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feirceangel · 1 month

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Asks are open you say? Well how about a dynamic flip? Feyd is the proud warrior but is unexpectedly bartered away in a deal his brother makes to humiliate him. Surprised and furious he fully intends to conquer his new "brides" family and kingdom only for them to recognize his strength and be met with the satisfying challenge of warrior/ farming planet.

So, I kinda went in a different direction with this, but I hope you still enjoy it, Anon!!

Imagine | A Match (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Imagine Feyd is given in marriage to a wealthy House in order to gain an alliance. His new bride is not what he expected.

Word Count: 1,737

Warnings: arranged marriage, attempted choking/stabbing, non-sexual nudity (reader), Powerful! Reader.

"What?" Feyd's voice is barely concealing his rage as he stares down his uncle and smug brother.

"It was necessary, my darling," the Baron's voice is rough, his tone placating. "We need this alliance more than you know."

Feyd finds his teeth clenching, hands forming fists at his sides. "Why not Rabban?"

"You know why," the Baron glares. "They would not accept Rabban as a suitable match. You are to go and wed their daughter. And in return they give us whatever we ask."

Feyd growls, "I outta slit your throat, uncle."

The Baron laughs, "This is for your benefit as much as it is mine, dear nephew. Now go."

Feyd storms out of the room, a hurricane of rage sweeping through the halls. He has never felt an anger this severe in quite some time. He should have known something like this would happen eventually. And, knowing his uncle, there is another scheme at play.

Always plans within plans within plans.

It's not the worst situation, he muses later when he has calmed and steadied his mind.

House Wallach would be a formidable ally, an asset that shouldn't be taken lightly. With control over three planets and being the largest horticultural power in the Landsraad, they are powerful indeed.

The leaders of House Wallach has birthed only a daughter, which leaves them without a male heir. All manner of eligible men have tried their hand at a marriage to their daughter. None has been successful.

Until now, apparently.

A feral grin spreads across Feyd's face as he thinks of the possibilities.

He will have no issue wedding the daughter and taking control of House Wallach when the time is right.

And, perhaps if he plays his cards right, take control of House Harkonnen as well.

