Cassiopea

Fanfic writing blog. Requests open! No masterlist yet. 20. Environmental Science major. Multishipper + Multifandom.

[mawofthemagnetar]

What do you mean “chat” is now referring to ChatGPT and not twitch chat? What? What? What the fuck? No?

When I address chat I am speaking to a presumed Greek chorus of real human people shitposting on their lunch break, not a machine that devours lakes to covert electricity into slop.

[bluemuffin-draws]

Grace having the most kissable face

[clacy2812]

Don't worry guys, she's on a mission, she'll be fineeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

[goofy-art]

I was bored at this point

[supercorpkid]

Hello, I'm... not Kara Danvers

Supergirl. Baby Danvers. Kara Danvers. Alex Danvers. Winn Schott. Cat Grant. James Olsen. Lena Luthor. Supercorp.

Word Count: 3k.

Your entire life you have had people telling you that you look like Kara.

You never correct them. You also never quite understand them, nor agree. You just nod because explaining would take too long and still not land. How do you explain that sharing a bone structure doesn't mean you share the gravity that pulls a room toward her the moment she enters?

How do you explain that Kara glows? Like a frequency she emits. A radical, unfiltered authenticity that forces the brain to pay attention. Sunlight doesn't just recognize her; it’s an accomplice.

You don’t do that. You arrive quietly. You are competent, and calm, and profoundly unremarkable. A quiet, gray background that you’ve always considered a kindness to the world.

So when Alex asks you, with a straight face of someone who would never joke about it, you almost laugh, but you don't because, well…

Your sister is hurt. Kryptonite, ugly and green and unfair. She needs time under the sun, time the city doesn't want her to have because they still expect its guardian angel to show up on time. Entitlement is a hell of a drug.

Alex stands in front of you with that look she gets when she’s already out of options. The one that says she’s not asking because it’s a good idea, but because it’s the only one left.

“Just until she’s better,” Alex says. “Mostly flying. People won’t see your face.”

That part, you can almost believe. Supergirl is a blur. A streak of red and blue against the sky. A symbol more than a person. You can be a symbol. You can follow a script. You're good at that.

That isn't the part that stops you. What stops you is the 'and.' There is always one with Alex. “Also, Cat’s already asking questions, because the thing she loves most about Kara is that she doesn't get sick. If we don't do something she might figure this out.”

“Wait, what?”

“I just don't want her to come sniffing around. You know how Cat is, it won't be hard for her to put two and two together.”

You stare at her.

“So your solution is sending me to CatCo dressed as Kara?” you ask, because surely she misspoke. Surely this is where the physics of the lie stops working.

Alex exhales, long and tired. “I mean, yeah.”

“Alex!” You can't help the laugh bubbling in your stomach. “You're joking, right?” Except she doesn't look like she's joking.

“I would never joke about that.”

“So you think she might come to the conclusion that Kara is Supergirl, but not to the conclusion that I'm not Kara?” 

You're met with silence, like she doesn't even have to answer that one. And goddamn it, she truly doesn't. Cat won’t question something given, but she would absolutely bring the world down to find out something she shouldn't.

Still, you shake your head because this one is impossible. You can wear the clothes, sure. Glasses, cardigan, that particular hopeful slouch. But the light? The thing people recognize before they even know they’re recognizing it? You don’t have that.

“It won’t work,” you say. You’re thinking of micro-expressions, the tilt of a chin, the way Kara’s posture is an invitation while yours is a boundary. “This isn't about looking alike, Alex. You’re asking a shadow to pretend it’s the source of the light. People will know.”

“Maybe.” She bites her mouth, in deep thoughts. “But isn't it worth the shot?” Then she says, very quietly, “You know that Kara would do it for you without a second thought.”

It’s a cheap move. A tactical strike against the one part of your logic that doesn't hold up: it's Kara. Kara would trust you with her identity as if it were a borrowed sweater, certain it would come back unharmed. She has a pathological inability to see the risk in the people she loves. It’s her most dangerous trait, and the one Alex is using to dismantle your defenses.

You close your eyes.

You think of your sister under the sun, healing slowly, stubbornly, hating every second of being still. You think of the city that believes in her. You think of how much easier it is to protect someone else than it is to protect your own carefully constructed idea of yourself.

“Give me that stupid cardigan.”

Famous last words. Or at least, they’ll look good on the autopsy report of your social life.

You don’t go to CatCo first. That would be suicidal.

You need a controlled environment. A stress test. A place where Kara exists in muscle memory more than scrutiny.

So you go to Noonan's.

