#they clearly have the skill to back it up

[darkmarkmarauder]

Dirty Fucking Mind - M.R.

Speak of the Devil…and the Devil shall appear

Your luck was fucking awful.

You had come to the Restricted Section with a singular purpose: find the book on alchemy you’d been dying to get your hands on and get out. Simple. In and out. No one would know. But, as usual, your unfortunate timing had yet again fucked you over.

Because you weren’t alone.

You stilled, fingers hovering over the spine of an aged, leather-bound tome, as you caught sight of him. Mattheo Riddle.

He moved between the towering bookshelves like a shadow, deliberate and silent, his sharp gaze scanning the rows as if searching for something just out of reach. But what caught your attention—what made you pause, breath hitching—was the way his lips moved. Barely audible, murmuring a language you had heard before but couldn’t immediately place.

And then it clicked. Parseltongue.

Your brows lifted in mild surprise. You recognized it as clear as day, though your understanding of it was... lacking. A fault of your own negligence, really. Your grandfather—one of the few remaining Blacks to still wield the gift—had tried to teach you, but you’d been too stubborn to care. Maybe if you’d listened, you would have known exactly what Riddle was searching for now.

As he stretched, reaching for a book just out of reach, the fabric of his shirt pulled taut over his forearms, the flex of his muscles making the veins in his hands stand out, and fuck—had he always been this strong? The thought hit you suddenly, unwanted, unwarranted. You imagined those hands on you, wrapped around your throat, pinning you down as his body pressed between your legs. How deep would his cock—

You about done, princess?

Your stomach plummeted as the voice echoed inside your mind. You recognized it instantly, it was Mattheo’s. shit. shit. shit.

Panic flickered in your chest, but you kept your expression composed as you straightened, snapping your head up to meet his gaze. Except…

He wasn’t there.

The space where he’d stood just moments ago was empty, the soft glow of candlelight flickering across abandoned bookshelves.

What the—

His laughter curled around your mind like smoke, seeping into every crevice, dragging icy fingers down your spine.

Legilimency.

You should have known.

Riddle was a fucking menace, a master of slipping into minds undetected, and clearly, you weren’t as skilled at Occlumency as you’d thought. Which meant—

Heat burned across your cheeks.

He’d heard everything. The filthy, unfiltered thoughts you’d had about him.

A slow clap broke the silence, sharp and mocking. "Well, well," came his voice, smooth as silk and twice as deadly. "I must say, I’m flattered."

You didn’t turn immediately. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you exhaled through your nose, slow and even, before sliding the book back into place. Only then did you pivot, deliberately, meeting his gaze with a lazy tilt of your head.

Mattheo stood mere feet away, leaning against a bookshelf like he had all the time in the world, his arms folded, one brow arched in amusement. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, accentuating the cruel smirk tugging at his lips.

"You must be mistaken," you said, voice laced with boredom. "Not everything is about you, Riddle."

His smirk widened. "Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong." He pushed off the shelf, closing the distance between you in two measured steps. "See, I find it quite hard to believe that you weren’t just picturing my hands around your throat."

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. Instead, you smiled—slow, saccharine, dangerous. "I suppose if you already know my thoughts, there’s no point in lying," you said, voice dipping just slightly. You let your gaze flicker over him, deliberate and slow, before meeting his eyes again. "It’s a shame, really. Fantasy is always better than reality." Taking a step back as he took one towards you. Your back hit the bookshelf as you inhaled sharply, refusing to react, refusing to let the way his body crowded yours make you do something stupid—like, say, pressing your thighs together.

"Is that so?" Mattheo mused, his eyes locked onto yours. He reached out lazily, running his fingers along the edge of the shelf beside your head. You felt the air shift, his presence pressing in closer. then—before you could register the movement—his thigh was slotted between yours, firm and unforgiving.

Your breath stilled in your throat. The heat of him was immediate, seeping through the fabric of your skirt, and—Merlin help you—you were already too fucking warm.

Mattheo noticed. Of course he did.

"Interesting," he drawled, his voice almost thoughtful as his hands came to rest on your waist—not gripping, not pinning, just there. Just waiting. "You act as though I don’t affect you, yet here you are…" His lips curved into something wicked, something knowing, as he shifted just slightly, the movement pressing the firm plane of his thigh against your already aching cunt.

It took every ounce of restraint you had not to react. Not to suck in a sharp breath or—God forbid—moan. Your nails dug into the wood of the bookshelf behind you, grounding yourself, forcing yourself to meet his gaze with unwavering defiance.

"You think too highly of yourself, Riddle," you murmured, voice impressively steady.

His hands tightened just slightly, the ghost of a squeeze, and then his knee bucked up—just a fraction, just enough to force a spark of pleasure up your spine.

Oh, fuck.

Heat licked at your cheeks, but still, you refused to break. Refused to let him have this. You set your jaw, inhaling through your nose, refusing to give him a reaction.

You glared at him. "If you think this little game is going to—"

Another slow, deliberate movement of his thigh.

Your words cut off.

His dark eyes gleamed. "Go on," he encouraged. "Finish your sentence."

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but the friction was unbearable. The ache between your thighs only intensified, and you were certain—certain—he could feel the evidence of it. The growing damp spot against his trousers, the way your body reacted against your will.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even holding you there. He wasn’t forcing you to grind down, wasn’t pinning you in place.

You were doing that all on your own.

"You’re quiet all of a sudden," Mattheo murmured, tilting his head. His thumb brushed over your jaw, deceptively gentle as his leg shifted, dragging slow, agonizing friction against you. "I expected more fight from you. Aren’t you going to tell me how much you don’t want this?"

Your nails bit into his wrist. "I hate you," you breathed.

He chuckled. "Oh, I know."

His thigh flexed, and stars burst behind your eyes. You bit your lip, hard, swallowing the whimper that threatened to spill out.

Mattheo’s free hand traced the line of your waist, slow, testing. "You’re soaking me," he murmured, almost thoughtful. "All from just this?" His knee shifted higher, pressing right against the throbbing ache between your thighs.

Your head tipped back, thudding against the shelf. Fuck Fuck Fuck.

You barely noticed the way your fingers worked at his belt, the way you shoved his trousers just far enough down to feel the thick, heavy weight of him against your palm.

Mattheo hissed between his teeth, his breath hot against your neck.

“Fuck, you’re impatient,” he muttered, but his hand was already guiding yours, wrapping your fingers around his cock like he needed it.

The door creaked open. You froze. Mattheo didn’t. You barely had time to react before he shoved you down, your knees hitting the stone floor, his cock in your hand before you could even register what was happening.

“Mr. Riddle?” came Professor Flitwick’s tiny voice. “Still here, are we?”

Your eyes flicked up to Mattheo’s face. He had to step further into the shelves to hide you, but you stayed exactly where you were, blinking up at him with mock innocence, tongue trailing the underside of his cock just to fuck with him.

He stiffened. You swore you saw panic, actual panic, flicker across his features before he schooled it into composure.

“Yes, professor,” Mattheo rasped, voice strained.

You started again, licking his cock slow, deliberate, watching the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his nostrils flared as he fought for control. Letting your lips part, taking the thick, leaking head of his cock into your mouth just.

Mattheo shot you a warning look, but you ignored it, taking him deeper into your mouth, swallowing around him.

His thigh tensed, his jaw locking, and for the first time in your life, you heard him stutter.

Flitwick’s voice remained curious, oblivious. "What is it you’re still doing in the library?"

Mattheo cleared his throat, his grip in your hair tightening as he struggled to maintain control. "J-Just—research, Professor." His voice was even, but you could hear the strain beneath it.

God, this was fun.

You hummed around him, flicking your tongue over the sensitive tip, and his entire body shuddered.

You watched, delighted, as he fought to remain composed, as he struggled against the pleasure you were so generously giving him.

You sucked harder, forcing Mattheo’s cock deeper down your throat.

Mattheo stiffened. His grip on your hair turned punishing. "Shit."

"Professor," he choked out, voice strained. "I… I was just finishing up in the Restricted Section."

Flitwick’s tiny feet pattered closer.

You flattened your tongue, swirled it around the head of his cock, hard, until he trembled above you.

Finishing up. You could hardly help the quiet giggle that slipped from you as you took him deeper into your mouth, pressing until you felt him hit the back of your throat.

Mattheo’s hand tightened in your hair, pulling, silently begging you to stop, but you just stared up at him tauntingly, sucking harder.

“Very well,” Flitwick replied. “Do lock up when you’re done, won’t you?”

Mattheo grunted in response, sharp and clipped, visibly struggling. He could barely manage a nod. His knuckles turned white where they gripped the shelf behind him, while the other hand held a death grip in your hair, pleading you not to move, you did the exact opposite.

The moment the library door clicked shut, Mattheo snapped.

His hand fisted in your hair, yanking you off him with a wet, obscene pop, your saliva still glistening along the length of him as he dragged his thumb across your slick, swollen lips. His eyes, black as sin, drank in the sight of you—breathless, wrecked, your mouth shining with evidence of your depravity.

“You little fucking—”

“What?” You taunted feigning innocence as you pouted at him.

"You," he growled, hauling you to your feet, crashing your bodies together, "are going to pay for that."

His thumb pressed against your tongue, and you—defiant, taunting—wrapped your lips around it, sucking, never breaking eye contact as his restraint shattered.

His hands were everywhere—pushing, pulling, grasping at your robes, yanking at your clothes with a ruthless impatience. He had no time for undressing, your skirt was shoved up over your hips, your blouse hanging open, the cool air ghosting over your exposed breasts.

Your moan was swallowed by his mouth as he pressed against you, his fingers slipping beneath your panties, dragging through your slick folds, spreading you open. "So fucking wet for me," Your nails carved red crescents into his back as you moaned against his lips, and he drank in every sound like a man starved. He lined up his cock, teasing you as he slid through your wet folds pushing his tip against your sensitive clit. His eyes never leaving yours as he thrusted into you, one arm wrapped strongly around your waist and the other gripping your throat leaving bruises you knew weren’t going to heal for days.

"Fuck," you gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling,"Is that all you've got, Riddle?"

His pace faltered, just for a second, before his grip on you tightened like a vice. "You're infuriating." His hips snapped against you in punishment, pulling a cry from your throat.

Your nails clawed at his back, your legs tightening around his waist as he fucked you deeper, harder, driving you into the wood. Your head thumped against the bookshelf, but you didn’t care. Didn’t even feel it over the sharp, consuming pleasure, over the way he was taking you. “You almost fuck me better than my ex,” you moaned.

Then, in a blur of motion, he pinned your wrists above your head, his other hand wrapping around your throat as he rolled his hips against you with devastating precision, dragging himself out excruciatingly slow before slamming back into you so hard you nearly screamed.

"You forget yourself," he growled, lips grazing your ear, his grip tightening just enough to make you whimper. "Do you want to repeat that, princess?" Another thrust, sharp and cruel, making your legs tremble around him. "I thought you were going to stop me, eyes up, look at me, where the fuck is my cock right now." His grip on your wrists tightened, his pace relentless now, your back arched, your lips parted in a silent scream as your body clenched, trembled, broke around him.

Mattheo groaned, as he drove into you once, twice more before he spilled inside you, his head falling against your shoulder, breath ragged, bodies slick and trembling as you came together.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your breathing—a soft shuffle. The unmistakable creak of an old wooden floorboard.

You stilled.

Mattheo’s head snapped up, his gaze narrowing as he peered into the darkened rows of the Restricted Section.

Your unfortunate timing had fucked you over yet again.

And this time… someone had seen.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: this was supposed to be slow burn but then I blacked out and now there’s thigh riding in the restricted section. oopsies.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[no1blacksapphirefan]

I like this account so I had a request its an aware crk au x player

Player realizing their phone isn't big enought so they decided to connect it to the tv so they can see more of player in the day

Real, gotta see our cookies on a bigger screen. Hopefully I understand the request correctly so here’s you go 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

(No specified characters so did the ones that came to mind)

Shadow Milk loves this. Assuming the fact the cookies are aware of the transfer, he loves the bigger screen. Now technically everything in the kingdom is the same size but now he has essentially a better view of you. He gets to see you sit down on that couch and play around with the other cookies.

Get’s to see you leave and get some food as you watch on another device while eating…your attention should be on him but he’ll let you off the hook, at least now you can technically multi task.

If reader is aware that the cookies can see them then Shadow Milk may demand more attention. Tapping on the screen as you try and watch YouTube on your phone. Or you may just turn around and see his face nearly covering the entire TV as he watches you.

Black Sapphire also enjoys this a lot. He chuckles as your face lights up as the TV shows your kingdom. Now able to see your lil cookies finally on a better quality screen. Able to see you giggle as you pick up and drop different cookies at different places.

Leave the TV on longer will you? He likes to see your reactions to certain stories you hear on that one clock app…yknowww, he’s happy enough to tell you various stories to keep you entertained, just keep your eyes on him.

If you’re aware of this he’ll make it more obvious that he wants to be the one to let you in on the latest gossip. How will he do this without the use of a phone? He’ll figure it out, just sit back and relax. He’ll make sure those stories he tells are the most entertaining, just for you

Clotted Cream Cookie finds your reasoning almost amusing, what do you mean you wished to see them on a larger scale? He finds it cute when he sees you genuinely happy when you figure out how to do it and it succeeds. Can’t help but give a small round of applause and a knowing smile in secret.

If you just leave the TV on while you do other things, he likes to silently observe your mini routine and finds it entertaining when or if you ever fall asleep, whether that be playing the game, doing work ect ect.

Oh he wishes he can escape and help you back to your own bed, he’s more than happy to you know. After all you’ve done, helping fellow cookies become stronger and helping alongside ginger brave and his friends. You deserve rest too.

If you’re aware you may hear him gently talk to you through the screen, perhaps a small reminder of where you put your keys. He saw you put them on the coffee table!!

Black Forest loves this, she’s already looks up to you and sees you as a being like if not higher then the witches. To then hear that you wanted to see all of them on a larger scale and put them on a device where they’ll be able to in turn see you better.

She’s so happy, she loves seeing your outfits every day more clearly as opposed to having to guess what else you wore as all she could likely see was maybe the shoulders up. Or waist up.