He cares not who he has to marry, even if he'll be mad about it for awhile. After all, he can dispose of her eventually.

~~~

Feyd arrives with much fanfare, as befitting the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Bright sunshine surrounds those gathered to greet him, people who are swamped in bright greens, yellows, and browns. All around the envoy are orchards of all kinds of fruit trees. A vibrant sea of green.

So much more colour than Feyd is used to.

His expression remains neutral as he greats the Lord and Lady of the House. They appear cautious of him, perhaps overly so. It seems they know House Harkonnen’s reputation.

"It is an honour to be here," he says, bowing slightly. The lie slides easily off his tongue.

"We are pleased to have you in our home, na-Baron." The Lord says, returning the bow. "Our daughter is so pleased that you accepted the match."

Feyd's lips quirk up. Surely he's lying, no noble lady would hold any desire for a creature like him.

"As I said, it's an honour."

His gaze sweeps around, searching for his wife-to-be. All he finds is diplomats and soldiers.

"Where is Lady Wallach?" He asks, unimpressed at her absence.

"Forgive us, your arrival coincided with an event she could not miss," the Lord replies. "She is attending a Munus Ceremony."

This catches Feyd's attention, "A fight?"

"Yes, if you come this way, we may still witness part of it."

Feyd follows Lord Wallach, silently fuming.

His betrothed is watching other men fight to the death instead of welcoming him? His outrage is unparalleled, yet he remains collected.

They lead him up to the viewing tower of an outdoor coliseum, with vines growing on every available surface.

The viewing box is empty.

"There my lord."

Feyd's attention is brought down to a figure in the ring who brandishes a dagger with a graceful air.

"Our daughter,” Lord Wallach smiles, the action appearing forced.

He hadn't expected this.

Feyd was picturing a regal noble lady, demure and pitiful. He had not once pictured this creature before him, fluid in her movements as she battles her opponent.

She blocks attacks with ease and avoids ones that would cause serious damage all while attacking just as fiercely. Her opponent is skilled, to be sure, but is no match for the ruthlessness of her attacks.

He falls to the ground, unmoving. Feyd’s bride-to-be lifts her arms in victory, grinning as blood drips down her blade.

“We honour!” She shouts, and the crowd responds with deafening cheers.

“We know she is not exactly… How can I put it? Traditional, let’s say.” Her mother frets, “But she will be a good wife, na-Baron.”

He barely hears her, eyes transfixed on the beauty in the arena as she battles another opponent. Yes, this is an interesting turn of events indeed.

“Of course she will,” Feyd replies. “I must meet her.”

He watches as she disappears into the building, no doubt going to change and bathe after her match.

“Certainly. She’ll be out to give you a tour in no time. Meanwhile, a guard can show you to your room.”

Displeased, Feyd nods and obediently follows the man to his room. As soon as he’s alone, Feyd opens the door and stalks out with determination.

He cannot wait.

There is surprisingly little security surrounding your change room, Feyd notes as he quietly opens the door.

Your piercing gaze meets him immediately. Instead of being frightened, like he had anticipated, you smile warmly.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, I was not expecting you here. I’m afraid you have caught me unprepared to greet you properly,” you say calmly as you continue to unbutton your fighting tunic.

He doesn’t know what to make of your reaction. You’re not put off by his presence at all.

“I couldn’t wait,” he replies honestly.

You hum, “Excited to see me, na-Baron?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

The sound of your laughter is unexpected, “Of course not. I doubt I was what you were anticipating.”

His gaze lingers as you remove your clothes and retrieve a washcloth and bucket.

“Don’t you have servants?” He finds himself asking, motioning to the washcloth.

“I prefer to do it myself.”

He frowns, “You don’t seem very noble.”

“I assure you, Wallach blood flows deep in my veins,” your voice has taken an edge.

It seems he’s struck a nerve.

“I meant no insult, my lady,” his grin says otherwise, his voice rough and teasing. “It just appears you have odd taste. Fighting and doing the work servants should be doing.”

You return his even gaze, “I am not some snivelling noble who cannot take care of herself. Feyd, it seems you do not remember me.”

Your last statement has him pausing.

“What did you say?”

Lathering suds onto your bloodied skin, you barely spare him a glance.

“I said you don’t remember me. We met once, you know.”

He does not remember such a thing.

“Don’t toy with me,” he snarls. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you roll your eyes. “Feydie, I can’t say I’m not hurt you don’t recall.”

Your bastardization of his name brings a memory to the front of his mind.

A young girl bearing the Wallach crest getting angry with him over something and punching him clear across the face. He naturally returned the blow and they broke out into a fight right then and there.

He’s shocked he forgot it.

You watch as recognition filters through his eyes. Smiling, you rinse the suds off your body.

“Now you remember. To be honest, I don’t know why I was so angry with you.”

“You’ve always been a fighter,” he acknowledges with an inclination of his head.

“And I knew you could not be satisfied with a weak wife.”

He’s coming to realize this match may not have been a scheme of just his uncle.

“You wanted this match,” he phrases it as a statement as if he already knows the answer.

You smirk, “Does it not please you?”

“What makes you think I would want you as a wife?” He sneers, crossing his arms.

“I know you planned on controlling me, or killing me - whichever suited your needs best. You want power, Feyd. I can give you that and so much more. Is it too much to ask for you in return?”

He cannot find words, mulling over your proposal as his eyes study your every move.

You’ve certainly grown from that little girl who could barely throw a proper punch yet had the rage to carry through a fight.

Feyd observes as you dry yourself off. He leans over before you can, and grabs your fresh shirt from the table.

“Allow me, my lady.”

Surprised, you nod and present your back to him. A foolish mistake, to turn your back on a potential threat. He contemplates disposing of you right now, but finds himself frowning at the idea.

You’re so much more interesting than he first imagined.

Despite himself, he wants to know you better, to find out when you had your first gladiatorial fight or when you realized you could be so much more than wedding fodder for your parents to make a match with.

“So many suitors have tried to win your hand,” Feyd rasps as he guides your arms through the sleeves of your shirt. “Yet you denied them all.”

“None were you, my lord.”

“Why chose me?” He leans into you, pressing his chest to your back as he slowly starts buttoning your shirt.

You lean back into him, “You are a fighter, a warrior. You can wield blades and talk politics. And I know you can treat me right.”

“Why would I treat you any different than a common whore?” He suddenly presses his arm against your throat, cutting off your oxygen.

He looks at your expression, surprised to find a wide grin. A flash of pain goes through his side. Your eyes flicker downwards and Feyd looks down to find the tip of a blade piercing his skin.

He releases his hold.

“You will treat me differently, Feyd. And do you know why?”

You turn to face him, placing your hand on his bleeding wound.

“Because I will make you.”

Feyd cannot stop the smile forming on his plush lips as you bring your hand to his cheek.

He doesn’t say anything as you continue place a kiss to his lips before shoving him away.

“We must ready ourselves for the dinner tonight, there is much to discuss about the wedding.”

“Of course, my lady.”

[Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!]

#female reader #reader insert #feyd oneshot #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd imagine #dune #dune part two #dune x reader #fanfic

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ssahotchnerr · 10 months

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aaron totally panicking at seeing his secret partner (reader) as a witness or being involved in a gruesome crime and just abandoning his duty to rush to her side and comfort her. 💗

like imagine reader is having an attack after witnessing our unsub in the interrogation room and aaron noticing it's his love when he reads the case file and running across the precinct to hug her!!!!

i all honesty i just need some minor angst and MAJOR fluff but i hope this doesn't inconvenience you <3

love youu <33333

the other side

i took this in a small different direction but the main idea is there you're a genius <333 wc; 1.1k cw; blood description (nothing too graphic), panicked reader, soft aaron, hurt to comfort

if aaron could have it his way, you would never know the true horrors of the world, or more specifically the sadistic people within it. and while that wasn't entirely possible, he would do whatever it takes to keep you away from it.

that's what he told himself every morning, either with you asleep next to him or when he awoke states away, when he questioned why he continually chose to take on the wickedness of human behavior.

not only because it was who he was, not only to help others, but his need to prevent it from reaching you. or jack. if he couldn't rid of it completely, at least he could partially control it.

in return there wasn't much you knew about his job - well, you knew, but he spared you the specifics.

and so, the very last thing he expected to see was you walking into the bullpen, escorted by a detective. a shock stricken expression plastered on your face. your shirt littered with small dots of red.

shit.

"excuse..." aaron spoke to the team, not even completing his sentence as he beelined straight towards you, whatever he was preoccupied with long forgotten.

your name left him in a breath as he approached you, still in disbelief you were here, followed by an "are you hurt?"

you clutched onto his forearm immediately, your fingers gripping onto the fabric of his suit jacket. you acknowledged him. you recognized it was him. you heard him, but you didn't hear him.

"hey, sweetheart." he tried again, his tone of voice on the desperate side. "are you hurt?"

"no. it's not mine." you finally breathed out, tears lining your eyes. "i was just, standing there and, and..."

"okay, that's okay." aaron nodded his head towards the agent, silently indicating he had it from here. he took ahold of your hands. they were trembling. "you're okay now. i have you."

"i- i just..."

"i know sweetheart. i know." he said soothingly, squeezing your hands to get you to look at him. what he was met with, shattered his heart into two. "c'mon, let's get you cleaned up.

he's never seen your eyes like that.

still clutching onto your hand, aaron led you up into his office to retrieve his go-bag - by no means was he about to leave you alone, or out of his sight for that matter - then back out and into the nearest bathroom. he was working at a hurried pace, eager to get you away from everything for a moment.

he escorted you swiftly inside, shutting the door behind the both of you.

once you heard the click of the lock, you let out the smallest breath of relief, thankful for the sudden solitude.

more than anything aaron wanted to pull you into his embrace, to provide the comfort he knew you needed. not only was he not sure if you were okay with being touched right now, if it would just be too much, but also due to the blood on your shirt.

so he did what he could, taking your hands into his.

"are you sure you're not hurt?" he could've asked if you were alright, but he didn't find a reason to, he knew you weren't. in addition, he needed the confirmation you were unharmed one more time.

you nodded, leaning against the edge of the counter.

"here, i'm going to take your shirt off." he looked at you, his brown eyes gentle with caution. "is that alright?"

again you responded with a short nod, instantly reaching for the hem of your shirt yourself.

he pushed your hands away softly, pulling your shirt over your head for you. your hands were still shaking, and he wanted to do it for you, to take care of you.

he set it aside, in case it were to be needed for evidence.

next, and thankfully, his bag also contained a washcloth. he was quick to soak it with warm water, beginning to gingerly wipe away any specks of red he could find.

although there wasn't much blood on your skin, aaron had a solid understanding of what you were feeling. once someone's own made contact with your skin, the sensation was incredibly difficult to get rid of, or simply felt permanent for a day or two.

he would make sure you would take a more thorough shower at home later, but for the meantime, he wanted to make you feel as clean and comfortable as possible.

once he was finished, he guided your arms into the sleeves of his spare shirt (which also happened to be your favorite, he always made sure to pack that one specifically to feel closer to you while away). he purposely took his time buttoning it to a close, not wanting to rush you back out there.

"i'm so sorry." his thumb and pointer fingered fiddled with a button as he spoke.

confusion arose on your face, replacing the persistent panic. "why're you sorry?"

once he finished the last one, analyzing your hands, turning them over despite the fact he was confident nothing still littered your body. "that you witnessed this."

"it's okay." you timidly offered, not convincing in the slightest.

"it's not. no." he couldn't take it any longer - pulling you into his arms. the contact finally slowed his rapid heartbeat, while you immediately melted into his chest, as if nothing could hold you up anymore. "what can i do?"

"just hold me." you mumbled into his chest, your arms tightening around his middle.

the two of you stood like that for a moment, aaron's hand taking strides along your back. he also placed a kiss behind your ear, the one spot he could currently reach.

"i just want to keep you safe."

"i know. and you do. and it's okay if you can't all the time."

he sighed, brief defeat in his voice. "i can try."

your embrace on him only tightened more.

he loosened his hold, still keeping his arms around you but being able to see your face. he let out a heavy breath, hesitant with his next question. "are you okay with being questioned?"

you wavered, silently contemplating for a moment. no, you weren't, but looking at aaron in front of you, the man you loved, changed your mind in an instant. if this was what he dealt with on the daily, you could be brave. you could be brave like him, for him.

you nodded slowly, your voice cracking mid-sentence. "will you be..."

"i'll be right there with you." he confirmed your thought immediately, placing a kiss to your forehead. "i'll be right there. we'll do this together."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you #criminal minds imagine

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sadnymi · 1 month

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「 ✦ the night of the broken rules ✦ 」

theodore nott x reader x Mattheo riddle ( threesome)

Summary: why do you need to choose when you can have them both

Warnings: threesome , smut , p in v sex, fingering, unprotected sex.

Words: 3k

The scene pulsated with raw energy, a mix of naked bodies swaying to the music, simmering desire, and the lingering tension from their earlier heated exchange. I stood by the bar, pretending to sip my drink while stealing glances at the two magnetic figures across the room—Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott.

They were engrossed in conversation, sharing laughs and inside jokes that only seemed to heighten their allure in the dance floor . Both men exuded a dangerous charm, their magnetic presence drawing gazes from every direction. How was a girl supposed to choose when faced with such tempting options?