You stand outside for a second longer than necessary, checking the assembly. You did the uniform correctly. Glasses. Cardigan. Sensible shoes. Hair tamed into something soft and well-meaning. You even practiced the posture in the mirror, shoulders slightly rounded, like you’re always on the verge of saying excuse me.

"Come on. You can do it.” You whisper to yourself, forcing one foot in front of the other. “For Kara.”

You step into line.

This is the moment, you think. This is where the universe corrects itself. Someone will squint. Someone will frown. Someone will say something, someone will—

“Kara!” the barista calls, already smiling, already reaching for a cup. “The usual?”

Your brain stutters.

There’s a very specific kind of vertigo that comes with being mistaken for someone you love. Not the fun kind. It’s the sensation of stepping onto a stair that isn’t there and discovering, too late, that gravity has opinions.

“Uh,” you say, eloquently.

The barista doesn’t even blink. She’s writing K-A-R-A in aggressive marker, the same way she always does, like this is just any other day.

“Muffin too?”

You nod.

“Eight seventy-five.”

You give her the money. Tip her like Kara always does and your coffee appears, exactly the way Kara likes it and exactly how you hate. You take it with a quiet thank you that sounds close enough to hers to make your throat ache.

You look around before stepping out and every face feels like a loaded gun, until you realize none of them are aimed at you.

A waiter bumps into your shoulder and mutters, “Sorry, Kara,” like it’s punctuation. That’s when it lands.

They’re not fooled because you’re convincing. They’re fooled because they’re not looking. This was supposed to be impossible. Supposed to fail spectacularly. You built your certainty on the idea that Kara is unmistakable. That her light announces itself. But somehow it worked.

And now you have to take this Halloween costume of your sister to CatCo and hope they don’t look twice either.

CatCo feels wrong the second you step inside it.

Not hostile. Not suspicious. Just… indifferent. Like a machine that doesn’t care what you are, only that you keep moving in the right direction. Kara belongs to that rhythm. You don’t. You feel it immediately, the way your pulse jumps, the way your body braces like it’s about to be corrected.

You barely make it past the doors before James is there, already talking, already wound tight.

“I swear, it was perfect,” he says, thrusting his camera toward you. “Perfect light, perfect angle, and then—” He exhales sharply. “—and then the sun moves and ruins everything.”

He stops because you stop.

“Now guess what? I have to stay all day on the top of that building to take another one.”

You nod. You make the appropriate sympathetic sound. Your chest is loud. Too loud. Surely he hears it.

He doesn’t.

James sighs, already turning away, frustration reclaiming his attention like gravity. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

Funny. He’s a man who makes his living through a lens, though he doesn't once look at your face. And yet you can't help the way your stomach drops so fast it feels like freefall.

“KIERA.”

The name cracks across the bullpen, sharp and inevitable.

Cat Grant stands in her office doorway like a summons made flesh. Sunglasses on. Judgment fully operational. Her gaze sweeps the room, catches on blonde hair, glasses, cardigan.

Locks.

“My office. Now.”

Your feet move before your brain catches up. You follow her in, heart galloping, palms already damp. This is it. This is where it breaks. You’re too stiff. Too careful. You don’t belong in this room. You are not Kara.

“Two days,” she says, pacing. “Two days without notice, without explanation, and suddenly you materialize like this is a suggestion-based workplace.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Your tongue feels thick, uncooperative.

“I don’t care,” Cat continues, slicing the air with a hand. “Whatever excuse you’ve rehearsed, save it. I need this week's copy by the end of the day, and I need you to get a quote from Lena Luthor that isn’t a waste of ink.”

“Yes, Miss Grant.” you say, because that’s what your body supplies.

She turns then, looks directly at you.

This is the moment. This is where she sees it. The absence. The lack. The missing thing. Your heart is almost exploding in your chest. You're sure you're sweating through your clothes.

Her expression doesn’t change.

“Stop looking at me like a deer caught in red light, and move. You're not on vacation anymore.”

You do. You walk out on legs that feel borrowed, like they might give you back to the floor at any second.

You make it to Kara’s desk and sit down hard. The mess on her desk is organized in the same chaotic hierarchy as your childhood bedroom. The phone is broken as if she grabbed it too hard. And you kind of want to do the same right now.

“Kara, man.” Winn turns around.

Your heart slams so hard it hurts. You turn slowly, already rehearsing the collapse. He squints at you. Studies you. Really studies you. Your skin prickles.

“Did you do something different to your hair?”

Your breath catches. 

