, patting the bench beside her.

You exhaled sharply, muttering something under your breath, but eventually slid into the seat, placing your tray down.

Wednesday watched the exchange, her dark eyes narrowing at Enid’s ability to befriend the most unapproachable people. The werewolf had done the same with her. And though Wednesday would never admit it aloud, Enid had wormed her way into a space in her life that she didn’t entirely hate. Wednesday would be lying if she said she doesn't care for Enid at all.

Would Wednesday ever find you in that position? She quickly pushed that thought down the stairs, killing it then dumping the body.

“So,” Enid began, already bubbling with energy, “did you know that Wednesday is like, super into typewriters? It’s kind of adorable, honestly.”

“I’m right here,” Wednesday deadpanned.

“Oh, I know,” Enid said, grinning. “Speaking of which, didn’t you say you ran out of typewriter paper last night?”

“Yes,” Wednesday replied, her tone clipped.

“Well,” Enid continued, “I was thinking of taking Y/N to Weathervane for a tour. She’s new, after all."

You rolled your eyes. “I rejected.”

“Same thing!” Enid said brightly, brushing off your correction." Anyway, I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? You can come with us and pick up your paper, Wednesday!”

Wednesday smirked faintly. She could tell you hated the idea of being dragged into Enid’s plans. You hated company, just as she did. But that made the opportunity to spite you all the more enticing.

“Fine,” Wednesday said, her tone even. “I’ll come.”

Enid clapped her hands together. “Yay! This is going to be so fun!”

You shot Wednesday a death glare, clearly unamused.

“Oh,” Wednesday added, her voice laced with mock innocence, “perhaps Eugene would like to join us. He loves coffee.”

“Eugene!” Wednesday called the hummer who was in their hummer's table. “Join us for a trip to Weathervane later.”

“Really?” Eugene’s face lit up, and he quickly shuffled over to their table.

You looked between Wednesday and Eugene, your glare sharpening. “This is ridiculous.”

“No,” Wednesday replied, meeting your glare with one of her own. “This is retribution.”

Enid, blissfully unaware of the tension, leaned forward with a grin. “This is going to be the best day ever!”

You didn’t respond, instead stabbing a piece of food on your plate with enough force to make the table tremble.

Wednesday allowed herself a small, victorious smirk. The fencing matches may have been your victories, but this round was hers.

But she hadn't seen the real you... until now.

“She’s late,” Wednesday muttered, already regretting her choice, agreeing to go just to spite you.

“Relax, Wednesday,” Enid said, though the werewolf sounded a little unsure herself. “Y/N doesn’t strike me as the punctual type. Or, you know, the type who tells people things. Like ever.”

Eugene adjusted his glasses. “Do you think she just bailed? Maybe she doesn’t actually want to come. I mean it has been almost half an hour...”

“She’s coming,” Wednesday said with conviction. She didn’t know why she was so certain, but she was.

Finally, you appeared in the distance, walking toward them with a measured, unhurried pace.

You stopped a few feet from the group, your hands shoved into your hoodie’s pockets, and regarded them with your usual, unreadable expression. You didn’t apologize for being late.

“You’re late,” Wednesday said, her tone biting.

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Eugene offered an awkward wave. “Uh, hey, Y/N.”

Enid, ever the peacemaker, quickly stepped in. “Glad you made it! We’ve been waiting forever, but, like, no big deal or anything.”

You didn’t respond to Enid’s cheerfulness, your gaze briefly flickering to her before shifting elsewhere.

“Well,” Enid said, clapping her hands together, “let’s go! The bus should be there any minute.”

The bus ride to Jericho was quiet, at least between you and Wednesday. Enid filled the silence with her usual chatter, talking about.... everything?

“Have you been to Jericho yet, Y/N?” Enid asked, turning to you with a curious smile.

You shook your head, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the bus window.

“It’s cute,” Enid continued, unfazed by your silence. “Small, but cute. Oh, but you should know, some of the normies there aren’t super friendly to outcasts. So, it’s always good to go with people who’ve got your back, you know?”

At her words, Wednesday saw something flicker in your eyes. It was brief, barely there, but it was enough to catch her attention.