Mattheo's confidence and devilish smirk were enough to make any heart skip a beat. And then there was Theodore, with his brooding intensity and sharp wit that could ignite a fire in even the coldest of souls. It was a battle of temptation, and I found myself caught in the middle,

With a heavy sigh, I felt the heat of desire swirling within me, urging me to give in to the tantalizing pull. Suppressing the rising sensations, I navigated through the crowd towards the dance floor. Every step was deliberate, every movement calculated to tease and entice.

I could feel the eyes on me as I moved, the rhythm of the music guiding my body. I traced my hands along the curves of my figure, accentuating my curves, feeling the fabric of my outfit cling to me in all the right places. Swaying my hips seductively, I made sure to give Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott a captivating show, a silent invitation laced with desire.

As the pulsating lights of red, blue, and green bathed the dance floor, I found myself sandwiched between Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott. Our bodies moved in sync to the seductive beat, drawing closer with each enticing sway.

Mattheo's hands skillfully found their way to my nipples, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through me. His fingers teased and caressed, igniting a primal desire within me. Meanwhile, Theodore's lips traced a scorching path along my neck, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine.

The heat between us intensified as we danced closer, the intoxicating mix of their touch and the pulsating music enveloping us in a haze of passion. Mattheo's firm grip on my nipples contrasted with Theodore's soft yet urgent kisses, creating a symphony of sensations that left me breathless and wanting more.

I gave in to the euphoria of the moment, allowing myself to be lost in the sensuality of their dance, the heat of their bodies pressing against mine, and the tantalizing sensations they evoked with every touch.

“ I need you “ I whispered breathlessly to Theo, my desire clear in my voice.

He responded by sucking harsher on my neck, igniting a wave of pleasure. It wasn't a secret — that I have been with both of them before more than once, strictly following my rule of sex without feelings. But this time was different.I craved both of them at the same time, and I made sure they knew it..

"Need you both," I moaned, my hands sliding down to Mattheo's, urging him to squeeze harder on my nipples. Their initial confusion was replaced by a hunger that matched my own as Theo's lips crashed onto mine, claiming me in a frenzy of passion. Our tongues danced in a sinful tango, exploring every inch with unbridled lust.

When Theo finally pulled away, my body ached for more. I turned around, pressing myself against Mattheo's hands, reveling in the sensation of his firm touch. I kissed him fiercely, my mouth molding to his in a torrid embrace. At the same time, Theo's lips found their way back to my neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and delicious nips that sent shivers down my spine.

The anticipation was electric as I led them up the stairs to one of the private rooms at the bar. Every step felt like an eternity, my body humming with desire, the ache between my legs becoming almost unbearable. I couldn't wait another second to have them both, to experience the ecstasy that awaited us behind closed doors.

Once we reached the private room, I turned to face the two boys in front of me, their eyes filled with desire. Without hesitation, I led them both to the bed, the tension in the air palpable and intoxicating.

"Have you ever done this before, Theo?" I inquired as I settled down in the center of the bed, with Mattheo standing at the foot and Theo beside me.

"Hmm, a couple of times, but with two girls," Theo whispered in my ear, gently guiding me to sit on his lap.

"What about you, Riddle?" Mattheo smirked.

"The same, darling," he replied.

"Are you nervous?" Theo asked, and I shook my head. "A little, but I really, really want you both," I admitted with a soft smile, trying to maintain an air of innocence amidst the charged atmosphere.

Feeling the bulge on Theo’s pants, I subtly moved my hips to create friction, hoping to ease the ache that was building there.

Mattheo, aware of my teasing, decided to join in. "What's wrong, darling?" he whispered in my ear as he settled down on my other side.

My entire body heated up as Mattheo's hand found its way to my left thigh, while Theo rested his on my right, both of them spreading my legs to expose me further.

Their hands roamed down my body, exposing my panties to the cool air of the room. I blushed as I felt the dampness between my legs, and I couldn't help but rest my head on Theo’s strong shoulder. "So beautiful, baby," he murmured before kissing me again with hunger, his tongue exploring my mouth as I moaned into the kiss. He took full advantage of my vulnerability.

When we parted, I glanced at Mattheo, noticing his gaze lingering on my covered core. I quivered under their touch, my desire growing more intense as Theo continued to touch me.

His hands skillfully opened my legs even further, keeping them spread wide. Fingertips traced along my inner thighs, igniting shivers of anticipation. I whimpered, yearning for his touch. Mattheo's hands explored over my covered mound, confirming the wetness that had pooled there. I arched my back, moaning softly as I rocked my hips against Theo's hard bulge.

"Don’t tease her too much, Matt. Give her what she wants," Theo's voice commanded as one of his hands slipped underneath my panties, finding my clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I couldn't help but moan as soon as he touched it.

I felt like putty in their hands, no longer the dominant one in control. Theo's finger expertly circled my clit, using my own wetness as lubric

His other hand slipped underneath my dress, confirming my lack of a bra, and he eagerly seized my breast, squeezing it. I squirmed on his lap, craving more of his touch with every passing second.

Even as I writhed in pleasure on Theo's lap, I couldn't ignore Mattheo's presence as he knelt down in front of me. His fingers traced down my clothed slit, eliciting a moan from me as he touched my clit. Mattheo skillfully circled it, coaxing more sounds of pleasure from me. Meanwhile, Theo's hands ventured back under my dress, molding my breast in his hand and squeezing them as he kissed my neck. My hips jerked involuntarily as Mattheo's fingers neared my opening.

The sensation of both their hands exploring my body overwhelmed me, and I couldn't help but open my legs wider for them. Mattheo's gaze locked onto my pussy, and I blushed crimson under his scrutiny, my body thrumming with anticipation.

I was moaning, my hands reaching for Mattheo's hair, allowing me to better rock my hips against his mouth and fingers. While Theo silenced my moans with hot kisses, Mattheo's fingers entered me. He began to lick me once more as he started fingering me.

I could feel my body tensing even more, coiling with every thrust he gave me. I started moving my hips more against his face, eager for him to hit the spot that I knew would make me explode. I didn't know how much longer I could last, but then I felt Theo's fingers playing with my clit along with Mattheo's, and that's what made me climax.

I screamed out as Mattheo's mouth quickly went to drink my juices, not letting a single drop go to waste, while Theo continued to play with my clit, already sensitive from my orgasm.

I looked behind, seeing the smug look on Theo's face as he took in my flushed appearance and saw me cum.

Mattheo licked me clean, loving how his tongue made me shudder when he touched my clit.

Once he was done, he came up and kissed my lips.

I noticed how Mattheo's bulge got bigger, realizing that he needed to relieve himself as well.

"Think you should return the favor, (Y/N)," Theo whispered into my ear, almost as if he read my mind.

I nodded throwing my dress to the floor as my hands reached for Mattheo's jeans, quickly undoing them and pulling them off along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, standing erect right in front of my eyes as he got out of his jeans. I couldn't wait until that was inside me, but first, I just had to have him in my mouth.

I licked the tip first, my eyes never leaving Mattheo's. He looked at me with so much passion. As I licked his head, my hands jerked the part that wasn't in my mouth. I could hear him groaning as I smiled, knowing that I was making him groan.

I was about to take him whole, but then I felt Theo lift me up off his lap. I looked back at Theo and saw him standing up, removing his pants. He smiled, knowing that I was looking at him. He reached for my hips, placing me on all fours. My ass was on full display for him as I took Mattheo's dick in my mouth again.

I finally took Mattheo’s cock as far into my mouth as I could without gagging. Mattheo's hands gripped my hair, pulling me towards him.

I was taking him as well as I could, trying to take him all in my mouth, and I was about to when I felt Theo's touch on my center.

I let out a moan, stimulating Mattheo even more.

I took him out of my mouth, my hands still jerking him as I looked over at Theo behind me.

I saw him with a sly smile as he smacked my ass; I let out a scream.

"Do you like getting spanked while you have a dick down your throat, baby?" he said with his dominant voice.

"Yes," I responded to him, crying so much my tears blurred my vision.

I went back to taking him in my mouth, wanting to taste Mattheo even more. All of a sudden, I felt Theo's cock between my folds. He wanted to enter me, but mainly to let his cock get covered with my juices, which made me scream once more. I leaned my bum against him desperately.

“Matt, please tell him—“ I couldn’t contain myself when Theo spanked me once more, making me scream. Mattheo's hands were on my hair, softly pushing it from my face. “Shhhh, baby, it’s alright.”

Theo made his tip rub against my clit. I was moaning more as his hands went to play with my chest and one with my clit. I was becoming a mess; I took Mattheo more into my mouth, and Mattheo began rocking his hips against me. I kept my head still, letting him enter my mouth as Theo was slowly entering me, just letting the head tease me.

Suddenly, Theo entered me, taking me from behind. I let out a scream as he thrust hard into me. He let me adjust to his length and the angle he was in. He began moving, his thrusts coming slowly, and he just hissed at how amazing I felt. His hands held my hips tightly to pull me against him. His fingers were still teasing me, making my own hips move against him, wanting to create even more friction between us both.

I went back to Mattheo, my hands playing as I licked him from base to end. I tried matching the bobbing of my head to the thrusts of Theo's.

Mattheo was close to coming; he just needed a little bit more to send him over the edge.

I wanted him to come, so I began playing more vigorously, sucking him harder and faster. And Theo was doing the same to me, hearing the slapping sound of our skins echoing in the room.

Theo pounded against me, still not ready to come, but he was going to make me cum. He sped up his thrusts, and I sped up as well, trying to match him, but he was faster, stimulating me more, making me explode against him.

Mattheo let out a groan as he exploded into my mouth. My mouth filled with his cum, feeling the warmth trickle down my throat. I looked up at him, my mouth still filled with his cum, and he looked amazed at what I was going to do next.

I swallowed, opening my mouth and showing him my now-empty mouth.

"Fucking hell," Mattheo said, letting his fingers clean a bit of his cum that I didn't swallow. “You will be the death of me.”

"We aren't even done with her yet, Matt," Theo said as he picked me up, setting me down and slowing his thrusts. He leaned down to take one of my nipples in his mouth. I screamed and arched my back, holding Mattheo's hand.

“Shhh, you're doing a good job for us, Y/N, darling,” Mattheo said, kissing my neck, and I melted in their hands.

I didn’t think i could feel this filled. They both gave me time to adjust to this new feeling. As I came so hard that I felt my soul might just leave my body from the pleasure.

Giving me a minute, I felt Theo's hot cum on my stomach. I opened my eyes slowly to get settled again with Mattheo's dick on me. He slowly slid himself inside me. I ran my hands through his hair, crying out as he sucked my nipple, and I felt Theo’s lips taking their turn in my mouth, kissing me softly with so much passion. “Breathe for me, darling,” he said, putting soft kisses on my neck, and I calmed myself down, doing what he asked me to.

“Yes, just like that, good girl,” Mattheo said, letting me get used to the feeling of him inside me. He began rocking his hips a bit faster. He continued to thrust harder against me, enjoying how with each thrust, I let out a small whimper.

Their hands roamed my body, touching anywhere they could, making me quiver for them. They knew where to touch, having had sex with them plenty of times; they were easily able to find my weak spots, the places that made me squirm. Mattheo was thrusting so fast I thought that we just might break the bed, while Theo’s lips were on one of my nipples and his hands circled my clit. I screamed so loud, my back ached on the bed and my toes curled.

They repeated over and over, I wasn’t sure how long I was going to last. I could feel the pressure in my core building; I really was going to cum, and if they kept whispering into my ear like that, I was going to do it sooner.

“Do you want to cum, sweetheart?” Mattheo said as his grip on my hips tightened to pull me to him. “Do you like being used like that?” yes yes I wanted to scream but can’t find the energy to

I started to let out small whimpers; they knew that I was close. “That’s it, baby, don’t hold back, just let go,” Theo whispered. “Don’t hold it back,” he repeated as he licked my neck.

“Your pussy takes my cock so well, sweetheart. Do you think you can handle both of us together?” I couldn’t really process what he was saying, but I nodded, pretty sure I would agree to anything they wanted me to say.

“Such a dirty princess wanting two loads in her pretty little cunt. I suppose I can give you that,” Theo said as he opened my mouth with his fingers, making me take his dick inside as well.

I kept sucking, taking him all in my mouth while Mattheo still thrusts in me. He only lasts for a few thrusts, but the sensation is better than I could have imagined, his cum filling me up alongside Theo’s and leaving me with a lasting warmth. Mattheo’s head falls between my shoulder blades.

And then it hit me, the strong feeling in my stomach. “Oh, Matt, I think there’s something,” I don’t know how to put it into words as I felt Theo’s dick in me again. “Shhh, I know, love, I know,” he said, leaving kisses all over my face.

I was a moaning mess, Mattheo latched his lips on my neck, sucking on my sweet spot that made me moan out his name. Theo began to kiss the other side of my neck as his hands reached for my breasts, syncing his thrusts.

Theo pulled out of me, his cum matching Mattheo’s in my stomach, then it happens—an unbroken stream of fluid rushed out of me, spraying over the bed sheets. I was shaking, my back ached so bad that when I came down, I felt like I passed out for a moment or two.

“Fucking hell,” Mattheo said in my ear. “That’s the best fucking thing I ever did in my life, sweetheart,” he said, pushing my hair from my face softly.

“We are really fucked now, baby,” Theo said. And then I realized that my stupid rule of no feelings had been broken.

not for one person but two. I was in love with both of them, and I knew that was going to ruin my life.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

#mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle masterlist #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #theodore nott #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott smut #mattheoriddlexreaderxtheodorenott #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys x you #smut #threes0me

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soulofapatrick · 3 months

Text

Protect You - Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Summary: You come into work injured and Hotch accidentally outs your relationship