“I—”

“I like it,” he says immediately, smiling, already swiveling back to his screen. “Very you.”

Just like that, it’s over.

Your heart is still trying to escape your ribcage, but underneath the fear, something else settles in. Not relief. Something worse.

Confidence.

Ten minutes.

Ten whole minutes inside CatCo, and no one questioned you. Not James, who makes a living noticing details. Not Cat Grant, who lives to smell blood in the water. Not even Winn, who knows Kara well enough to notice when she changes her shampoo.

You were scared to face Lena Luthor when Cat said you had to go there, but right now? You're sure you can do it.

Sure she is Kara's best friend, but she is also brilliant and busy and wrapped in a thousand thoughts, so she probably won’t look twice. It seems that people never do when they know what to expect. And this makes it the easiest magic trick in the world.

Just don't tell Alex that. 

L-Corp doesn’t stop you. Of course it doesn’t. The guards barely glance up. Kara Danvers is a constant here. Trusted. Familiar. Waved through without friction.

The elevator ride is too smooth. Too quiet. Your heart lodges itself somewhere behind your teeth as you stare at the numbers climbing, rehearsing nothing because there is nothing to rehearse. Kara belongs here.

Lena’s office feels different today. Or maybe it's just you.

She’s at her desk, head down, fingers moving fast over her tablet, hair falling forward in that way that always feels a little too intimate to witness. For a heartbeat, you almost forget why your chest hurts.

“Hi, Lena.”

Your voice lands perfectly. Too perfectly.

She hums, distracted, still buried in whatever she's doing on that screen. “Hey, just give me one sec—”

Then she looks up. The pause isn’t dramatic; it’s computational. A fraction of a second where her brain registers the visual input, compares it to the internal map she has of Kara, and finds the error. Her expression goes blank like a system rebooting.

Her eyes move over you. Glasses. Cardigan. Kara. Then they narrow, just slightly. Your stomach drops.

“Why are you dressed as Kara?”

The floor does that awful thing where it seems to fall away without warning.

“I—” Your tongue trips. You swallow. Try again. “Sorry?”

Lena leans back in her chair, studying you now with full attention, like she’s turned a light on in a dark room and isn’t afraid of what it might reveal.

“You’re wearing her clothes,” she says evenly. “You’re standing like her. You even said hello the way she does when she’s trying not to interrupt me.”

Each word lands clean and precise, no wasted motion.

Your pulse roars. This was supposed to be safe. This was supposed to be instinct and familiarity and the one place you wouldn’t have to try. Instead, it’s the one place where trying won’t save you.

“What’s going on?” she asks, quieter now. “Where is Kara?”

Something in your chest gives way. Not because you’ve been caught, but because of how effortlessly she knew. Like recognizing a voice you love in a crowded room. Like instinct that doesn’t need proof.

Your shoulders drop, just a little. The lie finally sloughs off, exhausted.

“I’ve been trying my hardest,” you admit, the words barely holding together.

“To do what?” Her head tilts. “Pretend you’re her?”

You nod, weakly. 

“Y/N, what is happening?”

Hearing your name is like being hauled out of deep water. It’s the sharp, burning relief of being a person again, instead of a performance. You sink into the chair across from her, lungs burning, and it takes a minute before you can explain everything. Alex. The city. The lie that snowballed faster than anyone could stop it. When you finish, Lena just stares at you.

“You’re joking,” she says finally, disbelief threading through the words. “And everyone fell for it?”

You shrug, helpless. “You didn’t.”

Her expression softens, but her gaze stays steady.

“I always notice Kara,” she says. Then, more quietly, “And of course I’d notice if someone else were trying to be her.”

That’s when it really hits you. Not that you failed. But that Kara Danvers is not invisible here. Not interchangeable. Not reducible to clothes and habits and a smile people expect.

The question slips out before you can stop it, “Why? Why do you always notice her?”

Lena blinks, caught off guard. Doesn’t answer right away. Her fingers tap once against the arm of the chair, a small, restless tell you’ve seen a hundred times and never catalogued until now. 

“That’s… not a simple question.” 

You huff out something that might almost be a laugh. “Figures.”

Her mouth curves, just barely, but her eyes stay serious. 

“Kara is very good at being seen,” Lena says. “But not in the way people think.” She gestures vaguely, like she’s brushing aside a cliché. “Not the smile. Not the clumsiness. Not even the optimism, though God knows that’s loud.”

She stands, looking at you, looking around.  “She notices everything. People. Their moods. The way a room shifts when someone walks in upset and pretending they’re not. She sees that, and then she… responds to it. Adjusts. Softens. Makes space.”