If you’re aware, she uses the opportunity of the TV being on and running to compliment you for your outfit or skills. She absolutely adores you. Maybe she’ll ask you if she can see you in wedding attire.

Pure Vanilla definitely tries to calm other cookies down if you’re aware of them. Pulling Shadow Milk away so he doesn’t cause a ruckus as you try and eat. Gently advising Black Forest to give some space.

You may essentially be their “God” but you deserve respect and care. He’ll ensure other cookies behave and don’t bother you all too much. He finds it flattering you wish to see them better, he had assumed the phone (or tablet) you’ve been using was enough for you, you could take them anywhere after all.

But you want to see them bigger? He can’t help but blush a bit. How’d they get so lucky with such a kind hearted “God”

((I hope this was okay anon 👉👈))

-#1 Black Sapphire Fan Out ‼️‼️

[thedemoninme141]

The Maiden Of Death Part 5

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Wordcount: 10.5K-ish

Part 1 -- Part 2-- Part 3- Part 4--Part 5

Summary: Enid's plan gets Wednesday a bit close to you, and she found out, who you were, on the night of Raven.

A/n: Sorry for taking so long with this, really was so busy with life and all. It's kinda hard to maintain time for me these days. But I am trying my best :(

Warnings: Down bad Wednesday? A small reveal at the end? Rom-com turns into horror?

“I will now present to you—” Enid spun dramatically, “—the Six-Part Dating Strategy!”

Wednesday stared blankly. “I will burn this room down.”

Enid ignored her.

PLAN ONE: “Subtle compliments!” Enid clasped her hands together. “You know, like, ‘Oh wow, Y/N, your hair looks really nice today even with all that blood.’ or ‘Wow, Y/N, I love the way you almost murdered me during fencing'."

Wednesday’s face remained impassive. “I do not compliment people.”

And yet, here she was, standing across from you in the fencing hall, rapier in hand, watching as you sidestepped her latest attack with infuriating ease.

Your movements were a spectacle—fluid, efficient, entirely unreadable. But this time, you barely engaged in offense, your sword more of a guide than a weapon, your real focus resting on evasion. You moved as though the air itself bent to accommodate your existence, as though gravity had little hold on you.

And it irritated her.

No. That wasn’t quite right.

It fascinated her.

Wednesday gritted her teeth and struck again, but you were already gone before the tip of her blade could meet your shoulder, ducking at the last possible second, gliding just out of reach.

Why?

Why weren’t you hitting her?

Even when she had given you an opening, moments where any experienced fencer would have capitalized on a misstep, and yet you never took them.

Not out of pity. No, you weren’t the type.

It was deliberate.

Intentional.

You were training your reflexes, perfecting your dodging. Using her.

Wednesday felt an unexpected warmth creep into her chest at the thought, a strange mix of irritation and satisfaction. That you deemed her skilled enough to be a challenge for your evasive techniques, that you were using her in your own training, was something she couldn’t quite bring herself to dislike.

But it also meant she had yet to truly test your limits.

Her grip tightened.

She lunged.

You let her get close this time—dangerously close—but at the last moment, you twisted your body, turning just enough for her blade to skim past your side, and in one fluid motion, your rapier met hers with a decisive clash, knocking her weapon off course.

Her balance wavered.

Your hand met her shoulder.

The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, the cold flooring of the fencing hall beneath her as your sword hovered just inches from her throat.

Damn it.

Wednesday sat up, watching as you turned away, as you always did after your fights, moving to the benches to remove your gloves. It was an unspoken routine now—you never lingered, never exchanged words. You were a ghost even in the moments of your victories.

She just… didn’t understand it.

Her fingers curled against the floor as she inhaled sharply.

Compliments.

Wednesday nearly grimaced.

This was going to be simple. A compliment was nothing more than an observation, a statement of truth. She was always honest—this was no different.

Her lips parted.

“…Your—”

You glanced at her, barely acknowledging her presence.

Wednesday inhaled.

Just say it.

“…Your, uh…” she hesitated, feeling an immediate and unfamiliar heat crawl up her spine, like her body was physically rejecting the act. She forced herself forward, jaw tight. “Your reflexes are… adequate.”

A long silence followed.

You blinked.

It was the most she had ever seen you react to anything.

You just stood there, half in the middle of removing your glove, staring at her with an expression that very clearly read: What the hell is wrong with you?

Wednesday wanted to die.

Or at the very least, vanish into a void where she could pretend that hadn’t just left her mouth.

Your head tilted slightly, as if trying to decipher her.

Wednesday felt something in her stomach twist violently, but she held her ground, keeping her expression unreadable.

Finally, you gave her a slow, almost lazy nod. And without a word, you finished pulling off your gloves and walked out of the fencing hall.

Wednesday remained rooted in place.

A sharp exhale escaped her.

That was…

She didn’t even know what that was.

"PLAN TWO: “Mysterious gifts!” Enid beamed. “Leave little trinkets! Like, oh! A fancy dagger or—wait, you’d probably leave something super creepy, wouldn’t you?”

Wednesday considered it. “Bianca's severed hand might be an appropriate token.”

“Wednesday, NO.”

She had the perfect item in mind.

Wednesday watched from the corner of the hallway, watching from a safe distance as you stepped out of your room.

There it was. The small, unassuming black box, sitting neatly at your door.

You stopped.

Wednesday observed the way your gaze narrowed, suspicion flashing across your features. You stared at it for a moment too long, as if assessing whether it was some kind of elaborate trap. Your hesitance was telling. Her lips curled slightly. You were always prepared for the worst. She liked that about you.

Had no one ever left you a gift before?

The thought made something unpleasant stir in Wednesday’s chest.

Wednesday noted the way your shoulders tensed, the way your gaze flickered over the hallway, sharp and calculating. As if you were analyzing every possible threat before approaching the box with the same caution one might have when dealing with an explosive device.

At least you weren’t foolish.

You knelt down, carefully lifting the box, turning it over in your hands as if weighing its contents. Then, finally, you opened it.

Wednesday’s breath slowed.

Your eyes widened. Just barely.

Wednesday had seen you fight, had seen you maneuver through attacks with unnerving ease, had seen you reduce your enemies to mere obstacles in your path. But this—this fleeting moment of surprise—was something else entirely.

Something rare. Something fascinating.

Your fingers brushed over the smooth surface of the skull before you lifted it from the box, holding it in your hand... as if caressing it.

Wednesday felt something unfamiliar stir in her chest.

Satisfaction.

She had done this. She had caused this reaction in you.

But then without hesitation, you turned your head—directly toward where she stood.

Wednesday pressed herself further into the alcove, heart rate steady. You hadn’t seen her. That much she was certain of.

When she risked another glance—

You were gone. Your door remained open.

“What is this for?”

Wednesday stiffened.

Slowly, she turned her head.

You stood beside her.

Wednesday ignored the way her pulse had jumped at the sudden proximity.

Her mind scrambled for an answer. This was supposed to be a mysterious gift.

She had not anticipated you catching her in the act.

It was supposed to leave you wondering.

Not questioning her.

Words, normally so precise, felt fleeting in her mind. She had not prepared for an interrogation.

“…It is a talisman,” she finally stated, voice level despite the odd twisting sensation in her chest. “A symbol of fortune.”

You regarded her, eyes narrowing slightly.

Wednesday refused to squirm beneath your scrutiny.

After a pause, you asked, “Why didn’t you just give it to me directly?”

Wednesday faltered. She never faltered.

Her mind worked frantically, scrambling for something that made sense.

“…It is a tradition,” she finally settled on, forcing her tone into something impassive. “A gift left to be discovered rather than handed over. It is more effective when received unexpectedly.”

Your eyes held hers for a long moment, dark and unreadable, before you hummed, almost as if you were amused.

Wednesday’s fingers twitched slightly against her palm.

"Goodnight," she said, abruptly turning on her heel.

No, she was not fleeing! She just had no further reason to linger.

And yet, long after she had returned to her room, long after she had laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, she could not erase the sight of your expression from her mind—

The way you had looked at her.

Like she was something worth understanding.

"PLAN THREE: Small gestures." Enid practically vibrated with excitement, clasping her hands together like she was reciting a sacred text.

"Subtle things that let her know you care. Like offering her her favorite dessert, or pushing her out of the way of a moving car!"

Wednesday hummed. "I'd rather push her into the way of a moving car."

Enid gasped in horror.

"Wednesday! That would hurt the car!"

You sat with your usual unreadable expression, quietly sipping a black coffee, right beside Enid, right in front of Wednesday...

A strategic choice on Enid’s part.

One that Wednesday refused to acknowledge as useful.

"I still think we should have a dedicated gaming club," Ajax was saying. "Like, come on, we have fencing, but we can’t have video games? Kinda unfair, if you ask me."

Bianca scoffed. "What, so you can lose to me in two different kinds of competitions?"

"Okay, first of all, ouch. Second, I’d totally win."

"In your dreams, Medusa Boy."

"Oh by the way, you should definitely join a club Y/n. " Enid asked you.

Wednesday noticed the way your fingers barely twitched, how your gaze flickered toward Enid before settling back onto your untouched food.

"Maybe hummers?" Enid suggested and Wednesday knew it was because she was there.

At that, Eugene nearly choked.

You said nothing.

Enid waited for a moment, then let out an awkward chuckle, glancing at Wednesday for help.

Wednesday didn’t bother offering any. Your mood was unreadable, but there was something… restrained in the way you sat, something distant.

If Enid noticed, she didn’t mention it.

But Bianca did.

"Let me guess," Bianca drawled, her voice laced with a thin layer of amusement. "No clubs. No interests. No social life. Just endless brooding in some dark corner."

Wednesday turned her gaze toward you, waiting for a reaction.

But you gave her nothing.

You didn’t look at Bianca. Didn’t acknowledge her presence. Didn’t breathe in her direction.

"You know, I’ve seen this before," Bianca said, voice laced with faux amusement. "The whole dark and brooding thing? It gets old fast. You might want to work on having an actual personality before people lose interest."

You didn’t even flinch.

You simply continued sipping your coffee, as if Bianca were no more than the air around you.

Wednesday wasn’t sure if it was self-restraint or if you truly didn’t care, but it was making Bianca’s irritation worse.

"Silent treatment, huh? Not surprising. I guess when you don’t have much to offer in a conversation, silence is your best bet."

Wednesday placed her fork down with a deliberate slowness.

"It’s amusing," she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the air, halting whatever Bianca had been about to say next. "How the most bitter individuals are always the first to reach for weak insults. As if degrading others somehow makes up for their own lack of control."

The table quieted.

Bianca’s eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Did I stutter?" Wednesday’s gaze was unwavering. "You're attempting to provoke her because she refuses to acknowledge you. It’s a rather sad display of wounded pride."

A flicker of something passed over Bianca’s expression—frustration, maybe. Annoyance. "That’s not—"

"You lost," Wednesday continued, her voice remaining void of emotion. "Accept it and move on, like any self-respecting individual would. Or are you so insecure that you need validation from the one person who doesn’t even care enough to respond?"

The table went silent.

Bianca’s expression hardened. "Careful, Addams."

Wednesday tilted her head. "Or what? You’ll resort to more pathetic attempts at insults? I expected better."

"Wednesday," Enid hissed under her breath, clearly panicked.

Bianca looked like she was ready to kill her.

But Wednesday did not care.

She had watched Bianca push, had watched her try to tear into you, to get a reaction.

And Wednesday had not liked it.

She was not entirely sure why.

She only knew that she had acted.

But what truly caught her attention—what made her pause for a fraction of a second—was you.

You, who had remained still and silent throughout the entire ordeal.

Now, you finally looked at her.

Your eyes met hers, gaze unreadable, something flickering within them as you regarded her for a long, quiet moment.

A question that was never asked.

"What was that for?"

Wednesday had no answer.

"PLAN FOUR: Talk to her more! You need to talk to her more. Casual things. Nothing about death or destruction!" Enid announced, her hands gesturing wildly as if she were unveiling some grand strategy.

Wednesday gave her a flat look. "Both things that relate to her?"

Enid opened her mouth, then shut it again, blinking. "…Good point."

Wednesday had no trouble talking—when it mattered. When words were necessary, sharp, and deliberate. But the idea of casual conversation felt foreign, unnatural, something trivial and unnecessary. Words should serve a purpose, not be thrown into the void for the sake of social norms.

And that was how Wednesday found herself in botany class, standing beside you, a pair once again. It wasn’t surprising, everyone was too afraid to be partnered with Wednesday or You.

Oleander, a beautiful thing. Deceptive. Deadly. Wednesday could admire that. She could focus on that.

But instead, her mind was on another similar kind of poison. You.

She found her gaze drawn to you in spite of herself, taking in every precise movement, every quiet breath. There was something hypnotic about the way you worked, the way your fingers grazed the edge of a leaf without hesitation, the way you handled the plant as if it posed no threat to you at all. You were utterly unbothered, your focus entirely on the task, unaware—or perhaps unconcerned—with the way Wednesday was watching you.

Talk to her more!

Wednesday exhaled. This was ridiculous. But, if she was going to do this, she would do it on her terms. She picked up her shears, trimming a precise section of the oleander before finally speaking. “You work efficiently,” she observed.

You didn’t look up. “I prefer to get things done.”

It was a neutral response. Not unkind, not welcoming, but not dismissive either. An opening.

She debated her next words carefully. A compliment? An observation?

The silence stretched, and before she could overthink it further, she stated, “I assume your efficiency extends to more than just plants.”

This time, you did look up, your gaze meeting hers with mild curiosity. “It’s necessary.”

Wednesday tilted her head slightly. “For what?”

You hesitated. For a moment, she thought you wouldn’t answer. But then, you returned your attention to the oleander, carefully plucking away an unnecessary stem. “For surviving.”

Wednesday considered that answer. It was true, but also deliberately vague. You always did that—spoke just enough to satisfy a question, but never enough to be understood. It was a habit Wednesday recognized in herself, and that realization was... unsettling.

“Efficiency is a virtue,” she said finally, falling back into her work. “But perfection can be a limitation.”

You glanced at her, “What do you mean?”