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: None really

Notes: I honestly don't know where this one came from but enjoy hehe

Y/N’s POV

As I step into the familiar confines of the BAU bullpen, a sigh of relief escapes my lips upon noticing it’s only Spencer present as the others always arrive later. Hotch and Rossi must be holed up in their offices, shielding them from witnessing the bruised left side of my face and the split lip that I’m trying to conceal with my hair, keeping my head down. I would try make-up but they’re profilers, we’re profilers, there’s no point hiding any of it as they’ll work it out.

Every moment reminds me of the ache throbbing on my face, a constant reminder of the altercation that occurred early this morning. I try to mask the discomfort with a tight-lipped smile, but I know Spencer sees through it the moment his gaze flickers up from the file he’s absorbed in. His eyes widen in concern, and he’s on his feet so fast his chair clatters to the ground, abandoning his document to rush to my side.

I appreciate his silent understanding, his quick grasp of the situation without needing an explanation. It's moments like these that remind me why the BAU feels like family.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice is gentle, his concern palpable as he takes in my appearance, eyes flickering over the bruises, assessing whether I need medical or not, “What happened to you?”

I offer a weak shrug, sliding onto my desk so Spencer can slide into my chair like we usually sit, waiting for Emily, JJ and Morgan to arrive, “Oh just a little accident.” I murmur, trying to downplay the severity of it, though the pain pulses with each word. Spencer raises his eyebrows, scoffing lightly, drawing a heavy sigh from me, I relent, knowing I can’t actually keep it from my best friend, “Jessica might have found me in Hotch’s bed this morning after he left to be here early,” I pause, letting that sink in first, the fact I was in our boss’ bed, “She… well, she punched me and I just left her… she’s still grieving and it’s been just over a year now…”

Spencer's hand finds mine, a silent gesture of solidarity amidst the chaos. And in that moment, I'm grateful for his unwavering support, his quiet strength anchoring me to reality when everything feels like it's spiralling out of control, “Are you going to tell Hotch?”

Before I can respond, the authoritative timbre of Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, drawing my gaze towards his office. Instinctively, I turn my head away, a futile attempt to shield him from the truth of what his ex-sister-in-law had down to me. But it’s too late. The damage is already written across my bruised face, a stark reminder of the violence that had erupted in the early hours of the morning.

Hotch strides into the bullpen, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on me, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. "Tell me what?" His voice is clipped, demanding answers that I'm not ready to give. Spencer gets up from my chair and moves over to where the coffee station is, staying within hearing distance but giving us enough privacy.

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of Hotch's gaze bearing down on me like a heavy burden. "It's nothing, Hotch," I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper as I keep my head bowed, unwilling to meet his gaze. But I can sense his skepticism, his unwavering determination to uncover the truth lurking beneath my hesitant words.

Before I can protest further, Hotch grips my chin with a gentle finger and thumb, forcing me to raise my face and meet his gaze. The shock that flashes across his features sends a shiver down my spine, his expression morphing from concern to horror, then to simmering anger barely contained beneath the surface.

His voice is low, a dangerous undercurrent lacing his words as he practically growls, “Who did this to you?”

I try to shake my head free from his grip but he won’t let me, cognac eyes full of anger as he searches my face. Every part of my wants to submit to him but I can’t ruin the last bit of Haley he has left by telling him and he finally sighs. He takes a risk and presses his forehead to mine, eyes closing and taking a deep breath before he’s letting me go and taking a step back just as the bullpen doors open. With one final lingering look he turns to the others and tells them to meet him in the meeting room in ten.

As Spencer intercepts Hotch on his way back to his office, a sense of foreboding settles over the bullpen, amplifying the tension already thick in the air. I watch, heart sinking, as Spencer murmurs something to Hotch, the words lost in the charged atmosphere. Hotch's head snaps up, his entire demeanour shifting in an instant. Even from behind, I can sense the fury radiating off him, a palpable force that sends a shiver down my spine. Whatever Spencer said has stirred a tempest within Hotch, one that threatens to consume everything in its path.

Before I can comprehend the gravity of the situation, Derek's voice breaks through the tense silence, his concern evident in the way he addresses me. "Oh shittt, what happened to you, baby girl?" he asks, his usually jovial tone replaced by genuine worry.

Spencer slumps back into my chair, his expression somber as Derek rounds the desk to his, drawing Emily and JJ's attention in the process. In moments like these, the boundaries between colleagues blur, replaced by the unspoken bonds of friendship and camaraderie that define us as a team. They crowd around me, their questions a chorus of concern as they inspect the bruises marring my skin. Despite their genuine care, I can feel the weight of their stares, the unspoken questions lingering in the air like a heavy fog.

Just as I'm about to ask them to drop it, a voice cuts through the chaos, echoing from Hotch's office with a force that silences the entire bullpen. "HOW DARE YOU LAY A HAND ON HER?!" Hotch's voice booms, despite his door and blinds being shut, reverberating off the walls with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt.

A stunned silence settles over the bullpen, the air thick with tension as Hotch's voice echoes through the confines of his office, despite the closed door and drawn blinds. His words hang in the air like a heavy pall, commanding attention and demanding justice. The sudden yelling draws Rossi out of his office, his expression a mix of concern and confusion as he surveys the scene unfolding before him. It's rare to witness Hotch lose his composure, and even rarer to hear him raise his voice with such raw intensity.

But, as the seconds tick by, the tension in the air becomes almost palpable, a tangible force that hangs heavy around us. We exchange uncertain glances, the weight of Hotch's anger casting a shadow over the once tranquil atmosphere of the bullpen. And then, just as quickly as it began, Hotch's voice rises again, the sound muffled by the closed door of his office. Despite the distance, his words carry with them a sense of finality, a declaration of his unwavering resolve, “I CAN DATE WHO I WANT, YOU DON’T GET TO DICTATE IF Y/N IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.”

As Hotch's voice reverberates through the closed door of his office, his words cut through the heavy silence like a knife. The weight of his declaration hangs heavy in the air, leaving us all stunned into silence.

Derek's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his mouth slightly agape as he processes the implications of Hotch's words. Emily's eyes widen, a mixture of shock and admiration reflecting in her gaze as she exchanges a quick glance with JJ. Spencer, ever the observer, remains stoic, his expression unreadable as he absorbs the gravity of Hotch's statement.

The realisation settles over us like a heavy blanket, each of us grappling with the implications of Hotch's unwavering resolve. In that moment, it's clear that he's not just defending my honour; he's asserting his autonomy, refusing to be swayed by the opinions or judgments of others. And as the echoes of his words fade into the background, we're left in a stunned silence, the weight of the moment pressing down upon us like a tangible force. For a brief moment, the chaos of the world outside fades away, replaced by the quiet intensity of the bullpen.

But our reverie is short-lived as Hotch reemerges from his office, his face flushed with anger and frustration. His gaze sweeps over us, a silent command to gather ourselves and move forward. Without a word, he gestures towards the conference room, his authoritative presence brooking no argument.

As the rest of the team practically rushes towards the conference room, driven by the urgency of the moment, I find myself lingering behind. The weight of everything that has transpired settles heavily upon my shoulders, anchoring me to the spot as I struggle to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. I remain perched on the edge of my desk, head bowed, my hands suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. The sound of familiar footsteps draws nearer, the rhythmic cadence echoing through the empty space of the bullpen. And then, like a beacon in the darkness, Hotch's shiny smart shoes appear in my line of sight, his presence casting a warm glow against the backdrop of uncertainty.

He says my name softly, a gentle reminder that I'm not alone in this moment of vulnerability. I lift my gaze to meet his, finding solace in the depths of his unwavering gaze. There's a tenderness in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the tumultuous journey we've embarked upon together.

In that moment, he looks at me like I've hung the stars, like I'm a goddess deserving of reverence and adoration. It's a gaze that speaks volumes, a silent confession of the depth of his feelings. And then, with a gentle touch, his hand reaches out to cup my unbruised cheek, his touch a balm against the ache of the morning's events. In the stillness of the bullpen, he draws me into a soft kiss, a silent promise of solidarity and unwavering support. In that fleeting moment, time stands still, the chaos of the world fading away as we find solace in each other's embrace. And as we pull away, the weight of the world feels a little lighter, buoyed by the strength of the bond that binds us together.

With a silent understanding, we rise from the tumult of the morning, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. And as we make our way towards the conference room, hand in hand, I know that no matter what the future holds, we'll face it together, united by the unbreakable ties of love and loyalty.

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@guacam011y @rosaliedepp @kajjaka

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hunny-beann · 5 months

Note

I am literally having the worst day ever, do you think you could write some insanely fluffy Dream for me? I'm talking tooth rotting levels of fluff here.

Rest Now, Wife, Mine

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi anon! Thanks a ton for the adorable request, I had a lot of fun with it and really hope it helps make your day feel a bit better <3

Synopsis: Morpheus' wife finds their bed far too lonely without him in it, and seeks out his presence to remedy this so she may finally succumb to slumber for the evening.

Thankfully, he is all too happy to oblige.

Warnings: None! Just pure and unbridled fluff :)

Word Count: 1,298

Her steps are silent and her pace slow as she approaches the familiar throne room, sensing even from outside of its walls that it is as close to empty as it is going to get for the evening.

That said, as close to empty as possible for the throne room of an Endless such as Dream was not nearly as empty as one might think, with it being a rarity that he not be found there.

She fights back a shiver as she steps across the threshold, her bare feet suddenly far colder than before, and her majority uncovered shoulders beginning to undergo horripilation at the seemingly inexplicable shift in temperature.

That said, being easy to explain was not a rule that the Dreaming followed, so this was nothing new, and certainly nothing unexpected.

Though, the sudden voice that split the once heavy silence in twain on the other hand, was.

"And what could possibly have you awake at such an hour, dear wife?"

The voice asked quietly, laced with both amusement and even a twinge of concern that had the wife in question smiling softly in spite of her best efforts to not appear excited at the mere sound of her love's voice.

Oh, but she had never been that strong, had she?

He had her wrapped around his finger just as he did the entire realm that he ruled, though he notably reserved the one with the ring for her and her alone.

She padded up toward his throne quietly, not willing to answer his question until she was close enough that her voice might not reverberate so loudly off of the palace walls.

Some words, she had decided long ago, were for her husband and her husband alone.

Upon her eager approach, the Lord of Dreams could not help but raise one of the corners of his mouth at the mere sight of her, holding his hand out at her nearness to guide her to stand before his crossed legs as he reached gently to take her other in his own as well, making a mental note of how chilled her extremities felt due to the cool night air of his throne room.

He watched as she slackened slightly at his familiar touch, her body always so happy to find him near in a way never ceased to have his heart all but melting at her feet.

What a disastrous little thing she was, truly.

He could never love another.

As her form relaxed at the feeling of his hands on hers, so loving in spite of the power that they held, she could not help but yawn softly, eyes growing teary as her ease allowed the weight of the day to truly set in.

Her dearest Dream Lord smirked up at her, his brow raised knowingly and his eyes twinkling as he watched her fight off the eternally tempting wiles of sleep.

What a sweet little thing, so helpless in her battles against her own biology that it was entirely too amusing to ignore, and always far too entertaining to neglect to bear witness to.

"You are tired, my dear."

The Lord of Dreams stated matter of factly, tugging his beloved closer using his soft grip on her hands so he could properly brush some of her hair behind her ear, a gesture which caused her eyelids to flutter closed briefly before they snapped open once more, her fight against herself not yet over in her eyes (though Dream could see clearly in the way that she swayed on her own two feet that there was already an obvious victor).

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head,

"You need to rest, sweet stardust. Let me bring you back to the bedroom."

He spoke gently, rising to guide her back to their soft and familiar bed only to halt when he heard her reply.

"No, I don't want to go back, you're just going to leave once you think I'm tired enough not to follow."

The Dream Lord faltered upon hearing this, raising a questioning brow in response before lowering himself down upon his throne once more, though this time he pulled his wife right along with him, sitting her on his lap in order to get a better look at her exhausted expression.

He frowned.

"Have you been staying awake on purpose, my love? Lying in wait for me as you promised you would not do?"

She shook her head, but he could see the way that the blood rushed into her cheeks as she tried to explain, embarrassed to admit the things that she had to in order to quell his worries of any intentional harm having been done.

"No, of course not, I just..."

The Lord of Dreams hummed and brought one hand to her back, rubbing up and down along her spine and feeling her lean against him unintentionally in response, her bones heavy and all too prepared to sink into whatever comfort they could find.

"You just what, dearest?"

He urged, causing his lover to nod blearily in response, slowly coming back to reality again.

"I just find that sometimes I cannot bear to sleep alone, that the bed feels far too wide and empty without you in it."

Dream fought back a slight smile upon hearing this, feeling more than a little bit proud to know that his wife could rely upon him enough to truly need him so (though he was notably unhappy to hear that this was causing her any amount of unnecessary strife).