Your throat tightens. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath.

“She looks at me,” She turns her back to the window, her voice dropping to a secret. “like I’m something worth understanding. Not fixing. Not fearing. Understanding.”

The word hangs there between you, fragile and exposed.

“That’s why I notice her, because when someone looks at you like that, you don’t forget it. You feel the absence immediately.”

You swallow. Hard.

“So I failed the vibe check,” you say weakly. “Didn’t laser-focus my love at you.”

Lena exhales a short, surprised laugh, the tension cracking just a little. “You were very convincing,” she admits. “Technically. If I hadn’t known her as well as I have, if I hadn’t—” She stops herself, shakes her head. “Never mind.”

“No, finish.” you say, too quickly. You think you know where she is going, but you can't just infer it. Not something this big. This life-changing. 

Lena hesitates.

“If I hadn’t fallen in love with her by accident,”

The words land softly. That’s somehow worse.

She looks at you when she says it, not the floor, not the window, not some safer middle distance. Straight at you, eyes steady, unflinching, like truth is a thing she’s long since stopped apologizing for.

“And then on purpose. If I hadn’t catalogued her the way you catalogue something you’re afraid to lose. Something that felt right for the first time in your life.”

"Lena,” You don't mean to sound pitiful, but that's how your voice comes out, “I'm guessing she doesn't know?”

“No, I—I haven't found the words yet.”

“Well, you should use those ones. They were very good.” The laugh that follows is startled and genuine. A sudden, necessary break in the heavy atmosphere. Lena bites her lower lip, a flicker of the 'human' beneath the 'Luthor' showing through.

“Maybe.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy but not hostile. A shared understanding settling into place like dust after a collapse. For a long moment, the only sound is the low hum of the L-Corp ventilation. You feel the weight of what she just gave you and you feel how heavy it is to carry it in a borrowed cardigan.

“Well,” you say eventually, “before I go… I still need a quote from you for CatCo, or Cat Grant might actually realize I’m an imposter.”

She straightens, CEO posture snapping back into place. “Alright. I’ll do you a favor, if you keep my feelings a secret.”

“It dies with me.” You pause, logic catching up. “Actually, for the sake of your psychological well-being, I hope it doesn’t. But that’s your decision, not mine.”

You walk out knowing the lie was never strong enough to survive this kind of love. And that Kara needs to wake up. If not to end this for you, then to start something new for herself.

[picnikwoods]

Kanao returning home from the Final Selection

At first I dismissed this idea because I thought Kanae already died when Kanao was taking the Final Selection, but then I saw this panel and was surprised to see her wearing her uniform and Shinobu with her second set of bangs! I thought she grew them only after Kanae died.

[cassieopeauh]

I can’t write any fanfics until at least December cause chemistry 101 is kicking my ass also my school removed fall break and all other breaks. I’m fucking losing it.

[andry-di]

Just normal girls sleepover behavoir according to scientific meta-analysis

[aoncoina]

AU where Daphne doesn't die and goes to Earth with Bloom to raise her in Gardenia

[thefangirl-16-blog]

WHO WILL WIN

[cassieopeauh]

Stake to the Heart

Pairings: Mary (Sinners) x Fem!Reader (Established relationship)

Summary: Mary goes off to seduce and kill a drunk guy to feed herself and Y/n. Y/n waits in the woods for Mary to come back with dinner. A vampire hunter sees Mary and Y/n and goes after Y/n to kill her. Mary kills the hunter but Y/n is badly injured. Will she survive??? (Jk she lives I’m not cruel enough to kill off Mary’s forever gf)

Word Count: 2k-ish

Warnings⚠️: Lots of gore yall. Blood. So much blood. Gunshot wound. Silver bullet burning away constantly self-healing flesh. Strangling. Stabbing/Staking. Throat ripping. Eye gouging. Description of a dying/dead body. Reopening newly healed wound and cutting away flesh in order to remove a bullet. Punching. Kicking. I think that’s it. Maybe just a smidge of suggestive content I don’t remember.

A/N: idk if all of what I wrote conforms to the sinners vampire lore/vampire rules. For the sake of the plot let’s ignore any minor plot holes plz 🙏. Also reader’s appearance is unspecified but is written as a woman.

The humid Mississippi air hung thick beneath the Spanish moss that dangled from the branches of the oak and sweetgum’s that lined the empty dirt road. Two figures cloaked in shadows strolled along at a leisurely pace with their hands intertwined.