Wednesday hummed, trimming a leaf between her fingers. “Perfection leaves no room for unpredictability. And predictability is fatal.”

You studied her for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It was simply an acknowledgment, a consideration of her words as something worthy of remembering. Wednesday found herself gripping her shears just a little tighter.

For the remainder of class, the conversation continued in fragmented moments—small remarks, simple exchanges. And though the air between you never lost its tension, it was less suffocating than before. You still spoke little, but so did she. In some twisted way, it felt like a mutual understanding.

When the bell rang, Wednesday watched as you collected your materials without a word and slung your bag over your shoulder and headed for the door, and before she even realized it, she was following.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, not consciously. But her feet moved before her mind could catch up, and soon enough, she had fallen into step beside you.

“You were avoiding striking me during our last match.”

You didn’t stop walking. You didn’t even flinch. But there was a flicker of something in your eyes when you looked at her, the kind of emotion that was impossible to decipher unless one knew where to look.

“Was I?”

“Yes,” Wednesday said, unwavering. “You had openings. You didn’t take them.”

For a moment, she thought you might deny it outright. But instead, you merely hummed in acknowledgment.

“You notice everything, don’t you?”

It wasn’t said with annoyance, nor admiration. Just another observation.

Wednesday tilted her head slightly. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Do you always follow people after class?”

Wednesday tensed. She should have anticipated that. But rather than offering an excuse, she merely met your gaze, unwavering. “No.”

You nodded once. “Alright.”

It was a deflection. But Wednesday let it slide, because this was the longest conversation she had ever had with you, and despite herself, she didn’t want it to end.

She realized, with no small amount of frustration, that Enid had been right. Small gestures, small conversations—they made a difference.

Wednesday did not remember deciding to walk here.

She had left her dorm long before the first light of dawn, her body moving with its usual rigid purpose, but for once, she had no clear objective. At least, not one she could immediately justify.

She had simply walked, following an unspoken direction until her feet slowed, her gaze lifting to find you seated beneath the same tree she found you last time.

You hadn’t noticed her—or at least, you didn’t acknowledge her. Your back rested against the rough bark, legs stretched out, one knee bent.

Your breathing was steady, deep, eyes closed as if even the end of the world couldn't disturb you.

It was a familiar kind of quiet, yet somehow one that unsettled her.

The early morning air stirred strands of your hair with each passing breeze gently. You looked… calm. Too calm.

Wednesday hated how long she stood there, watching you.

She had made progress, hadn’t she? You tolerated her presence, which was more than could be said for the majority of those who attempted to get close to you. Others received a wall of cold indifference, but Wednesday…

You spoke to her the most.

You weren’t warm, nor particularly friendly, but she never expected you to be. That wasn’t the goal. And yet, the knowledge that you were equally as tolerant of Enid gnawed at her. But that was different. Enid was persistent, impossible to push away. Wednesday had earned her place.

Hadn’t she?

She noticed the way your gloves—were worn from use. You had been working last night.

Hunting.

And now, she needed to confirm it. She needed to watch you. Study you. She needed to know. She already has seen you enough in action and yet she needed to confirm it with her own eyes. Your precision, your efficiency—the real you.

“Have you done staring?”

Her breath caught—just for a fraction of a second.

You still hadn’t opened your eyes. You hadn’t moved. But you had noticed her, as if you could sense her presence without ever needing to look.

Wednesday’s jaw tensed, irritation flaring at herself more than you. She had not intended to be caught so easily. “You would be none the wiser if you had simply remained silent.”

“I was hoping you’d go away,” you murmured. “Clearly, that was a mistake.”

Wednesday ignored the dry remark, stepping forward and lowering herself to sit beside you under the shade of the tree. She kept a careful distance—not enough to invade your space, but just close enough to make it clear she had no intention of leaving.

Your head tilted slightly in her direction, your eyes still closed. “I didn’t say you could join me.”

“I don’t remember asking your permission.”

There was a pause. Then, a slow exhale—not quite a sigh, but something close to it. You didn’t tell her to leave.

A small victory.

She forced her thoughts into order. Conversation. Small talk. That was the goal.

Wednesday glanced at you, considering her options. “Are you always this early?”

“I can ask you the same question.” you countered.

She had walked into that one. Annoying.

But then, after a pause, you added, “I don’t sleep much.”

Wednesday turned her head slightly toward you, watching the way your fingers curled against your knee, absentminded but controlled.

“Why?”

You exhaled slowly, tilting your head back against the tree trunk. “A habit.”

Vague. Unhelpful. But she didn’t press, not yet. Instead, she shifted tactics.

“You usually use techniques that aren’t standard in fencing. Some of your movements resemble kenjutsu, but they’ve been altered for a different style of combat.”

“You’ve been analyzing me.”

It wasn’t a question.

Wednesday didn’t bother denying it. “I analyze everyone.”

“Hm.”

She waited for you to shut down the topic, to divert the conversation elsewhere, but instead, you merely tilted your head toward her, finally cracking open your eyes. The sun had begun its slow ascent, catching against your irises in a way that made something shift uneasily in Wednesday’s stomach.

She ignored it.

“What about you?” you asked, voice low, almost absent. “Where did you learn?”

Wednesday blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift of focus. She had prepared for resistance, not reciprocation.

"Fencing is an important part of Addams family tradition. My Uncle Fester trained me before I ever set foot in a tournament. My father also contributed, but his focus was on dueling rather than form.”

You nodded slightly, as if that answer made sense to you. “Explains the way you fight.”

Wednesday hesitated, the conversation unfolding easier than she had anticipated. For once, it didn’t feel like pulling teeth.

“You must have learned a lot in H/n.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake.

Your expression didn’t shift but Wednesday felt the subtle shift in the air, like the sharp, invisible drop in temperature before a storm. Your gaze hardened, the once passive calm in your posture turning rigid.

“I never told you where I was from.”

There was no accusation in your voice, no outward hostility, but that made it worse. It wasn’t anger—it was scrutiny. You were assessing her, picking apart the misstep with a practiced, surgical precision.

Wednesday’s mind raced through possible responses, damage control, ways to steer the conversation away from the pit she had just dug herself into. But nothing would be enough. Lying was pointless, you would see through it instantly. But the truth was just as damning.

Finally, you leaned back against the tree again, expression unreadable. “So, you do your research.”

Wednesday clenched her jaw, frustration curling deep in her chest—at herself, at the situation, at the way your voice held no visible anger, just quiet, measured understanding.

“I do,” she admitted. Lying would be pointless.

You exhaled slowly, gaze turning back to the sky. “I figured as much.”

Wednesday watched you, unsure of what came next. You didn’t seem upset, but you weren’t brushing it aside either. You were merely… thinking.

Not forgiveness. Not acceptance.

Just… choosing to let it be.

Wednesday wasn’t sure which was worse.

PLAN FIVE: Ask her to the Raven!

Not this again.

She was certain she had made herself clear—she had no interest in this year’s Raven. No interest in its frivolous spectacle, the music, the pointless dress. It had been a waste of time last year, and it would be no different now.

“You are fabricating this to make me attend the Raven.”

Without hesitation, Enid shot back, “YES!”

Perhaps she can use this now. “I had to conduct research before asking you something.”

You remained still, watching her.

“And yet,” Wednesday continued, watching you carefully, “I found nothing.”

Even now, you gave nothing away. Your face remained unreadable, your posture relaxed in a way that was entirely too controlled. As if you had expected this, as if you had prepared for it.

Wednesday’s mind turned, examining every angle, every possibility.

“No history. No records before Nevermore.” She tilted her head, voice measured. “It’s as if you did not exist.”

“What did you want to ask me?”

A simple question. A direct invitation. And yet, Wednesday felt her mind stall for the first time in… longer than she cared to admit. She folded her hands in her lap, composing herself. “The Raven is approaching.”

You gave no reaction.

She tried again. “Nevermore’s annual formal gathering—”

“I know what the Raven is,” you interrupted, voice as impassive as ever. “Get to the point.”

Wednesday’s fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her skirt. “Enid is attempting to coerce me into attending.”

“Sounds like Enid. So what about it?”

She had rehearsed this. Thought through every possible phrasing, every logical approach. But as she sat here, faced with the actual moment, the words tangled themselves in knots before they could leave her tongue.

“I—” She stopped. Tensed. Then began again, voice flat. “It is a proposition of—” No. That sounded transactional.

A breath. A pause. A recalibration.

Why was this difficult? It was a simple inquiry. A proposition dictated by logic. She was merely extending an invitation. Nothing more.

She straightened her posture, collecting herself.

“I was considering—” No. Wrong. Start over.

Your silence was unbearable.

She exhaled sharply, jaw tightening.

“I am asking if you would go to the Raven with me.”

You did not react at first. Not visibly. You merely blinked once, slowly, before tilting your head, considering her in the way one might examine a riddle with an answer just out of reach.

Then, finally, your voice, calm and even. “I know you aren’t the socially gathering type. And neither am I. So why do you want to go there with me?”

Her first instinct was to craft a logical excuse. Something about observation. Something about data collection. But as she opened her mouth, the words felt thin, transparent, unworthy of the truth that pressed heavy against her ribs.

She exhaled quietly, accepting the inevitability of what came next.

“I want to know you.”

Your gaze flickered. Just barely.

“Know me?”

“…Know you.”

It felt like vulnerability.

Wednesday did not like the feeling of exposing herself like this. She was not used to it. But she could not bring herself to regret saying it.

You considered her words for a long moment.

Then, finally, you spoke. “Curiosity kills the cat, Wednesday.”

She felt it again. The way her name sounded from your lips. Not the way others said it—casual, indifferent, obligatory. No, there was weight to it. Something deliberate. And it affected her more than she cared to admit.

But she refused to let you see that.

"I am not afraid," Wednesday stated. "Are you?"

This time, you did smirk. Slight, but undeniable.

Then, her dark gaze locked onto yours, sharp and searching. "Are you?"

Wednesday felt a sharp, bracing satisfaction curl inside her, something darkly electric. You rarely gave people anything. But she had pulled it from you.

Again.

“I am not wearing any sparkling dress,” you said.

“I do not expect you to,” Wednesday responded immediately.

Your expression remained neutral, but something behind your gaze gleamed with consideration. It was impossible to tell what you were thinking.

Wednesday was patient. Mostly.

“So?” she asked, “What is your answer?”

You considered her, then exhaled slowly. “I'll go.”

She had won.

The Raven had already begun, the rest of the school had already begun making their way inside, laughter and muffled music spilling from the doors yet she remained where she was, waiting.

Waiting for you.

You had told her you would meet her right outside. You had given her your word. And yet, here she was—alone.

She wasn’t worried, of course. That would be absurd. But her fingers twitched at her sides, betraying the lingering frustration creeping in. It wasn’t like she had been standing here long. If anything, she had arrived early. Perhaps too early. But the idea of making you wait for her had been unacceptable.

And so, she had come before the arranged time, preparing herself for whatever was to come.

Her fingers twitched against the fabric of her dress. A new dress. Something Enid had forced her into acquiring, insisting that her usual attire was “criminally outdated” and that “if you’re going to court someone, you need to at least look like you put in effort.” Wednesday had wanted to strangle her.

Courtship. The mere thought of the word made her want to scoff. It was absurd. Yet, here she was, standing outside a school dance, waiting for someone. Waiting for you.

She had spent the week preparing—not that she needed to. She had already analyzed every potential outcome, calculated every possible scenario in which she might extract more information from you. She had thought about your answers, your reactions, your frustratingly unreadable expressions. And, though she hated to admit it, she had found herself wondering… how you would look tonight.

And now, as if summoned by the mere thought, she felt something.

Not the usual sense of awareness, not the subtle shift in the air or the telltale footsteps that always gave people away. No, this was… nothing.

Like an absence of presence.

A void in reality itself.

A shiver ran down her spine, and for the first time in a long time, she hesitated before turning.

You were standing there. Right behind her.

Her senses were honed, trained to detect the faintest disturbance in the air, the softest shift in movement. No one could sneak up on her. It was impossible. She hadn’t felt a thing.

She turned fully to face you, her breath steady, though her mind was not.

You were dressed in black.

A suit.

Not a dress. Not the standard gown the other girls had conformed to. A full, tailored suit—black from the crisp collar down to the polished shoes. The fit was precise, sharp lines and dark fabric making you look like you had stepped out of a world untouched by color. It suited you in a way that felt inevitable—as if anything else would have been unnatural.

Wednesday stared.

You looked—

No. She would not finish that thought.

Wednesday inhaled carefully, composing herself.

"You’re late," she said.

You merely blinked. "You’re early."

Wednesday scowled slightly. She should have expected that response. "I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your mind."

"I always keep my word."

With a quick inhale, she tilted her chin slightly, sharpening her gaze. “You do realize there was a dress code.”

You blinked at her, unbothered. “And?”

Wednesday had to fight the inexplicable urge to smirk.

“Most people would have at least tried to blend in.”

"Most people aren’t me."

That was an understatement.

Wednesday’s eyes flickered over you again, and for a moment, she swore she felt her own pulse betray her.

No.

She would not entertain these thoughts.

You exhaled softly, pulling her out of her reverie. “Are we going in, or do you just plan to keep staring at me?”

Wednesday’s spine stiffened instantly. “I wasn’t—”

You arched a brow, waiting.

She exhaled sharply. “Let’s go.”

You nodded, falling into step beside her as she moved toward the entrance.

Eyes.

It was just like last year. The moment she had entered, the weight of a hundred stares had settled onto her like a cloak. She had never cared about the scrutiny before—let them look, let them judge, let them fear. It had never mattered.

But tonight, something was different.

Tonight, the eyes weren’t only on her.

They were on you too.

The entire room seemed to shift the moment you stepped inside, as if the very presence of you disrupted the delicate balance of the event. Students who had been chatting freely just moments ago fell silent, their laughter fading into hushed whispers.

Some turned their heads quickly, pretending not to look, but their shoulders remained tense, their postures rigid. Others weren’t as subtle, their eyes wide, cautious, as if being caught staring too long might summon something unspeakable. And as if one accidental touch with you might be enough to disintegrate them.

No one had ever looked at her like that. People feared Wednesday for what she might do. But with you… Wednesday was sure they themselves didn't even know why they feared you.