"And is tonight one of those nights, beloved?"

He asked, watching as she nodded, her head lolling slightly upon her neck as her overworked muscles struggled to remain in control over her all too tired body and mind.

"Poor thing,"

Dream all but purred in response, adjusting his love upon his lap until she was leaning against him, breaths warm on his neck and body seeming to grow heavier by the second as the feeling of his familiar closeness drove her into a type of ease that was felt only at a lover's closeness.

"That will certainly have to be remedied, won't it?"

He murmured against her ear, feeling her shiver in response, nuzzling closer with a nod as he gathered his coat that had been hanging on the back of the dais behind him with just one hand, draping it over her body and pressing a soft kiss against her head as he felt her begin to drift off into a much needed and far too well deserved slumber.

"Rest now, wife, mine."

He said softly, feeling his dearest love smile gently against his skin at his familiar words and the use of his favorite (and almost sickeningly sweet) nickname for her,

"I will see to it that no one interrupts you as you do."

If she had been more awake, perhaps the woman would have rolled her eyes or even offered a sarcastic retort in response to her husband's dramatics, but instead she simply nudged herself closer, pressing a gentle kiss against the pale flesh of his neck before she drifted off for the very first time that night, feeling truly safe in the arms of her most adoring love.

And when morning arrived, and the throne room became far less uninhabited, the two of them made for quite a sight, indeed.

After all, who would have thought that the Lord of Dreams might choose to sleep simply to live life as his dear wife did, his cheek pressed gently against her head and his arms wrapped around her as slumber found them both, pulling them closer together, ever still, in the very same way that they belonged now, and always would for the remainder of eternity, and perhaps even beyond that.

ao3 link

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talesofesther · 1 year

Text

I told the moon about you

Wednesday Addams x OC/Reader

Summary: Wednesday finds herself enchanted by the black wolf who always watches her play the cello in the dead of night.

A/N: This was written for a request sent by @roleplayfandom and I combined it with an idea of mine that I've had for a while, hope you don't mind and can still enjoy it. Arguably one of the most important stories I've written, because this oc has been my baby for so long, and I'm so happy to finally have the opportunity to include her in one of my stories; just hope I was able to do her justice with this. <3

Word count: 6,4k (sorry)

Masterlist

There was a drizzle in the air, the wind carried it around easily; tiny droplets of rain landed on the strings of Wednesday's cello that shook with each note she played.

Past the thin rain and clouds, the brightness of the full moon was nothing but a faded blur, casting a silver glow over the Addams girl and serving as the only witness to her spectacle.

The strong melody traveled with the wind same as the rain did, reaching the deepest parts of Nevermore and undoubtedly waking up a few students from their slumber. It only served as incentive — Wednesday could feel the burn on her fingertips as her song reached its momentum. The pain was welcomed, embraced.

When she released the strings, a soft sigh was let out as well. She blinked up at the moon above her, silently thanking it for its loyalty in keeping her most vulnerable moments a secret.

With uncanny delicacy, Wednesday lowered her cello, closing the case with a soft click.

The rain looked like it was starting to pick up, bigger droplets started to kiss Wednesday's cheeks, making their way down to her chin. The sky was darkening, with the moon fighting for a chance at a last goodbye to the one responsible for her favorite lullabies.

Wednesday walked up to the railings, her hands leaning against the wet concrete there. Save for the howling wind, it was strangely quiet.

But there was something different with today. Wednesday could feel it. She could feel the weight of a mysterious presence nearby.

As expected, her instincts never failed. It was dark, pitch black, the shape of trees blending together with one another in the distance.

But in the middle of the darkness, a pair of caramel eyes were spotted. They belonged to what appeared to be a black wolf; big in its size, ears pointy and tail long, fur a little spiked as it glinted from the raindrops that fell on it, almost resembling a starry night sky. It was just sitting there, on the grass of the gardens outside. Its golden eyes fixed intently all the way up to the balcony where Wednesday was standing.

The Addams girl expressed no reaction other than angling her chin up with furrowed brows, a dare; and the wolf understood, because it slowly stood up, its ears resting back against its head before it trotted out of sight and into the woods.

Wednesday remained under the rain until she could feel the wetness of it seeping into her clothes. Her hands held onto the railings tightly.

Turns out the moon wasn't the only witness tonight.

—

Those same golden eyes followed Wednesday in her dreams, and she woke up frustrated for not knowing who they belonged to.

Was it just a wild animal passing by or a student braving the woods past curfew?

The thought of the wolf being a student seemed… unlikely, because it looked much different from Enid when compared to her 'wolfed out' form. The black wolf was simply that, a wolf — albeit a tad bigger. Yet Wednesday didn't discard the possibility of it being someone. Someone who was watching her.

She tried pushing the thought out of her mind during the day for the sake of her grades.

"Miss Addams?"

Wednesday snapped her head up, only to see her anatomy teacher and the whole entirety of the class with their heads turned her way, eyes expectant as they waited for something to happen.

A scowl came to Wednesday's face at the unwanted attention. She rested both hands on her table, briefly realizing that the board had three extra paragraphs of lessons written on it that weren't in her notebook yet.

"I made you a question," the teacher continued, one of her hands coming to rest on her waist, "for how long can a gorgon stone a person?"

Wednesday gulped, her lips hovering open as she searched her mind for the useless information yet came empty-handed.

The teacher was annoying, one of the least liked by the Addams girl. She was old and wore long and colorful skirts, with obnoxiously large glasses resting atop her nose.

"It depends on the gorgon," a familiar voice suddenly said, "but usually from two to four hours."

Wednesday glanced beside her to where the owner of said voice sat, and was met with a smirk being directed at her. She huffed in annoyance, visibly rolling her eyes.

You had transferred to Nevermore a little over two months ago — adorning a pair of dark sunglasses you never took off and dressed in all black, save for the light pink pendant of your necklace — instantly getting into Wednesday's nerves the moment you stepped foot into the school and called her 'sweetheart'.

"Very well." The teacher looked between you and Wednesday, not entirely pleased that Wednesday wasn't the one who answered but deciding to let it pass, and turned around to write on the board again.

Wednesday didn't know what your deal was, no one did. No one knew who your family was, what were your abilities, or the reason you enrolled in Nevermore; not even Enid knew, and she was the gossip queen. Despite the ever-present sunglasses, one thing Wednesday knew for a fact was that you weren't a vampire, just by the way you scrunched your nose at the mere sight of blood; but that's about everything she knows so far.

Too smug for your own good, you leaned back on your chair. Wednesday could feel your gaze roaming up and down her body, before you said, quietly; "you're welcome-"

There was sunlight coming through the dusty windows. Wednesday could see her reflection in your glasses. "Shut up."

"Sweetheart," you finished with a grin.

The pencil that was thrown in your direction missed you only by an inch.

—

When Wednesday walked out onto the balcony of her dorm the next night, the wolf was already there.

She got a little taken aback by it, halting in her steps and gripping tighter onto the case of her cello. Wednesday immediately discarded the possibility of it being a coincidence or just a wild animal passing by. The wolf was there for her.

Those caramel eyes held a staring contest with Wednesday, and they eventually won. Satisfied, the wolf then lay down on the grass… and waited.

Long beats passed by until Wednesday finally sat down on her chair and adjusted her cello to be played. Her movements slow and calculated, all too aware of the heavy stare on her.

The moon was bright in the night sky, and Wednesday briefly glanced up at it, partly searching for some kind of reassurance but only finding that it wasn't a night of full moon.

When her gaze found the wolf again, she saw it looking up at the moon as well. The sharp silhouette of its muzzle being highlighted by the silver glow, fur flowing like silk with the wind.

Wolves sing for the moon, maybe that's why this one took a liking to the Addams girl.

There was hesitance on the way Wednesday's fingers hovered over the strings. Save for the occasional twitch of its tail, the wolf was unmoving on the grass, patiently watching.

Wednesday could tell the wolf to leave again, part of her knew it would obey. She didn't. She only closed her eyes, and started playing.

—

The next day, Wednesday made a trip to the school's library. She dug up every single book about werewolves and lycanthropy that she could find — some of them old, pages fragile to the touch and covered in a thick layer of dust.

The place was mostly deserted as per usual, and Wednesday saw no harm in staying. A table waited for her in the middle of the tall bookshelves, the only one hidden from sunlight.

She would be lying if she said she wasn't at least a little thrilled at the prospect of a new mystery. Things have been dull at school without an evil pilgrim trying to destroy it.

Though she was able to read in peaceful silence for all of ten minutes.

"What's with the sudden interest in furs?"

A heavy sigh left Wednesday's lips when she heard your voice. She sat straighter on her chair and chose to ignore you, pointedly turning the page of her book and focusing on it.

You hopped up on the table, sitting there cross-legged so you could face Wednesday, "you know your roommate is one, right? I bet she'd be happy to answer your questions."

See, there's a reason why Wednesday is bothered by your presence. Every time you're near, every time she can hear nothing but your voice or feel nothing but the warmth radiating from your body; Wednesday's little black heart gains a burst of color that should never exist, it picks up a faster rhythm and makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. It's a feeling that's been there once before, fleetingly, much smaller than it is now. But she's no stranger to what comes with it.

"I don't remember asking for your advice," Wednesday said, still refusing to look at you, her bangs hiding her eyes from you.

"Ouch," you mumbled, leaning back on your hands, "was just trying to help."

No one else but you could make Wednesday feel the slightest bit of remorse for snapping. And it's not like she paid attention to the last three lines she just read in the book anyway. Begrudgingly, Wednesday glanced up at you, and the moment her eyes found you, she knew it'd be a whole challenge in itself to look away again; the dim golden light of the table lamp framed your profile and the way your hair fell over your shoulder — for a second, it reminded Wednesday of her wolf.

Her wolf. The thought jolted her back to reality and she cleared her throat, heat rising to her cheeks as if you'd be able to read her thoughts.

"When are you gonna stop chasing after me like a lost puppy?" Wednesday didn't sound half as confident as she should for those words.

You raised an eyebrow at that, almost as if you wanted to be challenged. You leaned forward, bracing your elbows on your knees, so you could cast over every twitch on Wednesday's expression, your personal space shy of mingling with hers. "When you ask me to," you whispered.

The air felt electric, there was something enticing about the way you refused to back down sometimes. Wednesday felt the hair at the back of her neck rising with a shiver. If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under already — or at least fighting for air between her and this damn table. Wednesday couldn't decide which outcome she liked best.

Wood scratched against the floor as she suddenly pulled back the chair beside hers; "sit down properly, stay quiet," without looking at you, she shoved one of the books in your direction, "we're looking for a werewolf who can transform without a full moon."

—

Nothing. There was nothing in any of the books.

Wednesday walked back to her dorm without having learned a single thing. None of the books in the school had anything remotely close to the creature she saw the past two nights. Frustration was eating at her insides because she was running out of leads to follow, a dead end steadily approaching.

She went up the stairs of Ophelia Hall in a haste, pushing the door to her room out of the way and causing a loud thump that got Enid jumping on her bed, almost throwing her cell phone to Wednesday's side of the room.

"Jesus Wednesday, what did the door do to you?" Enid grumbled, sitting up on her bed.

Wednesday didn't respond, she threw her black backpack by the feet of her bed and came to stand in front of Enid. "What do you know of werewolves that can transform without a full moon?"

Slowly, a frown came to Enid's features. She turned off her phone when Wednesday kept glaring at it. "Nothing? Werewolves don't usually change without a full moon," Enid explained, confusion evident in her tone.

"And what if they did?"

"Then they're most likely not a werewolf."

Wednesday clenched her jaw in annoyance, she tugged at the tie around her neck, taking it off and messing up her hair in the process.

"Uh- my mother used to tell me about people who could shift into wolves at will, when I was younger," Enid kept going, wondering if that's what Wednesday was after.

The tie fell to her feet and Wednesday came to sit beside Enid; "tell me."

"Well, I don't know much about it, just that they're technically not werewolves. At least not like me," Enid shrugged, her colorful nails tapping her knee as she searched her brain for the stories she heard as a kid. "Oh, people used to call them hellhounds… pretty creepy if you ask me," she grimaced momentarily, "because they could change form whenever they pleased, and their… looks didn't help either, it made others scared of them. Most of the hellhounds succumbed to the fame and lived up to the name back in the 1850s I think, from what I know."

Wednesday narrowed her eyes, "lived up to the name?"

"Killers," Enid gulped, "or hunters, as they'd call it. My mother always told me they were no good, so I guess the bad rep still follows," she shrugged, "maybe that's why no one has seen one for the past twenty years or so."

—

Wednesday didn't sleep that night. She kept staring at her ceiling and going over everything that Enid had told her. And the only other thought on her mind was you. It was inevitable, too fitting for it to be a coincidence.

Every time she's seen that wolf she felt the exact same tug on her heart that you so inconveniently brought. It couldn't be a coincidence.

For a week straight, Wednesday waited for the wolf to appear every night so she could start playing her cello. And every night without fail, the wolf was there; same place, same time. It would lay down, watch her, and then leave.

—

On the tenth night, Wednesday wasn't on the balcony of her dorm. She decided to break the pattern.

There was no moon in the sky tonight, it almost looked like a storm was brewing. The air was frigid outside, the grass already coated with a thin layer of ice. Wednesday enjoyed the cold, but even she was reprimanding herself for having only one coat on.