A shadow of acknowledgment, perhaps, as you gave a small nod.

The bus arrived at Jericho and the group hopped down.

Enid led the way, her excitement not affected by your clear preference for distance. You trailed behind, keeping a noticeable gap between yourself and the others.

Eugene tried to bridge the gap a few times, but each attempt was met with silence, and eventually, he gave up.

The group stopped at a small general store first. Enid immediately darted toward the cosmetics aisle, her eyes lighting up as she scanned rows of nail polishes and makeup.

“Y/N, do you need anything?” Enid asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“No,” you replied simply, your voice as flat as ever.

Enid shrugged and continued her search, while Wednesday moved toward the stationery section, searching for her typewriter paper and ink. She found the items quickly enough but lingered, her gaze occasionally drifting toward you.

You stood near the entrance of the store, your hands in your pockets, watching a pair of children playing near the candy section. The boy, no older than six, was laughing as he chased his older sister around, their footsteps light and carefree.

It was subtle, but Wednesday noticed something in the way you observed them. Wednesday noticed something in your eyes, different from your usual detached demeanor. Intrigue? Longing? It was impossible to say.

“What’s so fascinating about them?” Wednesday asked, her voice low as she approached.

You didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”

“That’s doubtful,” she pressed.

You finally turned your head toward her, your expression unreadable. “Who says it’s your business?”

For a moment, Wednesday considered pushing further, but something in your tone warned her off. You weren’t going to share, and she didn’t care enough yet to pry the answer from you.

“Suit yourself,” she muttered, turning back toward the shelves.

When she returned to the checkout counter, you were already standing there, waiting. Wednesday placed her items on the counter, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

You didn’t acknowledge her, your attention fixed on the glass door as though willing the others to hurry up.

“Got everything I need!” Enid chirped, appearing beside them with an armful of brightly colored products. She paid quickly, practically bouncing toward the exit.

“Come on, guys!” Enid called from the doorway, already heading outside.

Wednesday followed, her bag in hand. You moved to the door without a word.

The group had just stepped out of the store, when Wednesday’s sharp eyes caught movement near the counter, on the cashier, his shoulders hunched as five boys loomed over him. They weren’t just grabbing beers from the fridge. One of them yanked a handful of cash from the register

“C’mon, old man, don’t look at us like that,” one of them sneered. “Think of it as…taxes for keeping your store safe.”

The cashier muttered something inaudible, his voice trembling. The boys only laughed, grabbing more bottles and shoving them into their backpacks.

Enid’s cheerful demeanor shifted instantly. She grabbed Wednesday’s arm. “Wednesday…shouldn’t we do something? He needs help.”

Eugene took a step back, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know, Enid. These guys look...trouble. And we’re not even supposed to be here, technically.”

Wednesday frowned. On one hand, this was a normie problem, a petty theft that would resolve itself eventually. On the other hand, there was an undeniable injustice in letting the boys get away with it.

Before she could decide, the boys finished their “business” and left, swaggering out the door with their loot. Enid sighed, clearly disappointed but not wanting to push it further. “Guess we’d better go,” she said, turning to leave.

Wednesday hesitated for a moment but followed Enid and Eugene down the street. However, something nagged at her. A presence. She glanced back, and sure enough, there you were, still standing in the store’s doorway, watching the scene unfold.

“Y/N,” Wednesday called out,

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze with your usual unreadable expression. “I need to buy something.”

Enid frowned, confused. “But you said you didn’t need anything earlier.”

You didn’t respond to her. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked back into the store.

Curiosity piqued, Wednesday followed, with Enid and Eugene trailing behind. From their spot near the door, they watched as you approached the counter and spoke to the shaken cashier in a low, even voice. “I need that, that, and that.” you said, pointing to items behind the counter.

The cashier blinked, visibly confused but too shaken to argue. He retrieved an aluminum baseball bat, a heavy chain, and a pair of black gloves, placing them on the counter.

“What is she even going to do with all that?” Eugene whispered nervously.