Cowards.

She wondered if you noticed. If you cared.

Glancing to her side, she found you as unreadable as ever. Walking beside her with the same detached, effortless indifference, as if the entire world could set itself on fire and you wouldn’t so much as blink.

Had she ever touched you?

Not once.

Not while fencing, not during your so-called “training sessions” after sunfall. Even in proximity, you had always been… distant. And now, standing beside you, Wednesday found her gaze flickering downward—toward your hands.

You were wearing gloves. Dark, sleek, as always.

A part of her wondered if it was intentional. A precaution. A shield.

She had sometimes seen you without them, but not too much.

A fact that normally wouldn’t have mattered, but now settled in her mind like an itch she couldn’t quite reach.

She wondered what that might do. Would she see something? Feel something? Would it be cold? Warm? Would it give her a vision?

Would you let her?

"OH. MY. GOSH! There you are! Finally!”

Wednesday barely had time to react before she was ambushed by an overly pink werewolf.

Enid beamed up at her, practically vibrating where she stood. “You actually came! And—” She turned sharply, eyes locking onto you like a predator spotting new prey. “You actually came!”

You stared at her blankly. “Was I not supposed to?”

“No, no, you were, I just—wow.” Enid took a step back, arms crossing as she gave you an exaggerated once-over. “Okay, seriously? You really committed to the whole ‘color is evil’ thing, huh?"

You blinked at her, expression unchanging. “It’s a funeral theme.”

Enid hesitated, confused. “Wait, whose funeral?”

You tilted your head slightly. “Possibly yours if you keep talking.”

If Wednesday had ever doubted that someone could be even more socially intolerable than herself, you had long since proved her wrong.

Enid, being Enid, merely huffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Ha, ha, very funny. You and Wednesday are totally made for each other.”

Wednesday felt something at that but promptly crushed it into nonexistence.

“Seriously, though, you guys look cool tho. It’s like… Dark Princess and Mysterious Assassin Chic.”

You raised a brow. “That sounds ridiculous.”

Enid shrugged. “Yeah, well, I was gonna say ‘Goth Girlfriend and her Shadow’ but I figured Wednesday might actually kill me for that one.”

Wednesday’s glare was instantaneous. “Keep talking, and I just might.”

“Oh, hush.” Enid grinned. Then, in a move as seamless as if it were a natural part of the conversation, she threw in, “At least it’s better than last year, when you came with Tyler.”

Wednesday stiffened, but it was your voice that broke through first.

“Tyler?”

It was the first time you had asked anything about her past. Your tone remained the same—flat, impassive—but Wednesday noticed. The way your eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The way you processed the name, as if filing it away for later analysis.

“Oh, right,” Enid chirped. “I forgot, you weren’t here back then.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Tyler Galpin. The Hyde who was responsible for all the murders and Crackstone last year.”

You were silent for a moment, then, “Interesting choice.”

Flat. Emotionless. But Wednesday could feel the weight behind the words, the quiet judgment hidden beneath the surface.

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know he was the Hyde back then.”

Enid grinned. “Yeah, yeah. To be fair, it was a shocker. But I beat him, you know!” She puffed out her chest, absolutely radiating self-satisfaction. “Wolfed out for the first time and tore that guy apart!”

You tilted your head. “Really? You? With what? All your sunshine and rainbows?”

Enid gasped. “HEY.”

Wednesday almost—almost—smirked.

“No,” Enid huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “I beat him with friendship and LOVE!”

Wednesday caught it. Something flickering behind your eyes. It was gone in an instant, but she saw it. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t obvious. But Wednesday noticed.

She always noticed.

You repeated Enid’s words, but softer, almost… distant. “Friendship and love?”

“Duh!” Enid beamed. “What else are we supposed to fight for?”

Your reaction was brief—so brief that Enid didn’t even register it—but Wednesday did. The smallest flicker of something worn, something almost bitter.

And then, just like that, it was gone.

Your mask slipped perfectly back into place, and you gave a simple nod, offering nothing else.

But Wednesday had seen it. And wondered, what exactly had you lost?

Wednesday barely had a moment to register the scene before Enid latched onto her wrist and yanked her away from your side.

"Alright, spill it!" Enid practically vibrated with excitement as she dragged Wednesday toward a less-crowded corner of the room. "What’s the plan?"

"There is no plan," Wednesday deadpanned, prying her wrist free from the werewolf’s overly enthusiastic grip.

Enid gave her a knowing look. "But Plan Six is about—"

"I don’t care," Wednesday interrupted, voice sharp as a blade.

Enid narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “So you’re just gonna—what? Wing it?” She looked genuinely disturbed by the thought. “That’s so not like you, Wens.”

Wednesday’s patience was running thin. “I fail to see why my actions, or lack thereof, are of any concern to you.”

“Because you’re you, and she’s her, and you two are just—” Enid waved her hands wildly, as if trying to pluck the correct words out of thin air. “You know! And I know you’re, like, emotionally stunted or whatever, but don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it!”

Wednesday arched a brow. “Thought about what exactly?”

Enid let out a strangled noise, clearly resisting the urge to shake her. “You like her, Wednesday! And no, I don’t mean in your usual ‘I tolerate their existence more than most’ way. I mean actually like her.”

Wednesday narrowed her eyes. "Don’t be absurd."

Enid’s grin only widened. "Oh, please. You so do. And if you don’t do something about it soon, someone else will—"

"Let them try," Wednesday said flatly.

“Oh my god. You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” Enid clutched her chest dramatically.

Wednesday didn't answer.

"Wait, you really don't!" Enid gasped again and before she could revel in her discovery any further, the unmistakable sound of upbeat music shifting into something slower caught her attention, and she immediately perked up. “Ooh! This is my song! Okay, okay, I’ll leave you to your brooding or whatever, but just think about what I said, okay?”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and practically skipped off into the crowd, leaving Wednesday standing there, irritation simmering beneath her skin.

With a sigh, she turned back toward where she had last seen you, only for her gaze to freeze.

Bianca.

Interesting.

The siren stood before you, her arms crossed, her expression neutral yet unreadable. The two of you weren’t bickering.

Bianca had never liked you. That much had been clear from the very beginning.

And yet, here she was, standing in front of you, speaking in low tones that Wednesday couldn’t quite make out from this distance.

She had always assumed the hostility was mutual, a silent agreement between two people who simply had no desire to tolerate each other’s existence.

So why now?

Why this?

She had spent enough time around Bianca to recognize her mannerisms—the way she spoke when she was attempting diplomacy, the way she shifted when she was preparing to manipulate a situation.

This wasn’t that.

And she didn’t like it.

She was still debating whether she should intervene when an annoyingly familiar voice cut through her thoughts.

“So… you and Y/N, huh?”

Wednesday didn’t even have to turn to know who it was. Instead, she merely narrowed her eyes and leveled Xavier with a glare. "Leave."

Xavier, of course, completely ignored her warning.

"You know, I should’ve seen this coming," he mused, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward where you stood. "But, what can I say? It’s my bad for always falling for the odd, dark, unattainable ones."

Wednesday’s fingers twitched toward the knife strapped beneath her dress.

Xavier, either suicidal or just entirely too used to her homicidal tendencies, only smirked. "I guess she’s all yours then."

Wednesday had already reached for the knife when Xavier bolted.

Coward.

Her irritation barely had time to settle before her attention was drawn back to you—back to Bianca, who was still standing in front of you, speaking in low tones.

Wednesday moved closer.

“—guess we got off on the wrong foot," Bianca was saying. "Are we good now?”

You held her gaze for a moment before nodding.

"Since when did you two become acquaintances."

The words left her mouth before she could stop them, sharp and cutting as a blade, her presence slicing into whatever conversation had been occurring.

Both you and Bianca turned toward her at the same time.

There was no flicker of surprise in your expression as if you sensed her coming.

"We haven't."

She wasn’t sure which part of this conversation annoyed her the most—the fact that you had been standing here with Bianca in the first place, the fact that she had no idea what you had been talking about, or the fact that you seemed entirely unmoved by the situation while she, for some godforsaken reason, was very much not.

Bianca sighed, shifting her weight as she glanced between the two of you. “It’s nothing dramatic, Addams. We were just discussing how we don’t need to be at each other’s throats all the time. It's not like we are best friends now.”

"A riveting discussion, I’m sure," Wednesday said flatly.

Bianca rolled her eyes. "Relax, Addams. I’m not trying to steal your girlfriend."

There was a beat of silence.

Wednesday felt her jaw clench.

You merely blinked. "I didn’t know I was something to steal." Wait why didn't you deny the.. "girlfriend" part?

Bianca smirked. "Exactly my point."

Wednesday’s grip tightened at her sides. "If you’re done wasting both our time, I suggest you leave before I decide I’m in the mood for violence."

"Fine. I’ll let you two get back to your whatever this is." She sent you one last glance. "Just don’t make me regret this, Y/N."

"I probably would." you said flatly.

Bianca groaned before finally turning and walking off, disappearing into the crowd.

Wednesday exhaled slowly, turning to you fully now. You were watching her, gaze steady, unreadable as always.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, a new song started playing.

And still, you stood there, watching her.

And Wednesday too found herself uncertain of what to say.

You weren’t supposed to dance.

Yet there you were, standing alone in the eye of the storm, unmoving at first—unblinking, your gaze tethered to hers

You say you're not afraid to die. But take off the armor 'round your chest What's left inside?

It starts slow. A shift of your shoulders, the roll of your neck. Controlled. Calculated. The crowd doesn’t notice at first. But Wednesday does. The way your foot drags against the floor, deliberate, the way your spine curves—not yielding, but commanding.

Li-li-lion licking your blade Do you really bleed if it washes away?

The music grows teeth. The beat snaps, and you move with it.

Your arm jerks upward, before your body twists. Not fluid, not elegant

Take a ride, rough as you can Tell you a secret, right as your dogs are closing in

You were doing it to be visceral.

I like it when the bite marks cut through the skin

Your chest rises and falls with the rhythm, your fingers twitching, slicing through empty space. The lyrics carve into the air, and you let them shape you.

I like it when the bite marks cut through the skin.

Your head jerks to the side in sync with the words, as if something unseen has struck you. Then, a collapse—your body folds inward, a marionette with cut strings, only to snap back upright in the next breath.

A shadow unbroken.

Tell me the walls are closing in Into the fire and born again

Wednesday’s pulse hammered against her skull. She had never been one for frivolity, for mindless displays of social pleasantries. And yet, Her legs moved before she could rationalize it.

She stepped into the eye of the storm.

Taste the pain and drink it in I like it when the bite marks cut through the skin

The first onlookers take notice. A few heads turn. Murmurs.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the world condensed to the space between the two of you. You tilted your head, watching her approach, your lips barely parting as if in amusement.

A challenge.

Lou-louder the bark and the bigger the blade One seat on a throne, one foot in the grave

Wednesday’s body responded before her mind did. Her movements were sharp, calculated. The macabre fluidity of her limbs fell into step with yours, a duet that somehow, made perfect sense.

Lou-louder the moth then the bigger the flame Do you really bleed if it washes away?

Wednesday is struck with something she does not understand. You lifted your arms, crossing them over your chest in a sharp X before suddenly letting yourself drop.

For a second, Wednesday expected you to hit the ground.

But you were gone, as if the ground itself had opened to devour you.

Her breath hitched. She hadn’t seen where you had gone. It wasn’t possible.

Wednesday turned slowly, and there you were.

Wednesday felt something strange claw at her ribcage. It was not fear, nor disgust—she knew those feelings well. This was something else. Something far more dangerous.

Intrigue.

Fascination.

Desire.

You turned again, your body rolling, shifting—your hands dragging down your face as if peeling away a mask. Then you tilted your head, eyes locking onto hers once more.

I like it when the bite marks cut through the skin.

Your bodies circled, inches apart but never touching, two predators weaving between the spaces left by the other. When your head snapped to the side, Wednesday followed suit. When you twisted, she mirrored, but it was not mimicry. It was a battle. A silent war waged between motion and breath, between two creatures who did not yield.

Tell me the walls are closing in Into the fire and born again

Wednesday is struck with something she does not understand.

She knows of death. She has danced with it since childhood. But this? This is something else. This is not a dance. This is a ritual. A possession. And she is the one ensnared.

Taste the pain and drink it in.

She stepped forward.

You stepped back.

No—she would not allow it.

PLAN SIX: KISS!

Wednesday lunged, a sudden, sharp movement that brought her directly in front of you. For a moment, the two of you were impossibly close, the air thick with something electric, something raw.

She could feel your breathing, you could feel hers.

I like it when the bite marks 

Your lips were too close... almost... almost brushing...

I like it when the bite marks cut through the skin.

You were gone.

Vanished into the crowd.

Wednesday stood in the wreckage of what remained. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her fingers twitched at her sides. Wednesday remained standing in the same spot long after the music had faded, her breath just slightly uneven, her pulse just slightly too fast.

She despised you. She wanted more.

No word, no parting glance. Just—gone.

She should not care.

But her feet were already moving.

She scanned the crowd. The sharpness in her stare sent some students skittering out of the way, but she ignored them. Her focus was singular. Methodical. If you were going to disappear on her, then she would simply find you herself.

The first stop was Enid because Enid had an unfortunate tendency to be in everyone’s business. If anyone had seen where you had gone, it would be her.

The werewolf was perched by the refreshment table, downing an energy drink with alarming speed.

Wednesday wasted no time.

“Where is she?” she demanded.

Enid choked mid-sip, coughing as she wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” Wednesday snapped. “Where is Y/N?”

“I don’t know, she kinda just vanished? I was watching the whole time, and it was like one second she was there and then poof! Super ninja mode activated. It was actually kinda scary.”

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Well,” Enid continued, her grin shifting into something more knowing, “you could always ask around. But considering how you two were dancing, I’m pretty sure she’s off somewhere sharpening a knife and brooding about you.”

Wednesday did not dignify that with a response.

The next stop was Eugene. She found him near the entrance, “Eugene.”

He flinched. “Oh, uh, hey Wednesday.”

“Where did Y/n go?”

Eugene looked at her like she had just asked him to walk into a hornet’s nest. “Uh… do I have to answer?”