“You smell them magnolias darlin’?” Mary asked her current company.

You tilted your head up and towards Mary and her pale pink clad frame. The white buttons adorning the front of her dress reflected the soft moonlight peaking through the clouds.

“Yes, what about it?” You asked keeping your eyes on hers and waited for an explanation while you both kept your pace towards your destination.

“Means we’re gettin’ close is all. Front of the buildin’ is lined with em.” You nodded with a hum in response as you took in a deep breath to savor the sweet smell of magnolia blossoms.

The two of you were on your way to a bar on the outskirts of the town you were in. Those who got blackout drunk and tried to stagger their way back made easy victims of themselves for bloodthirsty creatures like yourselves.

“Now when we get there, I don’t want you goin’ after the first drunk fool you see. You leave everything to me and I’ll make sure you get to feed.” She spoke in a low voice with a slight smirk while looking at you.

It wasn’t that you were incapable of catching your own prey, even though you were only a vampire of 5 years you were still capable of taking care of your vampiric needs. Mary simply had a tendency to provide feeding opportunities for you herself. Using this as a way to keep you away from the handsy men in situations that required seducing prey and luring them into the shadows and ripping out their throats.

You smiled a bit knowing that there was no arguing with her over this, yet finding comfort in her protectiveness.

“Alright Mary, I’ll be waitin’ on you behind the buildin’ in the woods. Don’t you be late now” You untangled your hands to wrap your arm around hers and lean into her side as the cicadas droned on in the trees.

“I would never keep you waitin’ darlin’.” She said with a smile as she gave top of your head a quick peck.

With the summer wind in the grass and the lightning bugs in the trees the two of you carried on towards your soon to be hunting grounds.

————————————————————————

“Heyyy there prettyyy girl!” A drunken man outside of the tavern called out to the two of you in a slurred manner.

Mary shot a sly smile at you before turning around and sauntering over to towards the man.

You gave her a nod and then turned to walk behind the building and into the woods where you would be waiting for her.

“What you two fine ladies doin’ walkin’ around— heyyyy? Where’s your friend off to?? I’ve got enough to go around—“ His terrible flirtations were cut off abruptly.

“Oh don’t you worry. See, I just wanted to talk you alone. I don’t really like sharin’.” The man was too wasted to notice the way her eyes flashed silver as she came close and rested her hand on his chest.

This would be all too easy.

Mary had been all too focused on charming the man into taking him somewhere more private to notice the cowboy hat wearing bouncer that had been watching the two of you from his post. With a look of distain, he walked off in the direction you had gone just minutes before. A holster on his belt and a wooden stake inside his jacket.

————————————————————————

Dry pine needles mixed with oak leaves crunched under your feet as you walked into the woods line. Far enough into the shadows that anyone from the road couldn’t see you, but you could see them.

You found a nice dry spot to lay down and take in the night as you waited for Mary. A whippoorwhil call echoed into the darkness around you. Crickets and cicadas created that familiar nighttime southern orchestra of insect noises.

You closed your eyes and listened to the spring peepers sing out to the world from their homes in the nearby marsh.

You were so enraptured with the sounds of the night that your enhanced hearing didn’t pick up on the quiet calculated footsteps behind you.

One loud crunch had you whipping your head around to the sight of the barrel of a gun being pointed at your head. The gun was held by a man dressed in a leather jacket with a cowboy hat atop his head. His eyes showed pure distain.

Your reaction time was too slow to move completely out of the guns range.

BANG.

The hiss from the tip of the pistol mixed with the sounds sizzling flesh, coming from where the silver bullet was lodged into your right lung

You let out screams of agony as your writhed in pain on the ground while clutching and clawing at your chest. Trying and failing to pull the metal out of your wound.

“You filthy bloodsucker” he spat out in a low, gruff voice as he pounced on you to hold you down, while pulling a wooden stake from inside his jacket and attempting to stab you through the heart.

Through your tears of pain you realized what he was going to do and fought back. Grasping the stake and pushing back as he tried to push his weight to drive it into your chest. From your position underneath him you knee’d him in the stomach and knocked the stake out of his hands in his moment of pain.

Slashing at his face and attempting to bite his exposed flesh caused him to shove a rag in your mouth. You tried to break free and get up, but he punched you back down. He wrapped his calloused hands around your throat and pushed his thumbs into your trachea, his breathing angry and ragged.

“Your fuckin’ kind killed my girl” He spat in your face. Your lack of oxygen from your airway being cut off along with the fact that one of your lungs currently had silver burning away the flesh as it tried to mend itself left you suffocating and helpless as your vision started to cloud at the edges.