You slid the gloves onto your hands, gripping the bat in one arm and coiling the chain loosely in the other. Without a word, you passed them, heading toward the alley where the boys had disappeared moments earlier.

“What is she—” Enid started, but Wednesday cut her off with a raised hand.

“Follow her,” Wednesday said, her voice low and firm.

The three of them trailed after you, keeping their distance until they reached the alley’s edge. Peeking around the corner, they saw the five boys lounging against a brick wall, laughing and drinking from their stolen beers.

When they noticed you, their laughter grew louder. One of them, tall with a cocky grin, stepped forward.

“Hey, little girl,” one of them said, smirking as he stepped forward. “What’s with the bat? You gonna play baseball with us?”

The others laughed.

But you didn’t respond. You simply stared at them, your grip tightening around the bat.

The first boy took another step closer, his smirk widening. “You lost, sweetheart? Or maybe you’re here to—”

CRACK

Wednesday can swear if she blinked she would've missed the swing of the bat as it connected with the boy's temple with a sickening thud, cutting his words short as he crumpled to the ground. The sound echoed through the alley, silencing the laughter instantly.

“What the hell?!” one of the boys shouted, his eyes wide with panic.

Wednesday’s breath hitched, her eyes locked on you as you adjusted your stance. There was no hesitation in your movements, no wasted energy. You were a predator, and they were your prey.

One of them lunged at you, but you sidestepped easily, the chain in your other hand whipped out, coiling around the wrist of the next boy like a serpent. With a sharp tug, you yanked him towards you, and the bat came down again with brutal precision on his head. Another one down.

“Holy crap,” Eugene whispered, clutching at Wednesday’s sleeve. “She’s… she’s gonna kill them!”

“No,” Wednesday murmured, her voice almost reverent. “She’s too precise for that.”

The remaining boys hesitated, their bravado faltering as they realized the odds weren’t in their favor. One of them pulled out a pocketknife, holding it up shakily.

“Stay back,” he warned, his voice betraying his fear.

You tilted your head slightly before the chain lashed out again, latching onto his hand. The knife clattered to the ground as you closed the distance, the bat swinging upward and catching him squarely under the chin. He collapsed in a heap.

You slowly picked up the knife and glared at the last two. With a flick of your wrist, the blade sailed through the air, embedding itself in the leg of one of them. He screamed, collapsing to the ground clutching his thigh.

The final boy tried to run, But you were faster. The chain wrapped around his ankle, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground. The bat came down once, twice, and he was out.

The boy still screaming because of the knife latched onto his leg begged, “Take it! Take the money! Take the beer! Just don’t—” Your bat silenced him with a single, calculated blow to the side of his head.

Wednesday’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. There was something captivating about the way you moved; calculated, efficient, merciless. Not a single touch landed on you, and yet you left all five of them groaning on the ground.

You crouched down, rummaging through the pockets of the nearest boy. Pulling out a wad of cash, probably way more than what they even stole. You rose and picked up the bag of beers.

As you passed the trio at the end of the alley, Wednesday’s gaze followed you, her smirk still there, she wouldn't hide it because she was, truly, for the first time in her life, impressed.

Wednesday followed you instantly, and the other two followed hesitantly... stopping just inside the doorway as you approached the cashier.

“I’d like to return this bat,” you said, placing it on the counter alongside the cash and the beer.

The cashier stared at you, wide-eyed and speechless.

Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked out of the store, passing by the trio without so much as a glance.

Wednesday watched as you made your way to the bus stand, and just stood there. The three of them stood there in stunned silence.

Enid was the first to break it. “Okay, I take it back. She’s not just like Wednesday. She’s way scarier.”

[A/n: Tried a new route, Didn't really find much fics out there where reader is the one who is more badass , so thought about writing one myself lol, Comment how you guys like this new one]

[velvetvexations]

"Women do traditionally feminine stuff because they are afraid of the men in their lives." Hilarious, because for me growing up all of the worst misogyny I faced was at the hands of other women, usually family and friends, and whenever I caved into the pressure to do feminine things I didn't want to it was specifically because I was seeking the approval of other women. None of the men in my life have ever forced femininity on me the way the cis women have. The people who made fun of me for dressing "badly" and not shaving and spread rumors I was secretly a boy were all girls. I kept trying to get into makeup, not because I wanted boys to think I was cute(all the guys who've shown interest in me have actually liked me just fine the way I am), but because I wanted the women around me to see me as one of them and I never felt like I was.