Wednesday’s gaze sharpened.

“I-I mean, I don’t know! I saw her leave after the dance but—uh—I didn’t follow! She’s… kind of terrifying?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not in a bad way! I mean, okay, kind of in a bad way. But not, like, the murder-y bad way. Well, maybe the murder-y bad way. Are you sure you even want to find her?”

“Yes.”

Eugene swallowed.

Bianca was next, and Wednesday already anticipated the headache that would come with it. She found her near the courtyard, casually leaning against a stone pillar, talking to Xavier.

"Shit, you have that face on. The ‘I’m about to interrogate someone’ face. Am I gonna get arrested again? ” Xavier said as soon as he saw Wednesday.

"Where did Y/N go?" Wednesday asked completely ignoring Xavier.

Bianca arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Wow. No hello? No please?"

Wednesday's patience, thin at the best of times, was rapidly eroding. "I do not have time for pleasantries."

Bianca smirked. "Shocker."

Wednesday simply stared, unblinking.

With a dramatic sigh, Bianca relented. "Last I saw, she was heading outside. Maybe she needed air. Not that I blame her—this place reeks of teenage desperation."

It was the most useful information she'd received yet. Without another word, Wednesday turned.

"You're welcome," Bianca called after her.

She ignored it.

She had followed Bianca’s lead, stepping outside the hall without fully understanding why she was still searching for you.

Why was she looking for you?

The question clawed at her, demanding an answer she wasn’t prepared to give. Normally, when she pried into someone’s secrets, it was with the cold precision of a scalpel, detached, methodical, unyielding. People were puzzles to be solved, mysteries to be unraveled, nothing more. She had never once cared about their comfort, their feelings, or whether she had the right to pry. The idea of restraint was laughable.

But there was something different about this.

About you.

And then there was that moment—that nearly catastrophic, almost unforgivable moment—where the space between you had shrunk to nothing. Where she had nearly—

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She would not dwell on that.

Her gaze swept over the landscape, the silver-blue light of the moon illuminating every detail, but what caught her attention was the lack of light, a void, a shadow.

It slipped just at the edges of her vision, moving toward the forest. Almost imperceptible, but Wednesday had been watching.

You.

She recognized the way you moved—too fluid, too controlled, like a predator that knew exactly when to make itself known and when to disappear. Even now, you were almost gone. If she had blinked, she would have missed it.

Wednesday inhaled sharply and moved.

Her instincts screamed at her to be careful. She had seen firsthand what happened when someone tried to sneak up on you. Xavier almost learned it the hard way.

You were fast, impossibly so, and lethal when you needed to be.

Which meant that Wednesday had to be better.

She moved with practiced precision, keeping her distance.

Your black attire blended effortlessly into the darkness. More than once, she had to pause, reassess, find you again among the trees.

And Wednesday?

She was following a monster into the abyss. The thought should have unsettled her.

It didn’t. It never did.

Instead, her chest tightened with something else. Something she refused to name.

She moved faster.

Deeper into the forest.

Then—

You stopped.

Wednesday halted instantly, slipping behind the cover of a wide oak, sharp eyes watching as you stepped into a clearing.

At the center of it lay something wrong. Some sort of summoning circle. Its symbols twisted into unnatural shapes, burned into the ground with something that shimmered like embers.

You stood at the center, utterly unbothered.

For the first time since she had met you, Wednesday felt something close to unease.

The glow of the circle intensified, the embers shifting, moving, as if alive. It painted you in crimson light, casting harsh shadows over your face, making you look like something out of a nightmare. Or perhaps, something meant to hunt nightmares.

She had known that you were dangerous. That you were more than just another student at Nevermore. That you were something other.

But this?

This was confirmation.

This was proof.

Wednesday’s heartbeat remained steady.

She should have left.

She should have walked away, returned to the safety of the school, and let you do whatever it was you did when you vanished into the night.

But she didn’t.

Because she couldn’t.

She had spent so much of her life uncovering the grotesque, the horrifying, the things that lurked in the dark. And yet, for the first time, she found herself hesitating, not out of fear, not out of uncertainty, but because something else was clawing at the edges of her mind.

A hesitation she did not understand.

The circle ignited.

A rift tore through reality itself, opening into something that should not exist, a swirling abyss of pure darkness, something alive and moving, something that watched.

And you—

You were swallowed by it.

Wednesday’s breath hitched, but her body moved before her mind could catch up.

She leapt.

Into the dark.

The ground was cold beneath her.

Damp earth pressed against her palms, the scent of moss and decay thick in the air. Wednesday inhaled slowly, her lungs adjusting to the weight of it.

Her eyes opened to absolute darkness.

For a moment, she remained still, allowing her senses to recalibrate, to process. She was lying on her side, her body stiff from the impact of the fall—if it had even been a fall. Had she fallen? Or had she simply ceased to exist for a moment before reappearing here?

She had woken in a jungle. It felt different...

The thought sent irritation curling through her chest. She had never liked being disoriented. Uncertainty was an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation. She pushed herself up, wincing as her limbs protested, but forced herself steady. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of unfamiliar flora curling at the edges of her senses.

This wasn’t Nevermore.

This wasn’t anywhere near Nevermore.

Where are you?

Wednesday stood, brushing the dirt from her skirt. The realization settled in her chest like a slow-moving storm—she had no idea where she was.

She turned, eyes scanning the darkness, but it was too deep, too complete. The moon was absent here. No soft glow to guide her, no stars above, she couldn't even see your footsteps.

She couldn’t even be sure how long she had been unconscious.

That should have unsettled her. It didn’t. It never did. Panic was for the weak.

She would find you. She moved carefully, her fingers brushing against the rough bark of trees as she navigated blindly. How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? Time felt different here. Stretched, distorted.

And then—

A glimmer.

Faint. Just at the edges of the horizon, cutting through the trees.

Light.

Wednesday’s pace quickened, her steps deliberate but silent as she pushed through the thick foliage. The jungle began to thin, the oppressive darkness easing as she approached a clearing.

And there it was.

A house.

Not a decrepit ruin, not some abandoned structure swallowed by time, but a home.

Warm light spilled from the windows, illuminating a well-kept courtyard. The architecture was sturdy, lived-in, its exterior worn with time but undeniably occupied. The furniture on the porch, the faint glow of a lantern swaying in the breeze—it all spoke of something human.

And then—

You.

Standing just outside the house.

Wednesday froze, pressing herself against the nearest tree, her breath slowing.

What was this place?

What were you doing here?

Before she could begin to piece it together, the door creaked open.

A man stepped out.

Tall, bearded, his eyes sharp as they settled on you. Behind him, a woman lingered in the doorway, a small girl at her side.

A family.

Wednesday’s breath slowed, her fingers curling against the bark of the tree she had hidden behind.

She watched.

She waited.

And she listened.

"You are her, aren’t you?"

The man’s voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—a weight, an understanding. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t anger. It was acceptance. Like a man who had spent years looking over his shoulder, only to finally turn around and see the shadow looming over him.

You did not answer.

He sighed, exhaling as if he had already made peace with what was to come. "I thought you would be older…"

The moment the words left his lips, Wednesday watched as you lifted your hand, your katana materialized in your grip. Wednesday felt her breath still in her chest.

It was happening again. That pull. That same, dark magnetism that had drawn her to you in the first place, something deeper than fascination—a warning.

"Tell your daughter to go inside," you said, your voice calm, cutting, spoken with the certainty of someone who had already seen the end of this story. "You don’t want her to see this, Kalzorran."

The man flinched. Visibly. As if the name itself had sharp edges, slicing through the years he had tried to bury it beneath.

"I left that name," he muttered, his jaw tightening. "That life. Long ago."

"Yet, you live free of consequences."

"There is no life free of consequences from him!" Kalzorran snapped, his voice suddenly raw, desperate, heavy with something dangerously close to fear. "I escaped. I earned it. We all did."

"You have lived free enough," you said. "Lived good enough. But it's time you returned to him. Keep your part of the deal."

Wednesday observed everything—the shift in his stance, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands hovered near his sides like a man prepared to either fight or plead.

“Papa?”

The girl.

Wednesday saw something shift in his face.

"Get her inside, Laura," he ordered, his voice firm but not unkind.

His wife hesitated, sadness pulling at her features. She understood. She knew what was about to happen.

But she obeyed.

Kalzorran exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face before letting out a bitter chuckle.

"You," he muttered. "You are his greatest hunter, aren’t you? Death's very emissary."

Wednesday felt her heart slow. She saw the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides, the way his throat bobbed as if he was trying to swallow something heavy.

"You alone, all by yourself… hunted so many of us," Kalzorran continued, his voice quieter now. "Killed our greatest defenders. No other hunter has done that. Ever." He let out another hollow laugh, shaking his head. "You made us all go back into hiding, living like animals again."

You said nothing.

You only stood there, katana in hand, the blade reflecting the dim light.

Kalzorran’s voice turned sharper. "So you have potential. More than any of us. More than me. And you sold your soul for it, just like we did." His gaze locked onto you, something desperate, something searching flickering behind his eyes. "For what? Power? Wealth?"

"Revenge." Your answer was immediate.

Wednesday felt her breath catch.

The word landed with the weight of a tombstone.

Kalzorran’s lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable. He let out a slow, exhausted exhale before shaking his head.

"And was it worth it?" he asked. His voice was softer now, almost... mournful. "Tell me, oh great huntress... how much of his soul, his torment did he give you for yours? Maybe a handful from his billions?"

There was no hesitation.

"Half."

Kalzorran went completely still.

For a moment, there was no sound but the distant hum of the jungle, the whisper of leaves rustling in the wind.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"...What?"

"Half." You repeated.

Wednesday watched as the color drained from the man’s face. His bravado wavered, his stance stiffened—not in preparation for a fight, but in something closer to dread.

Kalzorran staggered a step back, his breath coming out uneven. "That's not possible…" He swallowed, his expression flickering between disbelief and something far worse—recognition.

"No…" He shook his head. "No, that would mean… you…" His eyes widened. His lips parted, struggling to shape the words he didn’t want to say.

"The prophecy…" he whispered. "You… you are…"

His eyes widened and Wednesday saw fear. Not the fear of death. Not the fear of you. But the fear of what you were.

"Lucifer's chosen one…"

She only stared. It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. The pieces didn’t fit—except they did.

The shadows. The power. The way you moved, the way you hunted, the way people feared you in ways they couldn’t explain.

Lucifer.

The Devil.

You were—

"I am the Maiden of Death."

[End note: Yeah, things are gonna get real from here lol. Enid wasn't scary when she said "She’s not just like Wednesday. She’s way scarier" Comment who would win a fight Her Heartbeat's Y/n or Tmod's Y/n 😂 pookie y/n vs spooky y/n.]

taglist: @rqizzu @sevyscoven @kingoftheracoons @kingofthings2 @masterofpuppets-10 @alexkolax @ognenniyvolk @mally-ka @protozoario @machyishere @freakshow2501 @101rizzlrr @casbrawel @jinxslapdog @just-zy @gray-cheese @hellenheaven @cheerlanader @pikachooo3 @jennaswifey @thyhooligans @caffeine-pup @gayerthanmylittleponys @sabrinasgirlfren @neoeleoo

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Hyper&Chill | psh

act 28: Hints

Ever since he spent a week at your place, Sunghoon had been relentless.

At first, you thought he was just being clingy—normal post-separation blues. But after the third, fourth, and fifth time he brought it up, you realized:

He was hinting.

And he was not subtle about it.

⸻

Hint #1 – “Accidental” Forgetfulness

The day after he returned to his place, you found his hoodie still hanging on your chair.

It was the gray oversized one—the one that still smelled like him.

You took a picture of it and sent it to him.

You: Look what I found. You left this behind.

His reply came instantly.

Lolove💕: Oh no, I guess I’ll have to come back to get it.

Lolove💕: Or… I could just leave it there since I’ll probably be staying over again soon.

You rolled your eyes, already knowing where this was going.

You: Are you seriously using this as an excuse to stay over again?

Lolove💕: Is it working? 😉

You: …Maybe.

You swore you could hear his cocky smirk through the phone.

⸻

Hint #2 – The “Logical” Argument

One night, after a long day at uni, you were on a video call with Sunghoon, both of you lying in bed.

He propped himself up on one elbow, his voice casual. Too casual.

“You know,” he started, “if we lived together, we wouldn’t have to take separate cars to uni. We’d save gas, be eco-friendly, and—”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you trying to convince me to move in by using logic?”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he defended, his lips twitching into a smirk. “It’s practical. You like practical things, don’t you, LoLove?”

You groaned at the way he dragged out the nickname, knowing it always made you weak.

Shaking your head, you chuckled. “Lolove, you just want an excuse to wake up next to me again.”

“…Maybe.”

—

Hint #3 – The ‘Totally Hypothetical’ Scenario

While having dinner together one night, Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head.

Then, with a deep, dramatic sigh, he said, “You know, if we lived together, I’d cook for you every night.”

You paused mid-bite and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

He nodded, looking smug. “Yep. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Five-star meals. I’d spoil you, LoLove.”

You squinted at him. “You barely cooked when you were at my place.”

“That’s because I didn’t want to intimidate you with my chef skills,” he said, lips curling into a smirk.

You snorted. “So now you’re bribing me with food?”

“Is it working?”

“…Maybe.”

He grinned, clearly pleased with your answer.

⸻

Hint #4 – The Sleepy Slip-Up (Again)

One night, he fell asleep on call with you again, just like before.

You stayed on the line, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest, the way his breathing slowed.

Then, in the middle of his half-asleep daze, you heard him mumble something.

“…should just live with me already,” he murmured.

Your heart stopped.

You propped yourself up, staring at the screen. “Lolove?”

Silence.

Just soft breathing.

You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

⸻

Hint #5 – The Direct Approach

The next morning, Sunghoon didn’t even bother hiding it anymore.

Lolove💕: LoLove, let’s just move in together.

You: Excuse me??

Lolove💕: What, I’m tired of missing you.

Lolove💕: I don’t like sleeping alone.

You: Sunghoon…

Lolove💕: Just think about it, okay?

You: Maybe.