The man reached back for where you had thrown the wooden stake and tried once more to drive it into your heart, but your arms shot up once again and tried to keep the stake from piercing your skin. You cried out as the man’s strength overpowered you in your weakened state as the stake slowly inched its way into your chest.

Crimson blood seeped around the splintering oak and stained your dress.

Just as the man was about to shove the stake the rest of the way past your rib cage and into your undead heart, a guttural growl of rage erupted from the darkness.

“Mary..?” You let out in a strained whisper, muffled around the dirty rag being used to remove the threat of your bite.

Not even a second later the man was torn off of you and pinned to the ground just as he had done to you. Teeth ripping at his throat and sharp nails gouging out his eyes while holding his head down.

The man let out screams of pure, unfiltered agony as his body shook and then stilled as he took his last gurgling breath with blood spurting from his torn arteries.

You laid where you were, vision slowly coming back into focus. Crying and tensing from the excruciating pain you were experiencing. Your sounds of pain from behind the rag called Mary to your side and away from the man’s corpse.

“No… no no no. Darlin’ you have to stay with me. I… I just gotta-“ With shaky hands, Mary pulled the stake from the shallow wound in your chest, running a hand through your hair as you yelped in pain.

She quickly tore off a strip of her dress and packed the cloth into the wound, attempting at packing to stop the bleeding while your vampiric flesh ever so slowly knit itself back together.

Seeing the filthy rag lodged in your mouth she pulled it out and allowing you to better breath and speak once more.

“M-Mary.. g-AH.. ughnn.. the silver… there’s goddamn… ghhh..s-silver in my lung-“ Each pause in your words was punctuated by another whimper of pain.

“Alright- okay- just.. just let me get it out now… ju-just stay still baby.” She spoke as her hands drifted below the stake wound and tore away your clothing to get a look at the soft pink flesh from the freshly healed entry wound.

With shaky breaths and teary eyes she looked up to meet your eyes as she realized what she would have to do.

You nodded to her and threw your head back with your eyes screwed shut in anticipation.

(Major gore warning ahead)

Mary extended her claws out on her dominant hand. With her pointer finger acting as a scalpel, she cut in a circular motion and tore a cylinder of flesh out.

Screams ripped through you, hurting your burning lungs even further. Your body moved against your will. Instinct to survive trying to move yourself away from the ungodly torture.

“No… baby… I’m so sorry baby… you gotta stay still.” Her unoccupied hand pinning you by the hip to stop your writhing. Mary let out a small sob as she continued to dig her way towards your lung.

Blood. Your blood. It coated her hands. Mary had never hated doing something more than in that moment.

Finally, she felt something small and hard within your flesh. Just as she clasped it inbetween her fingers, she too felt the burning sensation caused by the silver.

Mary cringed in pain, but didn’t dare let go as she pulled the metal from your body and quickly tossed it in the direction of the man’s corpse.

Your screams had stopped but you continued to cry. Mary tore off yet another strip from her ruined dress and packed it into the wound she created.

“I… I was waitin’ for you and… and he got the jump on me… Mary I was so scared.” Your voice quiet. The last part nearly inaudible.

“Shhh.. shhhh… it’s okay… I should’ve never let you go off by your self I should’ve never… he could’ve…” Her voice trailed off.

She bent down to gently embrace you. Tucking her face into the crook of your neck and running the hand she had just used to cut you open over your hair.

“I ain’t never gonna let somethin’ like this happen to you again.” Her voice was steady this time and deadly serious. Her grip on you tightened just a bit.

You brought your hands up around her shoulder and neck and shut your eyes. Heart occasionally skipping a beat as the aftershock of what had happened set it.

“I love you Mary.” It was the only thing you could think to say in the moment.

Her grip relaxed as she pulled back to look at you, her eyes glinting a slightly reddish silver. With closed eyes, she leant forwards and let her forehead rest against yours, noses brushing against each other.

“I love you too darlin’.” She connected your lips in a slow and loving kiss.

She was never going to let anyone hurt her girl again. No matter the cost.

A/N: I might make a part two to this if I can find the time between my summer classes and life 😔

[unholyhelbig]

need another mary x reader babe🌚 ur fics are so good omg

Title: The Demon of the Delta

Part One | Part Two| Part Three| Main Masterlist

Ship: Female!Reader x Mary (Sinners 2025)

Summary: Mary confides in reader that only one thing makes her feel alive anymore, and detrimental choices must be made to maintain their relationship.