Glancing down at her phone, Wednesday saw that it was already five minutes past the usual time the wolf showed up. She wondered if it saw the empty balcony and left. Or maybe it wasn't going to show up at all tonight. She felt strangely disappointed at the thought.

A twig snapped behind Wednesday, causing her to hastily turn around with a gasp lingering on her tongue. The trees stood tall in front of her, creating a blanket of pure darkness between them, nothing could be seen. Nothing, except a pair of golden eyes. For a moment, they looked like they were floating on nothing, intently watching the girl in front of them as if she was prey.

For several beats, Wednesday waited. And then, one paw stepped out of the woods and into the grass, causing a chill to run down her back — not from fear, at least not only fear.

The name hellhound has never seemed more fitting. One paw in front of the other, white air huffing from its nose with each breath, fiery eyes, and fur as black as the night. It was almost as if darkness became alive.

Admittedly, it was bewitching.

The wolf, even on all fours, was almost as tall as Wednesday; and still, it kept its distance. If she didn't know any better, Wednesday would say it was afraid of her.

The night was suddenly calm, with not a single soul around to witness. Wednesday had come all the way down here tonight to put an end to things, discover who this wolf was and the reason behind all this… stalking?

Yet any words had died on her tongue and she found herself taking a step closer. The moment felt strangely delicate. When the wolf didn't move, she took two more steps.

Wednesday was reaching out before realizing it. The wolf's ears twitched, caramel eyes following her every move until her hand was barely grazing the dark fur. It was silky, engulfing her hand in a blanket of darkness as it sunk into the wolf's cheek.

Wednesday didn't dare breathe, trapped in a moment that felt unreal. But her attention was soon caught by a glint of color, dangling from the wolf's neck.

The wolf backed away as soon as Wednesday tried to take a closer look, bright eyes looking at her one last time before it bolted away into the woods.

—

The next night, her wolf didn't show up. And Wednesday sat on the balcony of her dorm in silence, waiting for something she knew wouldn't happen. She didn't play. Loneliness clawed at her heart.

A loneliness that shouldn't be there, but it was.

Wednesday found herself slipping away when the moon was highest in the sky, her bare feet feeling the cold of the wooden floor as she walked the empty hallways of Ophelia Hall. Maybe a walk out in the cold would take her mind of off foolish matters.

She walked until she eventually reached the main doors that led outside, stopping short of crossing the threshold. There was a figure sitting on the grass just ahead, cross-legged and looking up at the moon.

Wednesday would recognize you anywhere. She wondered why, for a fleeting second. "What are you doing?"

You tensed when you heard her voice. You had heard her coming, you heard the soft pattern of her steps down the stairs. You just weren't expecting her to talk. You didn't turn around to face her when you spoke; "admiring the moon."

Subconsciously, Wednesday's gaze shifted to the natural satellite in the sky, before settling back on you. She could barely make out the silhouette of your nose and cheeks, but she could tell you were smiling. Foolish. She thought to herself.

Why would you look at the moon as if it held your heart's affection?

Why would look at the moon like that, when Wednesday was standing right there?

The Addams girl let out an indignant scoff at her own inner thought, reprimanding herself for even coming up with it. She couldn't possibly be feeling jealous of a floating rock.

"What are you doing up?" You eventually asked, your voice gentle into the night.

If you turned around, you'd see Wednesday chewing at the inside of her cheek as she tried to chase away the mess of feelings swimming in her stomach. You'd see her take half a step toward you before deciding against it, and instead rushing back inside without giving you an answer.

But you didn't need one. Part of you already knew why she was there. It was the same for you, and it was bittersweet that you ended up meeting in the middle anyway, even if for a moment. Part of you wanted to run after her and just tell her.

—

You weren't sure why you did it.

On the first night, it was mere curiosity. You could remember the coldness of the grass beneath your paws, announcing the inevitable arrival of winter. You could remember the howling wind, causing your ears to twitch as the fur there felt sensitive to the force of it. You could remember the first drops of rain hitting your nose as you walked and how that's when you heard the first note of her song.

You followed it easily, soon finding yourself in the gardens that her balcony overlooked. And even seeing her all the way from down there, she was nothing short of entrancing. It was like you could feel her emotions through the music.

You never meant for Wednesday to see you though, even if all she'd see was a black wolf. But it happened, and yet you kept coming back, night after night; you couldn't help yourself. You started missing her. Because listening to her play felt like an escape from your unfortunate reality. It put you at ease.

But you should've known Wednesday would not settle for so little, you should've known from the moment you found her in the library, already digging up every last bit of information on anything regarding werewolves. You should've stopped then.

You didn't. Instead, you allowed her even closer, close enough to touch. On that night, part of you knew she'd already figured it all out.

—

It was a gray day outside. Fitting, you thought to yourself; as it was also your most dreaded day of the year. There was no more dodging it, you could fake sickness or an injury only so many times until it gets too obvious.

From your dorm's window, you could already see the familiar car pulling up in the parking lot. There was a bitter taste on your tongue, a suffocating feeling weighing down on your chest for what was to come. It felt like drowning.

It's tradition. That was what your father always told you. It's keeping the memory of our ancestors alive. As if they were anything worth remembering.

You couldn't care less. Part of you wanted to yell at him to stop living in the past, but you'd probably lose your tongue for that. Literally. He had called you yesterday to let you know he'd be coming, as if you weren't stressing over it for a whole week already.

There was a chilly air outside, you could feel it even before walking out the doors that led to the quad; and it was right as you were making your way out, that she bumped into you. A quiet grunt left her lips at the impact, and she only didn't fall to the ground because your hands steadied her; your hold warm on her waist, keeping her body the closer she's ever been to you.

Now, you never intended to fall for the resident Addams of the school. It just happened. Maybe it was your incredible bad luck; or those dark eyes that sometimes put the midnight sky to shame with their beauty. The teasing came with the package of your growing feelings for her, it was your natural defense mechanism whenever your heartbeat skyrocketed at the mere smell of her perfume. Though you could swear that, sometimes, you managed to get her cheeks a tad rosier than normal. It got you wondering if it was wishful thinking to consider the small possibility of her returning your affections.

"You good?" You asked, subconsciously squeezing her waist.

Wednesday stumbled back when she realized that if she leaned forward just a tad more it would result in her nose brushing yours. She blinked multiple times to focus back on you, yet the first thing her eyes found was the light pink pendant of your necklace, the very same she saw on the wolf the other night.

For someone who's always so hard to read, she let the facade slip pretty easily this time. Wednesday's features did something complicated, as if she wasn't sure what she should be feeling.

"You're my wolf," the words rolled off her tongue against her volition, her wide eyes darting from your necklace to the dark sunglasses resting on top of your nose.

An awkward chuckle escaped you. You felt a lot more timid than you thought you would, "what?"

Wednesday clenched her jaw, she felt anger but wasn't sure towards what; "you're the wolf I see every night, aren't you?"

Your lips hovered yet no words came out, you took a step away from her. If it where any other time, you'd be happy to bounce arguments off of her until inevitably confirming her idea; but her timing wasn't ideal, "W-Wednesday, now is not a good time-"

"Why did you hide it-"

"What part of 'hurry up' did you not understand?" A gruff voice interrupted both you and Wednesday. You only gulped and looked down at your feet, while Wednesday turned her head to see a tall man walking towards you. He wore a dark red suit and had the same golden eyes Wednesday saw on her wolf every night, though his held a much darker undertone to them. The man's gloved hand closed around your arm with a tight grip. "We don't have all day."

"I'm sorry, father," you mumbled as he dragged you away and you tried to keep up with his steps. You turned around to give Wednesday a last tight-lipped smile, "see you later, Wednesday."

—

The sun was nowhere to be seen when your father dropped you back at school again.

You had brushed your teeth three times already, but it still felt like the taste lingered, making you nauseous.

Part of you was grateful to have come back late, Nevermore's hallways were mostly empty at this hour already so you didn't have to explain your looks. It's not like you couldn't have freshened up at your family's cabin, you just didn't want to stay a minute longer than necessary.

So you hurried into the first bathroom you found, not really considering the fact it was a communal one and anyone could walk in on you.

—

Wednesday wouldn't call herself obsessive, more like committed. She had pending matters with you, and she was going to get to the bottom of them.

So of course she kept an eye out for when you'd return to school. She saw the car drop you off by the gates, following after you as soon as you walked inside.

When Wednesday pushed open the bathroom door, you were standing in front of the mirror, damp paper towels in your hand as you tried to clean a rather nasty cut on your cheek. Your sunglasses rested atop the sink, giving Wednesday a clear view of your eyes; they were a shade of caramel she was all too familiar with, the same ones that have been keeping her company at night.

You tensed up when you noticed her, your hand freezing midair as you were about to throw the paper into the trash can.

There was a silence that stretched uncomfortably as none of you seemed to know what to do next. You were shifting on your stance, breathing unsteadily and Wednesday feared you might run away, again.

She took a single step in your direction and asked the one thing she came for; "why have you been stalking me?"

As if breaking from a trance, you looked down and away from her; allowing your hair to fall from behind your ear and hide your profile. "I wasn't stalking you."

"What would you call standing outside my window at late hours of the night only to watch me play the cello?" Wednesday raised her eyebrow pointedly.

You chuckled humourlessly, "now you make me seem like a creep." You felt small under her piercing gaze, embarrassment twirling inside your stomach. Sure, when she said it like that, it sounded weird. But you were just enjoying good music, right?

You slowly turned around to face her, your hands gripping tightly onto the sink's edge behind you. "You never told me to leave," you said quietly.

Any words Wednesday might have thought of died on her tongue. She felt uncharacteristically shy knowing that it was you who'd been witnessing her late-night lullabies. Yet she was also glad that it was you, and not someone else.

You shrugged weakly, focusing your gaze on your feet, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I just- I heard you one night and-" you glanced up at her with a bittersweet smile, fragility still lingering on your heart and making your vision blur over. Even under the cheap artificial light of the bathroom, she was the most beautiful person you'd ever seen; alabaster skin contrasting with soft dark hair, sharp eyes, and burgundy lips — she had your heart on a leash.

"And I was blown away," you continued quietly as your feelings escaped you, "it was like I could feel what you were feeling through the music, and it was so freeing… I had to come back to it."

There was a distant ache in Wednesday's lungs, because she refused to breathe. Her heart was thundering against her ribcage as she took in each of your words. No one has ever made her feel as if she was a piece of art, worthy of a display at the most renowned museum, like you just did.

"I'm sorry if it seemed like I was stalking you," you breathed.

"Why keep it a secret?" She asked then.

Her sudden gentleness startled you. You've never heard her voice so soft. "I feared you might hate me." It went beyond just late-night encounters with a wolf Wednesday didn't know was you; you feared she'd hate what you could turn into; you feared she might see you as the thing you least want to be if she ever found out what you try to hide behind sunglasses and a snarky attitude.

It's because of the way your voice breaks at the end, that Wednesday finally looks at you. And she sees the tiny splatters of blood on your cheek, a cut running from your lip to near your ear, scrapes and bruises in your hands — you're nothing short of a mess.

And you weren't hers. Wednesday knew you weren't hers to worry about, to care for, to protect. Yet she had the annoying urge to do it all anyway.

She wordlessly closed the distance between you, the sound of her boots loud against the bathroom tiles. Taking a few paper towels, Wednesday dampened their edge under the running water of the sink. She hesitated before coming closer, it felt like crossing a line, walking down a road with no way back. Her eyes never left you as she came to stand in front of you.

Your grip on the sink's edge was bruising, knuckles white. You were so quiet, so on edge, so shaky; your eyes had a darkness around them, your lips quivering. It felt all wrong. Wednesday hated seeing you like this, without your usual light.

She raised her hand slowly, stopping short of reaching your cheek, "may I?"

You nodded, feeling a warmth rushing to your heart at the delicacy you didn't know she was capable of. A barrier had fallen between you. When you leaned against her touch, Wednesday started gently cleaning the few places still stained with blood on your skin.

"Did he do this to you?" Wednesday couldn't hold the question back anymore. A different kind of anger bubbled in her chest — one that was mixed with an unusual sense of protectiveness. "Your father?"

"Not him," you choked out, unable to look her in the eyes — not wanting to, "not directly."

Wednesday frowned at that, her eyes tried to chase after yours but you avoided her.

"He makes me do it." A tear rolled down your cheek, you bit into your lip to contain a sob, "he always makes me do it."

Wednesday would never dare call herself an empathetic person, but her chest clenched in pain to see you hurt. One of your tears fell on her thumb that rested on your cheek, and she wanted to take all the pain to herself.

"But I hate it, Wednesday," you told her fiercely, desperate for her to believe you, a new batch of tears coming to your eyes when you finally looked up at her, "I hate the killing."

The moon was high in the sky when Wednesday walked out of the bathroom, with you close by her side. The darkness of the night easily hid the way her hand was holding onto yours.

And as you walked through the gardens together, Wednesday could feel the shift in the air. You had told her about the 'stupid tradition', how your family gets together once a year for the hunt, and how you felt dirty, disgusted at the feeling of sinking your canines into the white fur of the rabbit. Yet they still make you do it.