Lolove💕: That’s not a no 😏

And judging by the way he kept bringing it up, you had a feeling he wouldn’t stop until that “maybe” turned into a yes.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

taglist: @iboughtnjz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @doririsstuff @whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever @firstclassjaylee @jayhoonvroom @veilstqr

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rissierjrie

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Redraw of an AU I started writing and drew a panel of four years ago. Featuring Obi-Wan and co accidentally flying through a wormhole and crashing in First Age Beleriand. What could possibly go wrong?

Version without writing, original from 2021 + excerpt from the fic under cut.

Featuring my design for Maedhros and Maglor, and an Ahsoka redesign.

Art only allowed for personal use ie. phone/laptop wallpapers.

Do not repost or upload. Reblogs are always appreciated.

Except from the scene:

Maedhros was making his way to lunch when the young soldier came running through the gates, pausing by the redhead to bow before running to Maglor’s office. At the end of the hallway, he paused. Maedhros quirked an eyebrow.

“My Lord! I have an urgent message for Lord Maglor... But perhaps it would be easier if I told both of you.”

Maedhros inwardly frowned but nodded and strode to his brother’s room, the soldier jogging to keep up with his long strides.

Maglor was carrying on with the reports he’d almost fallen asleep on the night before when the sharp knock caught his ears. The door opened.

“My Lord. Commander Lintiel has found the foreigners.”

“Tell me what happened.” Maglor commanded, waving in the two elves.

The soldier proceeded to tell them of a transport that fell out the sky and the strange occupants within it. How their weapons shone with light and their skill in combat and survival.

“I would not have believed had I not seen with my own eyes. They do not seem hostile, but remain under guard. There are two Generals, a Captain and a Commander. The younger General is a former student of the other; he now teaches the Commander.”

“How long until they arrive?”

“Sundown.”

“And the orcs?”

“All dead. But their numbers have been increasing.”

Maglor shared a look with his brother.

“Thank you. Brief my Captain on the situation then get something to eat. You have done well.” Maedhros dismissed the guard, who left with a bow.

The door closed and the redhead pulled up a chair with a sigh and a wry smile.

“Since when did you get foresight Kano?”

Maglor looked at him flatly.

“Not foresight. A feeling.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes.”

“Alright alright.” Maedhros conceded, raising an arm in surrender.

Maglor rolled his eyes, but capped the ink pot and leaned back in his chair, a single hand rubbing his eyes.

“So, oh great Lord of Himring. How do we handle this one?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you? You said they weren’t a danger.”

“I said they’re not necessarily a danger. Clearly, whoever or whatever they are, they have skill and could most definitely be a problem if they wanted to. We must be cautious.”

Maedhros smiled sharply.

“That will be no trouble.”

Maglor gave him a reprimanding glance and stood, walking to the main entrance of the fortress.

“Do try not to frighten them away, dear brother,” he said dryly, “they are not hostiles.”

Maedhros rolled his eyes.

“Another... feeling?”

Maglor scowled.

“If I say yes, will you listen?”

“I trust you, brother.” Maedhros replied, now serious. The two elves paused by the gate. He looked the younger in the eye. “I know you will not lead me astray.”

Maglor smiled and nodded, the weight of the words not lost on him, and the redhead returned the smile. An hour passed in which guards were surreptitiously placed around the premises, but the two lords knew the security would most likely be seen. One did not simply become a general, and by the sounds of things, these foreigners were young even for mortals.

There was a signal at the gate, and Maedhros nodded. A few shouts later, the gate was opened and Lintiel rode in ahead, leaped off her horse and bowed to the Feanorions.

“My Lords.”

Lintiel as an elf of the Gap faced Maglor, who stepped forward.

“Lintiel. Report.”

The news was as expected, almost the same message the young soldier had given.

“As of yet they have shown no signs of hostility towards us.” She paused for a moment, weighing up her next words and Maglor gently pushed her on.

“Speak, my friend. You would not do so unless you were sure of something.”

Lintiel frowned slightly and replied.

“I know I have met them for barely a day, but I feel drawn to these strangers, they radiate a strange inner light. Nevertheless I am wary.”

The brothers exchanged a surprised glance, and now Maedhros replied.

“You have done well, Lintiel, we will take your words into consideration.” Maedhros now called with a loud voice that all the soldiers could hear. “Eat then rest, all of you. It has been a long hunt.”

As the soldiers bowed then made their way through, Lintiel muttered to the two:

“They speak only the tongue of Men.”

She called the soldiers surrounded the four travellers forward, gave a short bow, then left, gesturing for the cavalry to follow and the four to stay where they were.

Once alone in the main hall, Maedhros and Maglor analysed the beings before them, taking note of them doing the same. Some time passed before Maedhros finally spoke, projecting his most kingly aura.

“So. You’re the ones I was told to expect.” He paused, ignoring Maglor rolling his eyes at the drama. “Who are you and what do you want?”

Obi-Wan stepped forward with a bow, not at all intimidated.

“I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. My companions are Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex of the 501st Legion. We seek shelter and a place to rest. Unfortunately our transport has been damaged beyond repair and communication to our men will take some time to figure out and re-establish.” Obi-Wan paused. “I should also mention that Ahsoka here is of a species common to where we come from. She is no creature like the orcs.”

Maedhros nodded once, but still stared disconcertingly at the four, watching as the Captain’s hand tightened around the strange black weapon, and the two youngest beings grasped the silver hilts on their waists.

Only the Master did nothing, meeting his eyes with firm resolve.

[tedwardremus]

An Honorable Man

(a @jilymicrofics for James Potter's Birthday)

Fleamont Potter was a world-class duelist, known across Britain for his trophies, accolades, and the unfortunate habit of making his opponents look like absolute amateurs.

And he had taught his son well.

Which was why James Potter had no reservations, no hesitations, no concerns whatsoever about taking on three Slytherins in a duel all on his own.

Of course, it also helped that he initiated the duel by sneaking up behind them.

The element of surprise was an excellent thing to have in one’s back pocket.

Now, James was aware that ambushing three unsuspecting classmates without immediate cause or provocation could, in certain circles, be considered bullying. But James did not see it that way.

James was a reasonable man. And an honorable one. And he knew, with absolute certainty, that Regulus, Snape, and Mulciber deserved to have their faces swollen and their buttocks hexed. Because James knew they had been rubbing elbows with Lucius Malfoy, the prood pureblood bigot who was clearly funding Death Eater causes and was likely a Death Eater himself, at Slughorn’s insufferable parties. And because, just last night, while hidden under his Invisibility Cloak, he had overheard Snape explaining a new hex he’d invented—one he was eager to test out on someone defenseless.

There was no honor in using dark magic on first-years who could barely hold a wand straight.

So, the correct course of action was clear: apply the skills Fleamont Potter had so wisely taught him and make damn sure Snape, Mulciber, and Regulus spent the night in the hospital wing before they could make good on their plans.

Because this was war.

And though the war was meant to be fought beyond the school’s walls, it had crept into the corridors, into the classrooms, into every whispered conversation between pure-blood sons of Death Eaters. James had chosen his side. He was loyal and true to the cause.

And he would not walk away.

Because walking away—hearing a plan to harm Muggle-borns and doing nothing—would be dishonorable. And James Potter was not a dishonorable man.

So he hexed them, good and proper.

Laughed at their discomfort, thoroughly enjoying the way Mulciber clutched his oversized face in horror. Tossed in an extra hex for Snape because it was James’s birthday, and he figured he deserved a little treat for being such an upstanding gentleman. And when he strolled past Snape’s fallen form on his way out, he gave his hand a sharp, satisfying kick for good measure.

He strode onto the Hogwarts grounds, breathing in the crisp evening air and the sharp, satisfying scent of justified victory.

"James!"

Lily's voice rang out across the quidditch pitch as he approached, warm and cheerful. She stood there, hair catching the light, eyes bright with something that always made his chest feel too full.

"Happy birthday!"

James grinned, all boyish charm and unrepentant for his previous actions, and swept her into a kiss. 

Then, with their fingers intertwined, they made their way toward their brooms, ready to take to the sky. Just the two of them, soaring above the castle, the world below nothing but a distant blur.

A truly magnificent birthday, indeed.

[solivan-brugmansia]

I'm the anon who sent the request for comfort of a lonely reader and idk if this is allowed and and you're probably tired of fluff but what about a Shadow Milk x Y/N who is suffering from gender dysphoria?

I really loved how you wrote my other request, and since you requested an emoji, can I pls be 🐰🐱 anon? Thank you so much for writing my asks!! You're very skilled and nice :D

OMG!!!!!! HI 🐰🐱 ANON, I MISS YOU MY CHILD!!! okay guys all of my anons are children now. I do kinda want some angst but I also love fluff so dw about it!!! Since you didn’t put in your ask about what y/n is transitioning too, I’m going to write that reader is afab (a female at birth) and is currently non-binary, if you want me to switch this up please let me know 🙏🙏

Warning:fluff, a bit of angst??, FUCKING OUT OF CHARACTER. “Shadow Milk Cookie isn’t nice” WOMP WOMP

“YOU MAY NOT SEE IT, BUT I DO.”

You are non-binary! And honestly, it’s one of the best things you have figured out in your life. The world just seems clearly to finally just accept who you are as a person. Everyone in Crispea is probably supportive of you too, even if they don’t know you. Well, a lot of people do.

You are ALSO Shadow Milk Cookies partner. How couldn’t you be so known after dating the BEAST OF DECEIT? Trust me, as soon as you guys started dating, he made it KNOWN. Like, C-MAILS (Cookie form of Gmail I made up) going to the commonest of cookies. Plays upon plays have been written for you, and you got to see them all.

When you transitioned and told him about it, well, he was the definition of supportive. He immediately understood the change and made a PROMISE that he would only call you by what you would prefer to be called. And if he ever broke this promise, you could break every single one of his fingers.

“I pinky promise.” He said, a silly but truthful look on his face. “And how do I know you’re not lying, hm?” You spat back, playing along like you knew he wanted you too. “I’ll let you break all of my fingers.” As soon as he said that, your pinky finger swooped in to make contact with his, and your mouth gained a smile. “Deal.”

But even once you accepted your gender, you couldn’t just stop yourself from picking out the small little details that made you look more feminine. Your big breasts were still visible, and it didn’t matter how much binding tape and binders you put on them. You had big hips, no matter how baggy your pants were. Bigs lips, smaller chin, rounder eyes, everything was a mistake. You couldn’t stand to stare at all of the mirrors in Shadow Milks palace, and there were a bunch. It felt like everywhere you looked, all you could see was a stranger, someone so distant yet so familiar.

One day, while changing into some clothing, you couldn’t help but too stare into your only mirror in your room. It was small one, but big enough so you could see your upper half. You looked over all of your features, from your face to your chest, and you could feel your cheeks heat up. Not from only being in a binder and some boxers, but from angry. You couldn’t FATHOM why the witches made you look like this.

As the feeling of rage consumed your mind, you suddenly PUNCHED your mirror, “SHIT!” You screamed. Glass shards went everywhere, into the floor, and some cut open your skin. You yelped in pain, and clutched your fist. You know you had some bandages in your room, but as you were scanning around, a blue jester cookie rolled in loudly.

You assumed that he already knowing what happened to your fist, since your scream was pretty loud.He flew over, and held your bleeding hand in his. “Aw.. my poor doll. Let’s go get your hand wrapped up..!” He mumbled, trying to still act silly, possibly to cheer you up.

He gently swinging you around and started dragging you by your wrist, trying to not to hurt you more then you are. Once at the palaces medical center, (trust me, you were shocked once you told out he had one) he basically shoved you into a blue chair. It was similar to ones in nurses offices, but this one was softer.

Shadow Milk grabbed some of those bandages wraps, and starting to put some over your now starting to bruise knuckles. You could feel his eyes on you, like he was trying to read through you, and why would do such a thing.

“Sorry for uhm..” You stop, trying to decide if you should apologize, “breaking your mirror..?” You whispered, it sounding more like a question than an apology. It was true that it was his mirror that he gifted you, but you also knew it was true that he said he could remove it if you wanted him too..

“Nonsense. I really don’t care, actually!~” He said, but then continued. “Well- about the mirror, I do care about you still.” You knew he still cared about you, but you found it funny that he still had to make it clear.

“But.. why DID you punch it?” He questioned. You knew he would see straight through his lies, so you were just gonna come clean about the truth. You just hated that you had to.. talk about all of this.

“Uhm.. Gender Dysphoria..?” You answered, with a slight giggle to your voice. You then continued after, thinking you should explain yourself a bit more. “I just HATE how my body looks so..feminine? I just feel like I’m not a real enby..”

Shadow Milk Cookie, shoved his silly attitude OUT the window. He himself could relate to all of this. With all of his shape shifting, it is just hard to pick a gender. (Shadow Milk is genderfluid canon)

He sighed, and finished wrapping up your knuckles so he could cup your cheeks like you were a little baby. Then, he spoke, “My little star. You need to realize that your appearance doesn’t change your gender, and it never will.” Before you could respond though, he ‘magical’ shape-shifted into a girl. He had a long silky dress, and his hair was all long and dressed up. “See?” He stated, and you couldn’t help but giggle a little bit.

“Can you stay like that?” You asked, and he nodded his head. “For as long as you want.” He added on. Your mouth earned a smile as you stood up from the chair and clinged your arms around his torso, trying to pull him in for a hug. He didn’t deny the embrace, but he actually pulled you closer. “Thank you..” you whispered, as you closed your eyes in his arms.

A/N: GOD, this took long. Still healing from my surgery but atleast my writers block is gone, hope you guys like this one!

P.S; I don’t experience gender dysphonia often, even as a trans person. I’m sorry if I wrote it wrong!

[frotees-corner]

Sweet Romantic Drabble

I have a bunch of scenes and introspections I want to eventually pen down for my canon SD!Rook Ceres and Lucanis, but I don't know when I'll get around to it and if I want to make a bunch of loosely connected one-shots or a whole fic out of it. I've only done half a chapter of one so far, set just after the romance lock-in, but I really like it, so I thought I'd just share it here for now (it's tooth-rotting fluff).