Even when women aren't pressuring me to do girly things I still feel the pressure because I'm the only woman I know who doesn't and it makes me feel like a freak. I don't care what the men around me think, a guy getting weird about my not shaving or wearing makeup would be instantly disqualified from my dating pool without a second thought, being raised a feminist very quickly inoculated me against giving a shit what men think, but the women? My whole life I have been trying so hard to be one of them and it's still hard work to ignore the annoying internalized patriarchal cisheteronormative bullshit in my head making me think I need to be more like them and less like me. And I genuinely don't know if there will ever come a day when I can hang out in a group of women and not feel like an imposter just waiting to be discovered and killed.

And I know that my experiences aren't universal any more than the person who originally said that's are, but like. It's just wild to me that trans people especially will chalk all of the pressure to conform to gender roles up to shitty men and completely ignore how heavily the patriarchy incentivizes women to not only violently police each other's femininity but also destroy ourselves seeking the approval of the very women who are violently policing our femininity.

EXACTLY.

I love cis women who our allies with all my heart and soul, but we need to stop being desperate for their approval. The cis women who DO care about us would be the first to admit they as a category need to do a lot better, so why do we pussyfoot around them being just as horrible to us as cis men can be?

With trans women it feels like we're just trying to link arms under the exact same oppressive patriarchy because it feels like that's what being a woman is, haha yeah, men hate us, I mean they hate us in different ways and you hate us too but what matters above all else is that we're the exact same thing right? Oh, sorry, like seventy percent of you don't believe that and are violently disgusted by the thought of coming anywhere near me? But I also fear men!

And trans men...

"Women are soooo scared of me, yeah you better cover your drink around trans men too, I mean not that I would do anything personally, but I could, because I'm a man, and that means I could oppress and hurt you, theoretically!"

Listen, bro, most cis women aren't scared of you, they're laughing at you, and frankly so am I, not because it's impossible for a trans man to be a person who's intimidating, but because you're so needy for validation that you've developed a patriarchy fetish you can't turn off.

None of this is to say we should ignore the crimes of cis men or that cis women aren't also another marginalized class, and again, I love cis women who're trans allies, they're amazing, wonderful people and I would never want to leave them behind or seem ungrateful.

[sir-sunawani]

Starling

Omegaverse

Alpha!Crocodile/Omega!Reader

Inspired by @hannahbarberra162's Emperor's Prize

CW: A/B/O, yandere vibes (unsure if full blown yan yet), dub con (possible non-con I am so by the seat of my pants with this), rough sex, rough everything kind of, mdni

Chapter 4: Punishment

The older gentleman that measures you has such an air of professionalism, you don’t even care you’re almost completely naked. Save for a pair of ill-fitting underwear, you have on nothing else. He lets you stand near the fireplace and works quickly, stating numbers to a younger assistant who has kept his back turned since you were requested to disrobe.

Crocodile watches the whole thing, he may be working at his desk no one doubts he is paying due attention to the process.

“All done. You may redress, young Miss, thank you.” He instructs with a small bow before gathering his things. “I’ll have a catalogue brought in and you can choose what you like.”

You freeze, the large shirt you’d been wearing falling into place only because of how large it is.

“Choose?” You question, looking from a seemingly disinterested Crocodile to the tailor. “I will have options?”

The sound of Crocodile’s pen stops, the tailor going pale at the sudden silence. Something about it unnerves you too, but you aren’t sure why.

“Yes.” Crocodile answers for him, taking a deep drag of his cigar before letting out a long trail of smoke. “You may choose whatever you want.”

Logically you understood what that meant, but you were struggling with the practice of it. You’d never decided something for yourself. Your attendants dressed you, and your clothes were decided by someone beyond even them. Your meals, your breaks, when you slept - you existed within the borders someone else set.