The door to her dorm came before yours. You stopped in front of it with her, nothing but the dim yellow light hanging from the ceiling to make you company. The moment felt more intimate than it should be. Wednesday didn't look like the girl who threw pencils at you in class — there was a faint blush to her cheeks and her pupils were blown wide — she looked like someone you could love.

"Why don't you ever take it off?" Wednesday asked, shooting a brief glance at the necklace hanging from your neck.

You take the light pink pendant between your fingers, tracing the nooks and crannies in it, "it was my mom's," you said softly, "she was the only person who ever told me I didn't need to be what others said I was. That I didn't have to carry the sins of my forbearers."

Wednesday nodded softly, glancing up at you before she turned around. Her hand left yours and she instantly missed the warmth there, it made her think of how lonely the nights started to feel when her wolf wasn't there.

Her fingers hesitated on the doorknob, she looked at you from over her shoulder, "if you wish to see me play, stop lurking around," she pushed the words out quickly, "Enid is out until nine most nights."

And with that, Wednesday closed the door in your face, not giving you an opportunity to ask about the abrupt invitation.

On what was usually the worst day of the year for you, Wednesday managed to make you go to sleep with a smile.

—

There was suddenly an unspoken thing in the air.

Wednesday went about her day as per usual, following her routine precisely. But there was something making her feel as if spiders were crawling around inside her stomach; it happened each time she walked into a room hoping to find you there, each time she'd feel you looking her way and doing a poor job of pretending otherwise, each time she found herself checking the time on the clock to see how long was left for the sun to set, and especially, each time Enid pointed out her looking at you.

When night came, Wednesday had her cello already set up outside, and she sat on her bed with her eyes fixed on the door. She felt a little silly, waiting on you like this even if you hadn't given her the slightest hint you'd be coming at all.

But she hoped you would.

It was two minutes past the usual time she'd go out to play her songs, that Wednesday heard three knocks on her door. She opened it to reveal you on the other side, looking as nervous as she felt.

"Hi," you greeted with an awkward smile.

"Hello," she bit back a smile of her own.

You followed after her when Wednesday quietly made her way outside. You felt a little out of place, up here instead of down there on the grass. But when Wednesday played the first note on her cello, it was as if the whole rest of the world went quiet, and it was just you and her.

You figured you'd never be able to settle on watching her from a distance anymore. Not when you'd just had a taste of listening to her music so loud and clear, of watching her up close, following each small movement of her fingers on the strings and the twitches on her expression as she immersed herself in the melody. She captivated you in a way no other soul ever did.

Wednesday had her eyes closed the whole time, she knew she'd stumble on the notes if she blinked them open and saw the way you were looking at her — she could feel it though, the weight of your gaze; it was enough.

Only when the last note stretched out, that she did look back at you. And sure enough, the song ended with abruptness as she lost her focus.

Because Wednesday realized that you were looking at her the same way you looked at the moon. Maybe you always have been, for all of those nights you laid outside in the cold only to watch her play. She wondered for a moment if that is what love looked like.

And maybe that's the reason why, before even getting up, she decided she'd take that gamble.

"You are so amazing," you breathed out, your lips hovering as you gestured around in search of words good enough to describe your feelings.

Wednesday put her cello aside, getting up from her chair to take the few steps that separated you.

"I mean, every time that I hear you play I'm just-" you choked on your words, your eyes finding hers when you realized that with each beat of your frantic heart, she was coming closer, closer.

"I'm just in love," you told her in nothing but a whisper.

Wednesday had taken a hold of your jacket, and she halted only for a second when the word love left your lips. She didn't say it, but the way she was looking at you with the softest of eyes held a lot of love too.

The kiss she pulled you into might have been long overdue, given both of your eagerness. You were quick to grasp her waist and pull her body as close to yours as humanly possible.

Wednesday cupped your cheeks, holding you in place as her nose bumped yours and she gave a gentle nip on your lower lip.

She kept her lips on yours until her lungs screamed for air, pulling away slowly, feeling each one of your deep breaths grazing her lips. Wednesday felt your nails gently pressing against her spine, she felt you trace a path from her jaw to right below her ear where you chose to place a lingering kiss.

And she knew, right then and there, that she'd never be able to look up at the moon again and not think of her wolf.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

A/N: This is a storyline I'm definitely willing to expand, so if you have any requests regarding Wednesday and her wolf, feel free to send them in.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @jjsmaybank20 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany @v1ci0us @the-nightshades-library @tundra1029 @aahdiieb @greyscxle-is-taken

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story #jenna ortega x reader

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dilfl0v3rss · 10 months

Note

https://twitter.com/bestpornclipsx/status/1660915013479964674?s=46

what would have had to happen for y/n to be in this situation with ony

hmmmm idk

sikeeee!! i always know😛 link

“got some nerve…coming up in there like you ain’t got no sense” his voice deeply touched your ears as he spoke. your ass was hot from the many times he’s struck it. pussy being pounded into oblivion from the back. it was almost certain you were going to be sore and bedridden in the morning. all because you let jealousy cloud your judgment.

“ma i just told you, been telling you the whole ride home, i don’t know that girl” you rolled your eyes at him, not caring about the irritated look your boyfriend was giving you. “you mean to tell me this bitch knows your name, mom’s name, and has your number in her contacts, and you never fucked wit her? boy get the fuck outta here wit that!” you pointed your long acrylic nail in his face as you spoke. getting up close and personal to show him that you weren’t playing.

ony took a deep breath before replying. crossing his big arms across his chest to keep himself from just snatching you up right there. “first of all…watch your mouth. second, i need you to put that big girl brain to good use and think.” you rolled your eyes as he continued to to break down your assumptions. “no cocky shit, but i’m probably the most known nigga on this campus and you know that. so of course people gon know my name. as for my number, i can’t stop girls from asking around for it. she prolly got it from someone on the team and i’ll check em for that. and you can check my phone to clarify ‘cause ain’t no female in there but my momma and you.”

your face began to soften as his excuses were starting to make sense, an apology already on the tip of your tongue as he continued. “as far as knowing momma’s name, you gotta be smarter than that princess. after every game what i say to the camera?” your eyes revert to the floor, guilt clouding your mind as you start to feel bad for how you were acting. ony softly cooed at you, inked fingers tilting your chin up so he can look into your eyes. “tell me ma” you sighed deeply, taking a long pause before answering his question. “y’say ‘first i wanna give a shout-out to my very first supporters, my parents Abena and Todd Jackson.’ m’sorr-”

“sh sh sh. what else baby?” your eyes instantly began to water as you recited the second part of his speech. “a-and y’said ‘a-also wanna give a big shoutout t-to my beautiful g-girlfriend y/n.’ m’sorry papa i was just so mad and i–” he cut you off again, this time by snatching you up by your throat and bringing your face closer to his. “this is why we communicate ain’t it? to prevent shit like this, but you ain’t do that did you? nahh….you came into the team house yelling and screaming, embarrassing the both of us ‘cause you let your emotions get the best f’you. so now…. ima let mine get the best of me. go in the room and strip.”

it was a matter of minutes before ony had you stripped and screaming in the middle of the bed. dick punishing your insides so good , but you held that need for release with a death grip. “daddyyyy i said m’sorry alreadyyy. p-please let me cumm” you whined, drool dripping from your lips as ony replied with a hard slap on your ass. “no. you ain’t learn yet” he grumbled, angling his hips downward so he can be felt in your stomach. your mouth opened in a silent scream, the feeling too much for you as you tried to inch up the bed.

ony watched you closely, letting you move up just enough so you can take a sigh of relief before yanking you back onto him. “don’t run from me mama. you gettin what you deserve” you let out a loud whine as you felt him begin to hit you deeper than he did before, heavy hand coming down on your ass repeatedly. your ass was definitely going to be sore in the morning. “you love me?” ony asked, stroking you just right to the point where holding your orgasm was almost unbearable. “y-you know i love you daddy”

the next thing you knew, your back was too his chest and ony has his hand tightly around your neck. the brutal pace of his hips slowing to deep strokes. his dick repeatedly hitting the sweetest spots inside of you. there was no way you could hold it in anymore, a quiet whine escaping your lips as your release slowly trickled down your thighs. ony wasn’t far behind, his ropes of cum shot deep into you as he slowed his hips to a stop.

“if you love me then communicate wit me cause now you gon be here all night. turn over.”

#aot x black reader #onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon x reader #aot onyankopon #onyankopon x black!reader #aot smut #onyankopon smut #aot onyankopon x black reader #aot onyankopon x black y/n #aot onyankopon x black!reader #onyankopon x black y/n #aot onyankopon smut #𝑡𝑤𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑠 :)

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i-rely-on-you · 1 year

Text

New update on Cliff’s Edge 🥰

#jakki #silent witness #nikki x jack #jack x nikki #nikki alexander #jack hodgson #fanfic #mine #fanfiction

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pinchofhoney · 7 months

Text

broken promises, part two

« part one | part two | part three »

coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k

warning: angst, feeling of being betrayed, heartbreak

summary: In Snow's world, only one thing mattered more than his family's reputation—you. But that was before he met Lucy Gray.

a/n: it's for those few people who have read part one, thank you<33 i hope more people will crawl here like doctor gaul snakes after the film's premiere, so i'd like to ask: do you want a third part in which our lovely reader meets snow again after his return to the capitol? 🐍

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @metalarmsandmanbuns

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

Welcome to the Capitol.

The resonance of those four simple words echoed through your thoughts as you sat in the grand living room of your family's penthouse. The room was bathed in soft, golden light, a stark contrast to the surreal scenes that played out on the broadcast, straight from the Capitol's zoo.

After Coriolanus had greeted Lucy Gray on the platform, exchanging a few words with the young tribute, he turned to you, his eyes filled with determination as the girl was now walking away, heading toward a boy from her district.

“I should go with her,” he said with a sense of urgency in his voice as he glanced back at the girl in the rainbow dress.

“What do you mean?” your brows knitted in confusion, asking a question which redirected his gaze to you.

“I should escort her to her accommodation, I must show her that I am trustworthy,” he explained in haste and without waiting for your response, he stepped to the side and reached out to get the attention of one of the Peacekeepers by lightly touching the man's arm.

“Excuse me,” Coriolanus began. “I’m Coriolanus Snow from the Academy.” He nodded toward Lucy Gray. “This tribute has been assigned to me for the Hunger Games. I wonder if I might accompany her to her quarters.”

The Peacekeeper's gaze flitted over Coriolanus' shoulder, briefly meeting yours before responding, “That’s why you've been hanging around here all morning? To catch a ride to the show?” He granted permission for Coriolanus to join the tributes, adding, “Just you,” as he directed his attention to the transport truck destined for the tributes.

Your gaze followed the Peacekeeper's, and as you glimpsed the vehicle awaiting the tributes, your mouth fell open in surprise. Stepping closer to Coriolanus, you took his hand.

“You're not going to get in there, are you, Coryo?” your concern shifted from the truck to Coriolanus, your brows furrowing as you made a plea through your eyes. The transport before you resembled a wheeled animal cage, starkly underscoring the Capitol's dehumanization of the tributes.

“I can't leave her alone,” Coriolanus stated, briefly glancing your way before gently pulling his hand away and moving toward the vehicle.

“Yes, you can,” you protested, following closely behind him as the first tributes began to enter the cage.

“Everything will be fine, Y/N,” Coriolanus reassured you, pausing near the truck. He looked down at you and spoke calmly, trying to ease the visible anxiety on your face. He brushed tenderly a strand of hair behind your ear and held your gaze. “Go home and don't worry, I'll come visit you later, okay?”

“You don't have to do this, Coryo…”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, turning to face the vehicle. He made eye contact with Lucy Gray and not even a moment had passed when he was already climbing onto the truck.

You wanted to say more, to stop him from taking this step, but you understood it was too late. Coriolanus had already made up his mind, and he wasn't one to back down. You anxiously bit your lip, a silent witness as the truck's door slammed shut. A few moments later, the engine roared to life, taking Coriolanus away from you.

Anxiety weighed heavily on your heart as you stood there like a helpless spectator. As the vehicle departed, it stirred up dust, leaving you in loneliness on the platform. You played distracted with the strands of hair Coriolanus had so gently tucked behind your ear. The fading truck held your gaze captive, making it nearly impossible to look away.

Though it felt like an eternity, only a few seconds had passed since Coriolanus had left your side. You took a deep breath, finally releasing your hair from your anxious fingers. With fresh determination, you made your way toward the train station's exit, whispering reassuring words to yourself. You held on to the belief that everything would be all right and that Coriolanus would soon return, just as he had promised, to stand at your doorstep.

Now you were fixated on the television screen, preoccupied in the spectacle playing out in the Capitol's monkey house. Your eyes were following Lucy Gray closely while keeping an eye out for Coriolanus in the background. Your family, including your parents and sister, sat alongside you, intrigued by the broadcast as much as you were.

“What's he doing there?” your father asked, a furrow of confusion creasing his brow. Both your parents held a deep affection for young Snow, but your father had a particular respect for him. He remembered Coriolanus's father, a general during the First Rebellion, and believed him to be a positive influence on you.