---

Perchance to Sleep

Their comfortable silence grew, stretching like a cat lazing in the sun. Curious, Lucanis turned around, only to realize that Rook had dozed off, slumped to the side so her head rested on the armrest of the couch. He couldn’t help the smile that bloomed over his face.

Maybe he should have been offended, or worried that she found his company tiring, but he knew all too well how often the pressures of their job and her burden of leadership kept her up at night. She needed all the rest she could get.

As an assassin, people did not usually find his presence comforting. Even before the demon moniker - much less the truth of it - he had been told that others found him unsettling, fearing both his skill with a blade and the voice that commanded him to strike. 

Knowing that she trusted him - knowing exactly who and what he was - enough to sleep in his presence felt like a badge of honor.

He dried off his hands after putting the last clean dish aside before turning to walk in her direction, steps slow and measured and silent. Crouching down next to her, he allowed himself a moment to let his eyes roam over her, from the snake tattoo peeking out of her hairline down over the shallow curve of her nose to her full lips. Her hand was curled up next to her face and her legs pulled close to her body, the book she had been reading dangling precariously over the edge of the couch.

She looked so peaceful that he was loath to disturb her sleep, but if she remained like this she would not thank him in the morning, when she woke stiff and cramped. He reached out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, noting the way the corner of her mouth pulled up into a smile at his touch. Her skin was warm and soft under his calloused fingertips.

“You should sleep in your own bed, Rook,” he said quietly, a strange tightness in his chest. Maker, she was beautiful like this, flickering firelight glowing on her skin and all tension smoothed by sleep.

“Mmhh but I’m comfortable here,” she mumbled without opening her eyes.

He huffed softly. “You’re comfortable now, but you won’t be when you wake up again.”

“That’s a problem for tomorrow-Rook.”

“Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

She cracked an eye open, just slightly, and the smile playing around her lips widened.

“Only if you carry me.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” He smiled down at her, brows arched, before reaching out to cradle her in his arms. “Off we go then!”

She made a small sound of surprise as he lifted her, shifting to lace her arms around his neck and leaning her head against him. She was surprisingly light, for a fully grown woman. Probably something about elven bone structure, or else he’d have to make sure that she wasn’t skipping meals when she spent all day on her feet.

When he put her down on her own couch in her own room, the undersea aquarium at his back throwing a cold glow on the walls, her hand snagged in his lapel chain. He reached out to carefully untangle her hand, only to have her lace her fingers with his, holding on.

“Stay?” she asked quietly, something fragile and hopeful in her voice, and he froze.

It was not that he didn’t want to - Maker, he wanted her - but they hadn’t even kissed yet and this seemed a step too soon, too far, and she was half asleep already, and surely this wasn’t the right time …

She slowly opened her eyes to look at him, and a lopsided smile stole over her features.

“Not for sex, silly. Just for sleep.”

He felt a flush of heat flooding up his neck. Clearly, some of his turmoil must have shown on his face, and he swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat that was making it hard to breathe.

She was still looking at him with those clear eyes that seemed to peer directly into his soul, endlessly patient, ready to accept any answer he was willing to give. But he still remembered the flash of hurt in those same eyes the last time he walked away from her, and he didn’t want to cause her pain. Again.

He took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush. 

“Alright. But let me grab a blanket first,” he said softly, slipping off his shoes and bending down to retrieve her blanket from under the couch.

When he turned back to her, she was watching him with such unguarded affection that it took his breath away all over again, never once looking away as he carefully lowered himself next to her, arranging the blanket over both of them. As soon as he had settled in, she snaked an arm around his back, pulling herself close to him.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his chest, and his heart skipped a beat, realizing that she had expected him to decline, to pull away again. She deserved so much better than him, but if this was what she wanted, he would do anything in his power to make her happy.

Uncertain what to do with his hands, he decided to mirror her, curling an arm around her back, his hand coming to rest by her shoulder, where his thumb proceeded to rub absent minded circles over her shirt.

She sighed happily, snuggling closer, and he thought his heart might burst as he dropped his head to hers, breathing in through her hair, letting her sweet scent wash over him.

Ginger and Oranges and Happiness, Spite purred at the back of his mind.

He had never shared a bed with anyone, not since he was very young and Illario had sometimes snuck into his room for comfort just after their parents died. This was certainly not that, but there was an undeniable undercurrent of contentment that felt familiar, a peaceful warmth enfolding him in her embrace, lulling him to sleep.

He had really only meant to rest his eyes for a moment, letting her warmth soak into his skin to let him take a piece of her with him when he returned to his own space, but he was dead to the world before he could think to rise again.

When the waking slowly crept up to him again, like a tiger circling its prey, the first sensation that really registered to him was the warmth. The pantry always maintained a cozy temperature, thanks to the fire burning in the hearth on the other side of the wall, but this was different. This was the warmth of bodies under a blanket, of skin and breath in close proximity.

The second sensation was the smell, sweet and familiar and all around him, instead of the stale, earthy scent of onions and potatoes and coffee beans.

His eyes blinked open with a start, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The stones over his head did not reflect the light of the many candles he kept burning in the pantry, nor the near complete darkness that greeted him when those burned out. The soft, cold glow along the ceiling belonged to the deep, to light filtering through water, and he shuddered, turning his back on the underwater tableau to his right.

This was much better.

Rook was still asleep, one hand fallen against his shoulder, slack jaw hanging open ever so slightly, entirely relaxed and entirely defenseless and entirely his in a way he could not describe. His heart felt over full, like it could burst and spill out of his chest at any moment. If time were to freeze at this very instant, he would not complain.

There was no way to judge the passage of the hours by the quality of light in here, but he felt more rested than he had in weeks, so he knew he must have slept for several hours.

So much for creeping back to his own bed in the night.

But there was no regret accompanying the thought, only a ruefull happiness at seeing her peaceful face so close to his. Without thinking, he reached out to gently run his fingers through her hair, relishing in the feel of the soft strands sliding over his skin.

When she slowly opened her eyes, he felt sorry for disturbing her rest, but only for a moment. The way her eyes lit up at finding him still beside her was worth anything.

“You’re still here,” she observed, voice laced with quiet wonder, and he knew he would never be able to sneak away again.

“I am,” he agreed softly, feeling like he could drown in her amber eyes. Maker, he wanted to kiss her. He should have kissed her a hundred times already. When he had hugged her after the devastation of MInrathous; when she kissed his cheek at Weisshaupt; when he first failed to kiss her; when she was there for him after talking to Zara Renata’s corpse; when she freed him from the prison in his mind; when he made Churros for her; …

But if he kissed her now, when he was already stretched out next to her, her body close enough that he could feel the heat off her skin through both their clothes? He didn’t know if he’d be able to stop, and he wasn’t ready for that yet.

But he had to do something. 

So instead, he reached for the hand that rested against his shoulder, shaking only slightly as he laced his fingers with hers and pulled both of them to his lips, brushing a chaste kiss against her knuckles.

“Good morning.”

He watched her eyes widen and grow dark, a blush blooming in her cheeks. Then she smiled, softly at first, but with a growing edge of mischief before leaning in, and he held his breath, heart fluttering in his chest, caught between panic and excitement as she brushed her nose against his cheek - and placed a gentle kiss upon the tip of his nose.

She was definitely grinning now, eyes sparkling with mirth while he tried to control his thundering heart.

His breath escaped him in a huff, almost a chuckle, at being so thoroughly seen.

“You’re impossible,” he said, dropping his forehead to hers.

“Ah, but in a good way?”

“In the best way.”

They just kept smiling at each other for a minute, giddy with happiness, like two idiots in a pot.

“Breakfast?”

“Breakfast.”

[velvrei]

Could you possibly write a axel x reader where the reader starts off training in miagy do and then like the whole team thinks she doesn't deserve to be captian and they all shame her for it kind of, and then she switches to the iron dragons the day of the tournament with her bf axel and miagy do is in compete shock because of her better fighting skills and they all try to convince her to go back but she's shuts them down?

yes i got you #revengeera

…

you’ve given everything to miyagi-do. every bruise, every aching muscle, every hour of your life spent perfecting your form, your balance, your control. you trained harder than anyone, pushed yourself past exhaustion, stayed late when everyone else went home. but it never mattered to them.

when sensei names you captain, the room goes silent. for a moment, you think they’re just processing it, but then come the whispers. the doubtful looks. the side conversations you’re not supposed to hear but do anyway.

“why her?” hawk would whisper.

“she’s not even that good.” sam would say just from pure jealousy.

“this has to be a joke.” demetri would cackle as he spoke.

“someone else should’ve gotten it.”

it’s like a punch to the gut, harder than anything you’ve ever taken in a fight. you thought you were part of a team. you thought they had your back. but now you see it clearly—they never really respected you. they never believed in you.

for weeks, it eats at you. the way they barely listen when you try to lead, the way they hesitate to follow your calls, the way they exclude you from conversations. sensei tells you to ignore it, to prove yourself through action, but why should you have to? why should you have to prove anything to people who’ve already made up their minds?

so you make your choice.

the day of the tournament, you don’t show up with miyagi-do. instead, you walk in wearing the iron dragons gi, standing beside axel.

his hand brushes against yours, grounding you, reminding you why you made this choice. because he’s always believed in you. because the iron dragons see your worth in a way miyagi-do never did.

the moment they see you, the shock on their faces is almost laughable. wide eyes, dropped jaws, whispered exclamations of “no way” and “is this real?” but the real surprise comes when you fight.

they expected you to be rusty, to be worse without them. instead, you’re faster, stronger, sharper. every movement is precise, every strike lands with perfect control. you dominate the mat, taking down your opponent in record time.

miyagi-do watches in disbelief. this isn’t the fighter they doubted. this isn’t the girl they underestimated. this is someone they never truly saw before.

after your match, a few rush to you, desperation in their voices, especially johnny and daniel.

“what are you doing? you don’t belong with them.” daniel spoke, worried.

“your team does not respect me.” you’d say, but he wouldn’t listen.

and they’d just start begging again.

“come back. we can fix this.”

“we didn’t mean it, okay? we were just surprised. you are a good fighter.”

you look at them, the same people who made you feel small, who only care now that you’re proving them wrong. and you shake your head.

“you only want me now because i’m winning.”

they scramble for more words, but you don’t care to hear them. they had their chance, and they blew it. you turn away, walking back to your real team, the one that actually supports you.

axel smirks, nudging you lightly. “they look pissed.”

you smirk back. “not my problem.”

and with that, you leave them behind, stepping into the future you chose for yourself.

…

cobra kai taglist: @karmaswitch @mamasfavourite @justchillin13 @timotheechalametswifeys @jeonkoowife @yoyouourmum @astreiz @adv3rc1ty @yslbaeee @amnesique @yaya-1loveart @izzyelise11 @larussoslostdaughter @elemental-of-magic @robbykeenesposts

if you’d like to be added to this taglist, dm/message me OR comment on any of my posts to be added!

[ariasakka]

A Taste of Forbidden Pleasures

Jinshi smut

Fingering, 18+, virgin, female reader, SIZE KINK, obsessive Jinshi, masochist Jinshi, oral, pussy eating, dick sucking, fingering,

(Slight talk of face slapping and tasing. I’m a freak sorry!)

3k words

You know…I didn’t watch the show thinking i’d have a crush on Jinshi but I seemed to have forgotten how much I love feminine men. Now he’s all I can think about.

You’re both virgins, you both try your best not to take it too far. At first it was convincing yourself you’d never date Jinshi then it was convincing yourself you’d never fall in love with him because it was doomed to fail. After all you were a servant girl and he had high title, nobody would take it seriously. Clearly you failed and fell head over heels in love with him. You were both set on being eachothers forever and only partner no matter what. No matter the cost. That being said you both tried to tell each other it was best not to take it further than kissing.

Tonight the both of you were making out in his chambers as you always did. Only this time his kisses were more needy. He was whimpering inbetween each kiss. You were trying to contain yourself and not to the same. You succeeded on that but you were growing annoyingly wet with every kiss. His knee was inching closer and closer to your groin as the minutes went by. Jinshi knew his knee was creeping closer and closer to your sweet spot. He knew exactly what he wanted and he wanted to make you needy and whiny underneath him just like he always was under you when you make out with him on his lap like usual. Only this time he was on top of you so he had leverage. When Jinshi finally got his knee touching the sweet spot he longed for he felt a wet spot on the tip of his knee. You let out the sweetest gasp he’d ever heard in his life. He couldn’t contain himself. He left your mouth and started kissing up your neck until his lips met your ears and he cooed “Let me fuck you y/n, please”

You grab onto his robe not expecting him to say such a lewd thing “Jinshi no, you’d be too rough!”

He holds your face in his palms and looks down into your eyes with such a beautiful look. One almost too hard to resist.

Jinshi “No I would not do you really think that about me?”

You pause for a moment before saying “It wouldn’t fit-“

You knew quite a bit about sex so helping others wasn’t an issue but the few times you’d touched yourself you could tell you would have a hard time taking anything larger than your own fingers. Shame there weren’t any toys here. You would’ve brought some back with you after you returned from visiting your family but you were always too scared of having them found out and confiscated and in all honesty you wanted to save that feeling, that stretch, for your love, for Jinshi.

On the other hand you had taken lots of time practicing your skills with your mouth on vegetables. You had no doubt you’d be able to please him in that regard. You’d always expected to do something to him first. He always got a bit carried away with kissing you were worried he would have no idea what he was doing and hurt your poor insides even though you know sweet Jinshi would never mean to.

Jinshi would like to be more experienced than he is. Luckily he has done quite an embarrassing amount of reading up on the topic. He wasn’t too interested in doing that sort of thing with someone else. That is not until he met you. He had re-read all of the old books he did before and a large sum of new ones just to learn all the ways he could please you one day. In his alone time he had done some practicing with his fingers on various fruits such as peaches and oranges. He had no doubt he was quite skilled with his fingers at this point. He had no doubt he wouldn’t be able to please you now. If only you’d let him. He can be quite needy for you but he had practiced on enough fruits even an egg yolk to know his way around a vagina. That being said he did break a lot of egg yolk for the first few times but not after that. He practiced hundreds of times after that just to be sure he wouldn’t hurt you. A bit obsessive. But who wouldn’t be when it comes to the love of their life?