The only thing you ever had the right to enforce was that no one was allowed to touch you. Even the tailor had taken care to barely even graze your skin with his gloves despite the closeness with which he worked.

You decided not to overthink it, and sat down near the fire when the tailor returned with a catalog.

“If you have any questions, I am at your service, Miss.” he says, stepping back and letting you have some space.

You sit and flip through the catalog. There are all sorts of items listed, from uniforms to evening wear. When you reach the accessories, gloves and the like, you go back to the start.

“Do you have things that are easy to put on?” You question as flatly as you can. Asking a question at all feels demeaning, but you don’t want to pick something with complicated clasps on accident.

“Yes Miss. There are a couple sundresses available, which are generally just pulled on over one’s head. Button-up shirts have easily accessible buttons down the front of the garment, you may like those as well.” He turns the pages of the catalog slowly, pointing out various items.

He speaks evenly and carefully, nothing given away in his tone if your questions are absurd or not. It puts you at ease, and you realize after some time that you must have demanded this man’s attention for at least an hour, and he never faltered. With clothes decided he steps over to Crocodile’s desk, and the two finalize things.

You’d chosen two sundresses, two pants and two shirts. The tailor told you that undergarments would be provided and you decided not to point out that while you knew what under clothes were, it’d been so long since you’d been permitted to wear any you weren’t sure you wanted to.

The whole affair started after lunch, and was done by dinner.

For you the day had been long, aside from eating and dealing with the tailor you did nothing else but lounge on the small couch and watch the fire. You didn’t want to walk the grounds in nothing but his shirt, and you didn’t even really want to leave the room in the first place. It was comfortable now that you’d gotten used to it.

Since he took his meals at his desk, you took yours in the room as well. People came in and out in a near steady stream - the only break for him had been while you were being measured.

“After dinner, you’ll have your lesson.” He says when no one else is left in the room with you.

“My lesson?” You question and feel yourself stiffen as you remember before he says it.

“Proper and efficient hygiene.” He answers flatly.

“Right, I… I mean, I didn’t do anything today, I��m hardly in need of a shower.” It’s a weak argument, but you don’t want the eight foot tall alpha to be in the shower with you again. His scent has been enough from this distance.

“You’ll still do it.” He asserts. You should let it drop there, you know, but something coils between your legs at the idea of him being naked again, and it makes you nervous.

“You’ll be standing outside and in-instructing me?” You know the answer before you ask, but you can’t help it.

“No. Tonight I will be cleaning you. Tomorrow you will repeat what I’ve done.” You can hear a tinge of irritation in his voice, or maybe you imagine it. He sounds irritated randomly throughout the day as it is.

“It wouldn’t be very efficient.” You barely say the words, and Crocodile doesn’t even acknowledge what you know he heard. You hear him get up, but you don’t want this. It felt far less humiliating to have the attendants clean you, than it feels to have someone teach you something you should know.

And you do know it. You know what is done and how, you just haven’t had to do it yourself.

“I’m not even dirty it-!” You suck in a breath as your wine glass is lifted and splashed into your face. There’s silence between you and Crocodile, who is carefully and with graceful practice, rolling up the sleeve of his right arm.

“Wuh-why?” You manage to ask, red wine dripping down your skin.

“You needed a reason.” He says curtly. “Now you’ve ruined my shirt, stained my sofa, and wasted my time. You will be punished, and then you will be cleaned.”

“Punished?! You’re the one who threw the wine around!” You shout, pointing at him and watching in slow horror as the wet sleeve of your shirt whips around and flicks wine onto his vest.

“I’m… sorry, I’m sorry, I did not mean to do that, I -.” Panic rises up in your voice, but he cuts you and your panic off.

“You are my guest, and have been treated as such.” His voice has an edge that sits at your throat. “And to repay that, you act like a spoiled brat.”

“I’m sorry, I am, I’m sorry, I-.”

“Silence.” He snarls and you press your lips together. You weren’t ever punished, you didn’t know what to expect. You were sure he wasn’t going to kill you, and it was unlikely he was mar you in some way. You were too valuable, but you didn’t know what a pirate and an alpha would do to you.