Dt💕: @luciferdidwhat, @thinking1bee

Warnings: Blood, biting, cannon-typical violence, pet names (Darling, sweet girl, all the fun southern dialects), Strap on riding (Mary Recieving), dom/sub tones, use of good girl, blood drinking, violent deaths, references to serial killers, dismemberment (?), brutal deaths, mentions of fatal illness, religious trauma. SO MUCH RELIGIOUS TRUAMA, angst/ fucking/ and then more angst & awful grammar.

[A/n: Okay, Okay, I saw Sinners for a third time and I really needed to lean into the angst here. I never really write it, so I had to put some smut in there too. Maybe I added too much angst but I have mommy issues okay?]

“What are we doing here, Mary?” It felt like sacrilege. It was easier to keep your eyes on the surrounding woods; large oak trees that dripped with spanish moss, tousled by the gentle warm breeze offered from the nearby open water. When you were young, not older than six, you believed that the dry, stringy, plant was hair draped delicately over large branches. Women stretching out against bark to enjoy the sun and the moon just the same. 

The short-lived silence of the south seemed to follow the two of you like a cloak of darkness. You’d never known true quiet, not here. Not when there was a curtain of crickets and bullfrogs scattered throughout these woods. But, they sensed what you were. The evil that had crawled into you skin and made a home there. All creatures tended to quiet, and that was the most unnerving part about this. 

Not the church that sat a few feet away, a building you couldn’t enter, even if you wanted to. And you didn’t. All of the myths had proven true thus far, thankfully save for the aversion to reflective surfaces. The last thing a demon such as yourself had any interest in doing was entering the house of the lord. Especially one so dilapidated, so claimed by nature that it’s paneling was being gnawed through by green ivy and moss, and the very bugs that burrowed deeper at the sight of you. 

Unshed tears collected in Mary’s eyes as she peered up at the sloping steeple. Part of the roof had caved in, tilting the entire structure to the left, as if it were sinking slowly into the mud without the rest of the world, reaching out a shaking hand for salvation. It certainly wouldn’t be found in the two of you. 

“Mary,” 

You tried again, in a soft, diligent whisper. Not to push her, to bring her back to you if you could. Your hand found the base of her spine with the ghost of a touch. The contact shocked a breath into her, head turning quickly towards you. Two simple tracks of wetness streaking her cheeks. She made no move to wipe them away. Regarded you as if you were a stranger. 

“Sorry babydoll.” She blinked back into focus, that hard commanding look returned to her eyes as quickly as it had left. “I zoned out there for a minute. Was just enjoyin’ the breeze.” 

Mary let out a rattling breath and turned her attention back to the church, balling her hands into fists and then slowly releasing the hold. “After we die, where do you think we go?” she sniffed, swallowed something heavy in her throat. “Not people, but us. Those of us that have lived much too long and robbed years from others.” 

Hypothetical, it struck you as such. But there was a deep timbre to her voice that told you it wasn’t. You hadn’t thought of your own demise in decades. You didn’t have to. Even before you’d turned into what you are now, when you were surrounded by the beating heart of your family, religion had never played much of a part. 

“My daddy was a good man, but a pariah. The church in town didn’t like our namesake. Still drank our liquor and spit on our floors, but barred the door when it came to worship. We were never fit for the lord. But, he used to say that every choice you make in the present affects what you’ll become in the next. He didn’t believe in good or bad, he just saw things as what they were.” Mary was watching you carefully, shoulders easing just slightly. “I used to tell him that I wanted to come back as a frog in my next life. And who the hell knows if any of that reincarnation talk was true, but it was better than everything being nothing all of a sudden.” 

The damp of her hand found your own, leading you a few steps away from the building to a fallen log. She guided you to sit, did the same, so close that her breath was warm on your neck. You could smell the sweet smoke on her lips from her last cigarette. She kept an iron grip on you, fingers laced, as if you were prone to bolting away from her. Perhaps she was quelling her own urge to tremble. 

You chuckled softly, a poor attempt at a joke “You ain’t going to kill me out here, are you?” 

“Never, darlin’. I would never do that to you.” 

You had managed a small nod at the severity of her voice. Her eyes were the same sea of black that you’d grown akin to, a flash of silver like a coin in the center. But they were heavy with emotion, with sadness, with something you couldn’t quite name. It was a different type of hunger. Something you couldn’t satiate for her, nor could she for herself. 

“You can tell me anything,” 

“I know that. But some things, some things are so vile that I wouldn’t blame you for leavin’ me.” 