“Seems like he's doing his best,” you replied, though your words carried a hint of uncertainty. You were well aware of Coriolanus's determination to shine in his role, to demonstrate to the entire Capitol that the Snow name always remained at the top. And you supported him wholeheartedly, but there was a distinct difference between assuring him of his abilities in the quiet moments and witnessing it all unfold.

After a moment, the metal door of the monkey house slid open, and Coriolanus's voice reached your ears. “Thank you for being with us today. Remember, this is Lucy Gray Baird from the Twelfth District. Drop by the zoo in your free time to say hello. I promise it's worth to meet her.”

Your lip was nervously bitten as you observed Coriolanus planting a tender kiss on Lucy Gray's hand, which she extended for a good bye. When his lips touched her skin, you experienced an unfamiliar sensation. You couldn't quite name the emotion or pinpoint its origin, but it left you feeling uneasy. You couldn't make sense of the emotion's complexity, but you knew you didn't like what you saw, which felt irrational.

As Coriolanus disappeared behind the closing metal door, you reached for the TV remote and switched off the device with a single click. You sank back into the sofa cushions, a heavy sigh escaping your lips, your thoughts in chaos.

Days after Coriolanus's first meeting with Lucy Gray, you couldn't escape the creeping sense of distance that was growing between you and the man who had once been your closest companion. It was as if a heavy cloud of isolation hung over you, casting a shadow on the bond you had cherished for so many years.

His devotion to the Games and his newly formed relationship with Lucy Gray was undeniable, and it began to overshadow the connection you had nurtured for what felt like a lifetime. It was disheartening to witness each passing day pull him further into the role of mentor, to see him dedicating hours upon hours to planning strategies, discussing tactics, and offering unwavering emotional support to Lucy Gray.

You yearned to remain supportive, to be the pillar that he had leaned on for so long, but an unsettling feeling gnawed at you, a feeling of slowly but surely being relegated to the outskirts of his life, as if your importance was diminishing.

Your thoughts on Coriolanus and his rapidly growing relationship with Lucy Gray were a storm of conflicting emotions. On one hand, you couldn't help but respect his unwavering dedication to his role as a mentor, his sincere desire to succeed, and his wholehearted commitment to the Games. Yet, on the other hand, a bitter mixture of jealousy and hate welled up within you. Your place in his life was steadily being eclipsed by someone new, someone unique and gifted. While you had never personally known Coriolanus's mother, you had heard numerous stories that depicted her as a paragon of gentleness and a lover of music—traits you found mirrored in Lucy Gray. It was no wonder that Coriolanus held her in such high regard.

This acknowledgment was a bitter pill to swallow, leaving a lingering taste of sorrow. It simply made you wondering where you now stood in Coriolanus's heart.

But the turning point came just few days after the tributes' arrival in the Capitol when the mentors and their pupils were granted access to the Arena. It was a rare opportunity for the tributes to gain insight into the brutal challenge that awaited them, and Coriolanus was determined to provide Lucy Gray the guidance she so desperately needed.

However, as the mentors and tributes wander into the Arena, a sudden wave of chaos shattered the peace. Two deafening explosions rocked the surroundings, plunging everyone into a maelstrom of fear and pandemonium. Coriolanus was one of the few injured, and he was hurriedly transported to the hospital, where his medical condition was taken care of by Capitol’s nurses.

The following day, he gradually woke up from unconsciousness. You had spend a sleepless night, filled with relentless worry, and now, as you sat by his bedside, a mix of emotions swirled within you. Relief flowed over you like a gentle balm, yet it couldn't wholly assuage the profound concern that continued to clutch at your heart.

When you heard what happened in the Arena, you had immediately asked your father to drive you to the hospital. You were consumed by nervousness for Coriolanus, and the misery he endured within the Arena's walls filled you with a sickening dread. The mere thought of it sent unpleasant shivers down your spine.

As his eyes slowly blinked open, meeting yours, a soft and heartfelt smile graced your lips. “You're awake,” you murmured softly, your voice a blend of relief and worry. “How are you feeling? What happened?” The concern in your eyes was undeniable, reflecting the depth of your worry for his well-being.

“Y/N?” Coriolanus croaked in a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat quickly and sought out the hand that belonged to you, gently squeezing it. “Hi,” he said with a forced smile.

The touch of his hand in yours was a silent promise of connection and comfort. You could see the remnants of fatigue and distress in his eyes, but the smile he summoned, even if forced, warmed your heart.

You couldn't help but lean in closer, your voice gentle and filled with compassion. “I was so worried about you,” you confessed, your concern unmistakable in your tone. “What happened in the Arena? Are you in pain?”

Coriolanus's grip on your hand tightened slightly, and he began to recount the harrowing events. He painted a vivid picture of the chaos, the disarray, and the sheer panic that had gripped them when the bombs exploded. His narrative was disturbing, and as he spoke, the weight of the trauma he had endured seemed to settle upon both of you.

After sharing his part of the story, Coriolanus momentarily fell silent, allowing the unspoken question to linger in the air. It was as if he awaited your inquiry about Lucy Gray, the unspoken thread that connected him to the tribute under his wing. But before you could voice your concern, he gently cleared his throat and, in a voice still laced with the remnants of his hoarseness, asked, “How is Lucy Gray? Is she okay?”

“I-I don’t know,” you answered honestly, your brow gently furrowing with concern. The truth was, Lucy Gray hadn't occupied your thoughts even once. In fact, you hadn't even considered your friends that were taking the place of the mentors, let alone the tributes arriving from the districts. Instead, it was all Coriolanus who had consumed your mind, leaving little room for anyone or anything else.

In response to your uncertainty, Coriolanus offered assurance, though it felt like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “She's strong,” he affirmed, the words laden with the weight of his concern for Lucy Gray. “She saved my life,” he added, and the profound gratitude in his voice was palpable, underscoring the remarkable bond that had formed between the two of them.

In the following days, you made every effort to stay close to Coriolanus whenever you could. The recent events in the Arena had deeply affected both of you, and the mere thought of something similar occurring in the Capitol filled you with dread. You genuinely believed, albeit mistakenly, that your presence could act as a protective shield, guarantee his safety.

Your intentions were sincere and born out of concern, but with each passing day, it became increasingly evident that Coriolanus was becoming increasingly annoyed by your constant presence. While at first he may have appreciated your support, the demands of his mentorship duties and the complexities of preparing Lucy Gray for her role in the 10th Hunger Games began to make your company more of a obstacle than a help.

Tensions, which had once been nonexistent, began to mount, and the nature of your relationship with Coriolanus was going through a sudden changes. You found yourself facing the reality that your kindhearted attempts to shield him were, in fact, pushing him further away when your intention had been quite the opposite, to draw closer.

On your special day, your birthday, you had looked forward to finally spending some quality time with Coriolanus. It was a day where you had hoped to enjoy each other's company, seeking a break from his intense mentorship and the relentless demands of the Capitol.

However, as the hours progressed, it became clear that something had shifted between you and Coriolanus. The atmosphere grew heavy with tension, and the warmth that had once defined your relationship seemed to have suddenly faded away.

In a moment of frustration, Coriolanus addressed you with an unusual severity, his words slicing through the silence like shards of ice. “Y/N,” he began, “I can't focus on my tasks with you always around. Your presence is causing disruption and complicating my already challenging responsibilities.”

His words hit you like a heavy blow, causing a deep confusion. It was the first time he had spoken to you with such detachment and coldness, and the realisation that you had become a burden rather than a source of comfort weighed heavily on you.

Puzzled by this sudden change in his behavior, you furrowed your brow and sought clarity. “Hm?” you responded, your voice reflecting your growing uncertainty.

Coriolanus's gaze remained unyielding, his demeanor stern and distant. This was a stark contrast to the Coriolanus you had known, the one who had always been warm and caring.

In an attempt to understand the extent of this transformation, you pressed further. "I don't understand," you began, your voice trembling slightly, “It's my birthday, and I had hoped we could spend some time together.”

The weight of his disapproval and your own sense of isolation bore down on you, as if you stood on the edge of a vast divide that separated you from the Coriolanus you had once known.

After a prolonged silence, Coriolanus finally spoke, his words carrying a chilly detachment that cut deep. “I have responsibilities to fulfill. You must understand that my focus needs to be on my duties as a mentor. Your presence is truly annoying, and I can't afford being distracted.”

Another pause followed before he continued, his gaze unwavering. “You need to grasp that the world doesn't revolve around you, Y/N. You are not the most important person here. You celebrate your birthday every year, but I only have one chance to win a scholarship, and I must seize it.”

The weight of his words pressed upon you, and you couldn't help but asked next question. “Coryo,” you said, your voice wavering with confusion and a deep hurt, “Is being a mentor more important to you than me?”

He met your gaze with an unflinching intensity and replied without hesitation, “Yes.”

The blunt simplicity of his answer cut deeply, leaving you stunned and grappling with a hurricane of emotions. It was as if the ground beneath your feet had shifted, and you were standing on unfamiliar terrain. You had believed that your connection was unbreakable, that your presence in each other's lives was irreplaceable. Now, the stark reality was that his ambitions and duties had eclipsed your place in his heart.

The words echoed in your mind, and you struggled to make sense of what had just come to light. The pain welled up within you, but you didn't cry just yet. Instead, you were left feeling disoriented and wounded, your heart heavy with a sense of loss.

“You need to understand that my future, my education, and my family's reputation all ride on this scholarship. It's an opportunity I can't afford to miss. It doesn't mean I don't care about you, but right now, my focus has to be on the Games and my duties as a mentor,” Coriolanus explained, his tone softer now as he realized the harshness of his previous words, words that you certainly didn't deserve.

You bit your lip, looking down at your shoes and fidgeting with your hands. “I miss you, Coryo,” you admitted, your eyes still avoiding his. “I miss the old you. I can't remember the last time you asked how I was doing, or held my hand. I'm the one worrying about you all the time, and it feels like you're treating me like... like someone you can just hire,” you finally lifted your gaze to meet his, searching for any sign of remorse for the pain he had caused.

But he remained silent, his lips tightly pressed into a thin line.

“I just feel like Lucy Gray has become more important to you than I am,” you continued, your disbelief clear in your voice.

“It's not like that…” he sighed finally.

“And what is it like?”

“Lucy Gray is... she's special, of course she is. She's the only path leading me to victory.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “If she's just a pawn in your game, then why do you look at her like you're falling in love with her more and more every day?”

The question hung in the air, the weight of it pressing down on both of you. Coriolanus's gaze wavered for a moment, as if caught off guard by the directness of your words. It was a question he hadn't fully considered, and the emotional complexity of his feelings was now inescapable.

“I can't explain it, Y/N,” he finally admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. “Lucy Gray is... she's unlike anyone I've ever met. She's captivating in a way I can't fully grasp.”

Your heart felt like it had been ripped from your chest, and you staggered back, away from him, unable to bear the weight of his words.

“So what are you saying now?” you asked, your voice quivering, as though hoping he could provide some clarity.

Coriolanus hesitated, his frustration giving way to a deep conflict within him. He ran a trembling hand through his almost white hair, a sign of the inner chaos that now consumed him.

“I'm saying that things have changed,” he said, his voice trailing off. “I can't deny that Lucy Gray has become a significant part of my life, and it's... complicated.”

The distance between you and Coriolanus had grown into an overwhelming chasm. You took another step back, increasing the physical space between you, though you knew it couldn't stitch the emotional void that now divided you.

“What does that mean for us, Coryo?” you asked, your voice quivering and your heart heavy with sadness and uncertainty. “Are we... Are we over?”

Coriolanus didn't respond immediately, his gaze distant as he searched for an answer in the distance. When his eyes finally met yours again, they held the pain of a man caught between two worlds.

“I don't want to say that, Y/N,” he replied, his voice full of anguish. “But right now, I need to focus on the Games. We can't pretend that things are the same as they were.”

As Coriolanus's words fell heavily between you, the room seemed to close in, and the storm of emotions within you reached a turbulent peak. Your voice wavered, a lump forming in your throat, while tears welled up, blurring your vision. Your heart ached with an amalgamation of anger, betrayal, and a searing sense of loss.

“Is that all, Coryo?” you cried out, your voice breaking, a mixture of anguish and fury lacing your words. “After everything we've been through, everything we meant to each other, it comes down to this? You're just going to cast me aside because of some girl from the Districts? I thought we had something special, something that overstep all this madness.”

Coriolanus's face mirrored your emotions. He extended his hand towards you in an attempt to bridge the growing chasm, but as your trembling form took one more step back, his outstretched fingers hung in the air.

“This isn't what I wanted,” Coriolanus said, the weight of the situation heavy in his voice. “But I can't change it, Y/N. I can't let anything threaten my chances in the Games.”

Your voice, now tinged with bitterness and a mixture of anger and despair. “You know what, Snow? I hope your beloved Lucy Gray meets an end sooner than you now expect,” you spat out, your words dripping with frustration and a sense of betrayal.

With those final, cutting words, you turned away, your shoulders heaving with the weight of your own tears. As you walked away, leaving him alone under the monkey house building, the pain of the crack that had torn through your relationship gnawed at your soul, a wound that may never fully heal.

Your intentions were far from those words; you genuinely wanted the best for him. Yet, in that moment, you realised that the fear of losing might have been the one thing that truly wounded Coriolanus.

part three »

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