“If you do as you’re told, it will go better for you. Take off that ruined shirt and stand by my desk.” He commands and you do as you’re told.

Crocodile walks over and opens his door just a little, saying something to someone outside it before closing it and locking it.

“Put your hands flat on the desk and bend over.” He orders, and you do as you’re told, or you think you have. He presses you down until your chest is flush against the desk and waits until you put your palms flat against the desk.

“If you remove your hands from my desk, I will carry you out of this room and take you into one of the big tents.” He explains, hand still in the middle of your back. “Hundreds of pirates will watch me continue your punishment. Do you understand?”

“No,” you cry, fear starting to overtake you. “No I don’t know what a punishment is, I don’t understand!” Sobbing you keep your hands on the desk. “My hands, my hands stay on the desk!” You almost whimper the words, smacking your hands on the desk. “I understand that.”

You hear a metallic sound, thin metal against thin metal and realize he’s removing his belt. “Spread your legs and lift your ass. I’ll show you what a punishment can be.” He commands.

You do as he asks, stomach in knots, body shivering. You’re afraid you’re going to throw up onto his desk and if you do that it’ll just be worse. You’re already staining pages with tears and the wine that was in your hair.

“Please, I’m sorry,” you can barely form the words against tears and fear, but it doesn’t matter. The leather of his doubled over belt cuts through the air and bites into the curve of your ass, licking a painful strip against your skin. You shriek, more from surprise and fear than the actual pain, and he pushes you harshly back against the desk.

“HANDS.” He growls, and you put them on the desk, shivering and sobbing. “It’s alright. You didn’t know, and it took you by surprise.” He admits, his own hand almost soothing against your back until you calm down a little.

“But now you know. Keep your hands in place.” He warns.

 Crocodile’s POV

Fuck, you smelled delicious once you became afraid. Your scent was good all the time as far as he was concerned, but right now you were divine. He wanted to shove his tongue into your cunt and taste the scent that was driving him half mad right now.

He brings the belt down a second time, eyes focused on the impact of leather against your skin. He wanted to make your ass red and puffy, but he didn’t want to risk any cuts or other more permanent marks. Your flawless skin was going to stay like that until he sank his teeth into your neck.

You were going to be his. You already were, you just didn’t know it yet. You were his the second Buggy had the intelligence to bring you to him. He would have to reward the idiot clown.

He pauses after the third strike, setting the belt down and putting his hand on your ass.

“Tell me why you’re being punished.” He says, his voice almost tender compared to earlier.

You sob and hiccup, this new experience for you is more fear than pain. He’s sure you know what punishment is as a concept, but it’s very possible this was your first direct experience of it.

“I… I got wine on your vuh-vest.” The scent rolling off you has his pants uncomfortably tight. He wants to split you in half with his cock, burying his knot into your cunt until his own spend bubbles out past the tight fit.

He smacks your ass with his bare hand, delighting in the feel of your skin, hot against his palm. You yelp, keeping your hands on the desk. He appreciated your fear of the tent - he didn’t want to share you with anyone.

“And?”

“And… and I was a buh-bad guest. I’m sorry.” You cry.

“Good girl.” He says. “You learned, and this is so you don’t forget. Be sure to say thank you after each one.” He warns.

Your POV

His hand lands, sharp and heavy against your ass cheek, the impact stings.

“Four!” You cry.

“One.” He corrects. “Don’t worry about before now.”

Sniffling you nod. His voice had been so gentle once you admitted your mistakes that you didn’t want him to talk to you the other way again. That was scary, this was reassuring.

Another heavy smack on the opposite side.

“Two,” you gasp as he grabs your stinging cheek in his massive hand, squeezing it. The pleasure from the massage chases behind the harsh sting and addles your mind.

“You won’t be a bad guest again, right?” He questions, punctuating it with another slap. Shaking your head you count out, the sound turning into a soft mewl as he grabs your cheek again.

He repeats the action, but after you count you can’t stop the breathy, “No,” that slips between your lips.

“No?” He inquires, a dangerous tone in his voice. “Are you telling me to stop?”