After a long pause you say “What if I do you first?”

Jinshi shakes his head no. “Next time.” He wants this to be about you. He’d spent countless nights imagining your face, your sounds, as he pleasured you. Though imagining your pretty little mouth or tiny hands on his cock was nice too he was in the mood for something else. For your release.

Jinshi “Just my fingers please my love.”

You cross your arms “I said you’d be too rough.”

Jinshi “I’m gentle.”

You protest “No”

Jinshi smirks “Yes, especially with my fingers”

You “You can barely contain yourself around me. The first time I said I love you back while kissing you came in your robe. How am I supposed to think you’d be gentle now hm?”

Jinshi “I’ll show you just. Trust me.”

You “Yeah whatever, you can never keep your lips off of mine kissing me aggressively 24/7 like you’re in heat.”

Jinshi “Yes I can”

He leaned down and kisses you gently. He teases his tongue on your lips, similar to how he would like to one day to your lips down below.

You can’t tell if his tongue on your lips moving the way on your lips they are is intentional but it only makes you want him more. You involuntarily grind onto his knee, getting lost in his soft kisses. He releases after a moment. Your lips feel cold you want him back. You let out a pout and try to pull his face back but he takes hold of your hand and holds it down above your head on the bed with his own.

You “See, can’t keep your lips off of me.”

Jinshi “That was gentle no?”

You “I suppose…”

Jinshi “How about this, slap me across the face if I’m too rough or you want me to stop?”

You always knew he was a masochist but you weren’t expecting that.

You “What?!”

Jinshi smirks “Do it.”

You “If you’re too rough that won’t stop you you’re a man and 3x my size.”

He hands you a taser

You “Um what is this..Jinshi?”

Jinshi “Taze me then slap me across the face then if I’m too rough.”

You “I…well…okay Jinshi.”

He can’t take it anymore. Fuck he really can’t take it anymore. He knows you’re a fucking masochist too. You didn’t notice you were getting completely soaked when he told you to slap and tase him but he sure noticed. He pressed his knee to your pussy harder. Pressing down on your clit. Your eyes met his filled with lust.

Jinshi “You’re soaking my knee please god let me fucking touch you even tase me for fun if you wish. I just need you. I fucking need you pleaseeee y/n.”

You bite your lip “Okay.”

Jinshi needs to hear you say it “Yes?”

You “Yes.”

He gently removes your clothes until there’s nothing left but your soaked panties. He took much longer than you wanted him to. His slow kisses all over your body, whispering dirty things into your ear, taking his time, it was driving you crazy. You were the one that was hesitant at first but now all you wanted was for him to hurry up and take you. When you were in nothing left but your panties he traced his fingers along the hem with one hand and rubbed your hips with the other, taking in your beauty.

You whine “Jinshi pleaseee.”

Your lust filled face and begging him to take you is driving him crazy but he must admit he’s proud of himself for making you this needy already before touching where he wants to most.

Jinshi “Can’t I admire how pretty my princess is? Alright Jinshi will hurry up, shh princess.”

He finally removes your panties. A string of wetness glistened as he removed them. Jinshi grazed his fingers along your pussy gently. Avoiding just the spot you wanted him to touch. You bucked your hips begging him to feel you where you needed most. Your face was so red anyone else would’ve thought he’d given you an aphrodisiac. He read up on foreplay. Oh, he read up on a LOT of foreplay. You were exactly where he wanted you. He spread your legs wide open and spit directly on your clit. He watched in awe at how you convulsed at the sensation.

You reached for the taser in warning. He chuckled. “Alright, alright.” Jinshi traced his thumb up and down your slit gathering your sweet juices. Then he traced two fingers over your throbbing clit. He was much gentler than you expected him to be. You never expected you to be the needy one in this situation. You started moaning so loud you were sure everyone would’ve heard you if Jinshis house wasn’t so far away.

Jinshi looked as you in awe “Fuck you sound so pretty for me, don’t hold back.”

You kept repeating a plea of “Jinshi please!” You weren’t sure what you were pleading for. All you knew was that you didn’t want him to stop. He knew exactly what your body wanted from those begs. He began to place two fingers at your entrance. He gasped when he felt how tight you were. His books had always said to start with two fingers than add more but you were far too precious to him and he never wanted to hurt you. He removed the tips of both his fingers and settled with one. He lowered his middle finger gently into your cunt while rubbing your clit with his thumb. That went in much easier. He knew he would have to work on stretching his precious pretty girl out for a while before you could take his cock but he didn’t mind that one bit. Your hips started involuntarily moving on their own at the sensation of his finger. You were so sensitive under his touch. You knew you must have looked so stupid right now. How could the roles reverse into you being the needy one so fast? You desperately tried to hide your face in your hair or the sheets but all Jinshi did was brush the hair out of your face and force you to face him. “Don’t hide from me pretty. Aww so sweet, are you sensitive? I’ve got you. Let Jinshi do all the work okay princess.” He held your hips in place while he fingered you. You were much wetter than he expected but he didn’t mind. In fact he loved it. He wanted to taste it. Once he felt you opening up more he slowly slid his pointer finger inside you as-well. You tilted your head back. The stretch felt so good you were happy you didn’t have toys to use before, feeling Jinshi’s warm fingers work inside your walls was much, much better. Jinshi felt you pulsing around him hard. He was obsessed He leaned down and started kissing your neck. He was moaning inbetween kisses. At this point he returned to being the needy one. He sounded as if he was almost enjoying this more than you. He can’t help but grind into your legs as he’s knuckles deep inside your perfect cunt. To your surprise despite how needy he’s gotten he’s still remaining just as gentle. His fingers filling your untouched hole mixed with Jinshi being a whimpering hard mess is sending you over the edge. You’d only came on your fingers a few times but this, this felt much more intense. Jinshi could feel you getting close. He lifts his head up from your neck to watch your face. He wanted to watch how beautiful his girl looked when she came all over his fingers. The feeling around his fingers as you came mixed with the look on your face was too much for Jinshi. He came all over his robe just as he was letting you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. You chuckled. You knew your Jinshi would return to his needy lusted out self. “Such a beautiful boy”

He releases himself from your cunt.

Jinshi “Told you I’d be gentle.”

You “I’ll believe you next time.”

Jinshi “Better.”

You came so much you’d nearly think you squirted but you didn’t. You had no idea you could cum that much. Jinshi didn’t mind at all he licked his fingers clean. The haze over his face from the taste of your juices was intoxicating. He nearly looks as if he’s drunk from just tasting you. “C-can I taste?”

You “You just did Jinshi.”

He kneels down resting his face just where he wants it “You know what I mean.”

You grab a fist full of his hair and push his face down to your cunt. You’re so sensitive after just having came but you don’t care. You can’t get enough of him. The feeling of his tongue inside your walls is addicting. He can’t release his mouth from your lips. He is in love with your taste, with your feel, your insides are so soft on his tongue. On his lips. He loves it. He grabs your hand making you push his face down harder. This is definitely the way Jinshi would love to go out. You can tell he’s hard all over again just from the way he’s grinding into the sheets. You’d never heard much of men getting hard from eating a girl out and especially not getting hard of just after they’ve came. You didn’t mind though. At this rate you’re all worked up again and desperate to taste Jinshi if he’ll let you. You’d seen him hard through his robe many times but never the real thing. You’ve wanted to many times but were too worried more would happen if you did. Now you don’t care. You pull him by the hair off of you and throw Jinshi on his back. You straddle his lap. Jinshi is confused he was enjoying his meal.

Jinshi “Satisfied?”

You “No.”

Jinshi pouts “Was my tongue not to your liking princess?”

You “That’s not quite what I mean.” You begin to take off his robe. You can fell his hardness pressing against your ass. Good that’s just what you wanted.

Jinshi gasps, his cheeks grow bright red. “What are you-“

You begin to kiss down his chest and go to down lower. You palm his cock in your hand. “Mmm prettier than I expected” you kiss the tip. He can’t take his eyes off of you.

Jinshi “Fuck princess-god. Ahh!”

You lick up the side of his cock while making eye contact “Want me to stop?”

He shakes his head no and grabs the back of your hair for something to hold onto. He tries to be soft he doesn’t want you to overdo yourself.

You “You don’t have to hold back with my mouth you know. I don’t have a gag reflex.”

You appreciated how composed Jinshi was with his fingers but honestly you really wanted to see him let go. Not have control. At least your throat could handle that.

Jinshi “What did you just say?”

You “I have no gag reflex.”

Jinshi sits up and places two fingers down your throat to test. He’d came many times imagining your little mouth wrapped around his throbbing cock but he didn’t want to do too much if you wouldn’t be able to handle it. When his fingers bottomed out in your throat and you did gag he hissed. He added a third finger because that was closer to the size of his cock. When you didn’t gag at that either he raised a brow and you smirked at him deviously. He began slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of your mouth. Your eyes rolled back at the sensation. It felt nice to you. Jinshi removed his fingers. He was panting already just by the site of that.

You “Believe me?”

Jinshi “Fuck I believe you!”

You “I want you to thrust into my throat with your dick. I want you to let loose. Loose control in my throat.”

Jinshi “Are you sure my love?”

You “Yes please.”

Jinshi “What about when I cum?”

You “Just pull out and finish mostly on my chest. I don’t know if I’d like the taste just yet.”

Jinshi “I understand. Okay. Here, kneel on the stool that’s infront of the bed and I’ll stand infront of you.”

Your face lights up, you’re excited to see your lover let go. Your excitement has him leaking with precum. Once you’ve gotten on your knees atop of the stool he stands infront of you. His cock at perfect level with your mouth. You stick out your tongue eagerly. You grab hold of his hips inviting him inside. He grabs the back of your hair to push himself deep inside your mouth. Your mouth looks so small compared to his dick he’s not sure how it’s fitting or even how you’re not choking. He keeps looking down to make sure you’re alright. You roll your eyes and force your face all the way down his length until your nose is pushed up against his pelvis. You start bobbing your head to assure him you’re fine. You push his hand on the back of your head harder to motion him to let go. Once he’s assured you’ll be fine he starts thrusting balls deep down your throat. His pace is fast, though he still holds back slightly not wanting to hurt his princess. Jinshi is a moaning mess. You look so fucking pretty like this. To pretty. He’s not sure how long he’ll be able to last like this. He wants to do this to you all night. His hands are definitely never going to feel as good after this. While he’s busy bobbing your head up and down with one hand. You take hold of his free hand and place it on your breast. That sends Jinshi over the edge. He pulls out of your throat as quickly as he can and releases all down your chest. He rubs some on the bud of your breast. You whine at the sensation. Some of his cum spilled on your chin. You lick some to taste.

You “Maybe next time you can cum inside.”

Jinshi pants “You’re going to kill me if you keep saying such things!”

You “You were such a good boy.”

Jinshi draws the both of you a bath. He carefully washes your body then you do his. After the both of you cuddle in his bed chambers. The both of you should get dressed but neither of you care if someone catches you anymore.

You “You know Jinshi you’re oddly skilled.”

He smiles to himself proudly. He’ll tell you about his practice another time.

Non kinky version ↓↓↓

[ekingston]

Every Teardrop Is a Waterfall performed by 2CELLOS (2013)

(played on one cello, which is totally cheating completely AMAZING)

[kacievvbbbb]

You know what? the best supernatural spin off would have nothing to do with the Winchesters and instead would be about Samuel motherfucking Colt because dude absolutely had something going on. And was tripping absolute balls all the fucking time

Dude not only builds a literal kills almost all gun (that no one knows how it works exactly), he also built a fucking devil’s gate and the series of railroad tracks that formed a giant devils trap in the middle of fucking nowhere Wyoming that was somehow also a great fucking hotspot to talk with Lucifer in the cage. Why the fuck would he build a devil’s gate and then the devil trap protecting it? Why could this dude not be normal? Not to mention He also fought a Phoenix!!! A Phoenix! The only Phoenix that has ever been reported to exist and whose ashes are the only thing that can kill the literal mother of all monsters. Which he somehow mails to Sam and Dean in the future using a phone from several years in the future that he literally just got earlier that afternoon.

Dude was on some serious shit. Man was definitely receiving the most violently random prophetic visions from god. Dude literally went, it came to me in a dream and built a weapon that’s literally still confounding people generations later and would function as a key to a fucking devils gate that would literally be the first step in so much shit going down in so little time generations later . Wouldn’t have even surprised me if they also said he was responsible for Ruby’s knife.

He also, most importantly, is from the wild wild fucking west!!! How cool would a show about that be? A fucking genius inventor hunts monsters in the Wild West while some being he knows nothing about but deeply suspects is giving him blueprints for big, wild things and weapons for how to stop them, or at least slow them down.

[thebusylilbee]

interesting that there are so many disguises used just in the Morrel arc where Edmond hasn't even been out of prison for a year. the disguises really are a full part of the character of The Count huh

[millidew]

maizuru and milsiril are my favorite fucked up dungeon meshi mother figures

[icewindandboringhorror]

"We can get through this by working together, reach out to your friends, community is all we have, a social network will be your security in the world, now is the time to lean on others!"

I do agree, and it's scientifically sound (pretty sure there is data about how people with better social networks live longer and etc) but also....augh..... what about the severe social issues, difficulty to leave the house, physical issues which lead to like zero socialization energy a majority of the time, etc. etc. Social support can be a replacement for structural support, but.. I guess I just wish it didn't have to be. Community is extremely difficult to build, even moreso if you're someone who has issues with social cues or group conversations or even just being around others in the first place. And blah, nuance, of course I'm just complaining or maybe being too negative or maybe misunderstanding, but, I hardly have the energy to brush my hair once every 2 months.. how am I supposed to maintain a wide social network and be active in a Community and Join Groups lol... sometimes it kind of feels like "er.. well if thats my only option then...... ruh roh". It's overwhelming

[cherry-treelane]

everytime i feel bad and stressed about my life i remember that i might be in a troubling situation and having a bad time but im not season 4 fiona gallagher in the clink after leaving crack on the counter which my 3 year old baby brother happened to ingest resulting in a fatal near-death experience thats wracked me with never-ending guilt and forever altered my life