“No! No, I - I mean… I …” you almost start crying again. “I… It feels weird.”

He slaps your ass cheeks in quick succession, raining down blows so fast it is impossible for you to count. Just as it starts to really hurt he stops, grabbing one red and stinging ass cheek and forcing a sound out of you, that you hadn’t expected to make.

The lascivious sound is unmistakable.

“I’m sorry!” Panic rises in your throat, but Crocodile just turns you over, laying you on your back, your legs dangling off his desk.

The look on his face has you frozen in place. He looks like he’s going to eat you. The golden amber eyes are slit tight, burning as they look down at you.

“You’re turned on?”

“I’m sorry!” You cry, tears running down the side of your face. “I’m sorry I didn’t - I couldn’t - I learned, I swear I learned! I didn’t know, I -!”

Crocodile’s POV

His hand over your mouth quiets you. You shiver beneath him, the look on his face sending an odd heat through your body and once you calm down a little he moves his hand away from your mouth.

“You’re going to get your wish,” he says, his voice dripping with restraint. “But only because it may be after midnight before I’m sated.”

He pushes your leg up onto the desk, pining it in place with his hook. You scream, covering your mouth as you realize he hasn’t impaled you, just restrained your leg with his hook. Terror is making your scent stronger and he can’t take it anymore.

He grabs your other leg by the ankle and pulls you open, exposing your dripping cunt to the air. The smell puts visions in his head of him truly devouring you like a small shivering rabbit.

“No, no please!” Panic claws at your voice and you put your hands over your mound. “Don’t-don’t! You’ll-you’ll lose money if you take it! I won’t-.”

“Silence.” He forces it upon you and you fall silent, hands still covering yourself. “Move. Your. Hands.”

Your face flushes down to your shoulders, but you do as he commands.

“What value you have to the gods doesn’t matter to me.” He says, kneeling down between your legs. “They’re beneath me, so it only matters what worth you have to me.”

The tip of his nose grazes the hair of your pussy, and he breathes in deep, letting the sweet scent soak his lungs before his tongue parts your labia and the tip flicks against your clit. You tense and squeak, unable to close your legs, body shivering for all manner of reasons.

The taste of you is a delight he couldn’t dare name, but the single lick isn’t nearly enough. You’re going to enjoy what he’s going to do to you, even if you haven’t been good enough to truly earn it yet.

Your POV

The first gentle lick sends a jolt through you, but you don’t have time to say anything before his mouth begins to devour you again. His lips press in deep, parting yours and letting his thick tongue press against the slick between your folds. The hot wet muscle sends a strange sensation through you, and you squirm uselessly against his hold on you.

“What - wait, I - whaaaaaat’s this?” You whine, as he licks heavy against your clit.

“Consider it part of your punishment.” He grumbles into your skin. His voice is soothing to your ears, but his actions have you on edge.

Another heavy lick and you can’t stop yourself as your body rolls from the pleasure that ripples through you. Crocodile growls when you move, but doesn’t stop licking your cunt. You reach out, putting your hands into his hair and the growl shifts into a purr.

The new sound relaxes you from head to toe, and with less energy spent on holding you down Crocodile focuses on eating you out. Hungry lips and a heavy tongue urge more and more slick from you, and drag thick, heady panting moans from you.

The airy moans falling from your lips turn into whines as the pleasure builds. You’re squirming beneath him, but since you’re holding onto his hair you’re not squirming away from him.

“Please, please,” you huff, feeling a delicious pleasure coil between your thighs. You’d never orgasmed before. You’d come close, but you weren’t permitted that kind of pleasure outside of your heats, and during them you couldn’t attain it by yourself.

What you knew well was the climb to that elusive precipice.

“I’m close, I’m close, please, please, I’m sorry, please let me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t - won’t argue again, please, please!” You cry, your body shivering as he brings you closer and closer.

Just before you tip over the edge, Crocodile shifts, plunging his thick tongue into your vagina. He releases your ankle and rolls his thumb against your clit as his tongue curls inside you.

An unintelligible sound is ripped from your lips as pleasure pulls taut every muscle in your body. You can feel yourself throbbing against his thick tongue, each twitch of your own body sending another merciless jolt of pleasure through you.

Crocodile doesn’t stop. Some addled part of your brain thinks that’s fitting, but it does you no good as your overstimulated body jerks and curls.

“Please,” the word shivers from your lips as Crocodile withdraws his tongue from your twitching cunt.

“One more.” He husks, eyes soft and out of focus. “You taste even better than you smell, little starling, and I will drink once more at least.”

He pushes your leg back again, engulfing your breast with his hand and holding you in place as he licks heavy into your slit. All you can do is hold onto his arm as he drinks his fill bringing you to the edge a second time.

This orgasm soaks into your body, making your heart rush even as your muscles seem to relax against it. The pleasure rolls your eyes back and loosens your grip on his arm, letting him press your body into an immovable hold even more than before. Sweat begins to slick your skin and his tongue moves away from your cunt, licking the salt and thin sheen from the crease of your hips.

“Cr-Crocodile… please,” you paw at his arm as he licks up the backside of your thigh.

“Mercy then, perhaps.” He purrs, and his teeth look so sharp, and his eyes look so reptilian, and the scent of sand and honey that surrounds him is thick and sticky, and you can almost feel it pulling your cunt open for him.

“Now there is plenty of reason to wash you.”

[peydawgz]

Could we mayhaps get a curvy reader x hazard pretty please 💕

Yes and you get bonus Ramattra because I am ✨bricked up✨

Hazard

Fin looks at you with his eyes and his heart. He is enamored with your beauty. If youve got a naughty side showing, say a tattoo or a piercing, some showy outfit, or serving the punk look, he’s like a moth to the flame.

He’s kind and gentle with you, and treats you like royalty. He’ll defend you till death, and probably spend all his money on you. He goes out of his way with everything in his life.

You’re so warm and cozy, and you fit so perfect in his lap he would rather cuddle you forever. He likes to rest his hand on your stomach while you lay together, and mmm your thighs are so squishy and tempting. (Literally how to spoon, tiddy in da hand, kiss ya neck, dick hard on the butt. Hell yeah)

He’s always touching your butt fr, like just a little pat sometimes when you’re ahead of him, but also when you’re in privacy he’ll just grope you for fun. He loves kissing your neck and cheeks, and kissing you anywhere in fact.

He would never ever put you down or have any negativity near your relationship. In fact, he’s more of your hype man. He loves when you dress up and play with your fashion sense. He encourages you to wear whatever you want though, and finds you very adorable and attractive in your comfy outfits.

He’s a big guy, and when he gives you one of his jackets you find you are swallowed in it. He loves you so much, he can’t help but squeeze you up into a hug.

He loves to hold your stomach, in any way. Picking you up and giving you a cute little spin around when he sees you, or just simply wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest.

I think if you licked him it would turn him on,, and fr he would do it back he’s such a cute weirdo.

Ramattra

Your kindness towards him drew him in. You treated him like he was any other, and just lived your humble human life. He learned that he must have a heart,, because you stole it.

Ramattra wants to protect you at all costs, because you are the best thing that could have happened to him. If anyone says a word, he will destroy them. He’s never desired an omnic/human relationship more than ever before you came around.

He is like an animal, although he is machine. He tilts his head in curiosity, when he sees something he likes. He approaches slowly, and is almost fearful at first touching you. Then, he is just leaning all over you and nuzzling you everywhere.

His cold metal hands explore every curve, sending you shivers. He is starving for your touch, absolutely melting when your fingers go for his coils of “hair”. Every receptor and sensor is tingling with sensation,,, like what one would call butterflies in your stomach.

You love when he is in Nemesis form, his larger arms surrounding you and making you feel so small and cute. He picks you up bridal style, nuzzling his faceplate into your neck and seemingly purring.

He falls in love with every inch of you, and cuddle time is usually spent with you on top of him. His hands hold your thighs pressed against his cool body, helping you relax as your head lay on his chest. He strokes your back, and maybe will him you a gentle song.

Omg kiss him!!! Smooch him everywhere for real!! He wanna kiss you so bad,, all he can do is nuzzle and touch you :(