Her voice shattered into pieces and it cracked your chest open just the same. You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what she was going to say. It was detrimental, you were sure, if she brought you to a church to confess. You brought her knuckles up to your lips, kissed them, tried to quell the storm that raged so violently inside her. 

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption’ that came by Christ Jesus. Some might argue, “if my falsehood enhances God’s truthfulness and so increases his glory, why am I condemned as a sinner?” 

Mary repeated scripture smoothly. It cut like a good glass of whiskey bubbling in the recesses of your stomach. She was clearly familiar though the two of you, in your many years of cohabitation, had never spoken of religion. Perhaps it was the heady belief that nothing could kill you. That you’d never have to meet your maker. 

“My mama and I would go to church every Sunday until the day she died. By the last few services she was deteriorating, nothing but bone and skin. The cancer had rotted through her to such a degree that I could smell the death on her. Some things you can just smell, even when you’re human and fragile enough to succumb to the same illness.” she squeezed your hand, brief, but clinging. “I think that’s when I stopped believing in a higher power, you know? There was so much time for God to stop what was happening to her. She was in those pews every Sunday wasting away until the pastor came by for her final rights. Still hoping till the end that some miracle would save her, and I always wondered, what kind of an all powerful being would cause such pain to someone so loyal?” 

She shook her head, “Don’t think about it much now, I suppose. Not for me, and not for you, and not for Stack. We’ve survived this long without causing trouble. But I went and fucked that up and I can’t help but worry that if we do have to meet our maker, that he won’t show any type of mercy. Not for our kind. Not when he killed a woman who delivered half the babies in the Delta and nursed them when their own mama’s died.” 

“Mary, darling” You gently took her face in your hands, running your thumbs over the tear-streaked skin. She shivered at your touch. “You are not going to have to face this for a very long time. I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

There was a small, broken, whimper that escaped her chest, her fingers wrapping around your wrists with a casualness that reflected her distress, how close she wanted to be to you. “I’ve hurt so many people.” 

You’d watched Mary sink her teeth into hundreds of necks, had been driven by her hunger in a way that would never truly be extinguished. She was always smattered  in red pulp more than not, and it had never gotten to her before. Centuries of doing the same thing over and over again could make one numb, or it could throw them fully into the sins committed in passing. 

“No, baby. It’s for survival.” 

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you begin to get consumed with this numbness. This nothing that starts as a tiny pinprick and keeps festering like a black hole. And sometimes there are lights, there’s Stack and Sammie and you, my beautiful girl, but they’re just dimmed by that neverending void.” 

Mary clenched her eyes shut, nuzzled into your hand, a trembled whisper. “I found something that helps.” 

Something not someone. You hardly expected Mary to step out on you, both inherently sexual creatures that often participated in exploration together. And you highly doubted that she had found a therapist that worked after hours for the undead folk that wandered the streets of Mississippi. The lack of noise, of sound, started to bother you. 

“What’s happened, Mary?” 

She stood suddenly, too anxious to be close. Her scent had shifted to panic, to worry. A heady pine-like odor that clung much too long to your person. She didn’t retreat from you, just stood and stared, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. Her hands were tucked against her stomach. You couldn’t tell if it was to keep them from clenching or shaking. 

“It was all me.” 

It took you a moment to unfurrow your eyebrows, for the puzzle pieces to fit together. But all the fight left your disposition when the fuzzy picture finally began to form. Four simple words had your stomach clenching in the way that made you want to vomit in the underbrush of the surrounding wood. 

“I’m uh,” You stood on less shaky legs than you anticipated. “I’m going to need a little more context here. Because if you’re saying what I think you’re saying.” 

“I am.” 

“You’re not.” 

Denial had always been your greatest weapon and you would continue to wield it dutifully. It cut through the cold that seeped into your bones. You waited for Mary to crack a smile and tell you she was joking. It was a horrible attempt at humor, but that’s all it was because your Mary wouldn’t dare do this. Instead of speaking, she ducked her head like a kicked puppy, a whimper accompanying her display. 

“You’ve brought me out here to help me understand why you’ve slaughtered a good portion of the Delta?” Your words came out with more venom than intended. Mary had a tendency to match the energy that was thrown out onto the playing field and you’d just doused the grass in acid. Her head snapped up, eyes flashing in indignance. “Is that it?” 

“No! Don’t go puttin’ words into my mouth,” She took a step forward and you took one back. A sardonic laugh escaped her. “What, pet? Are you scared of me now?”  

Your mouth was dry and it hurt to swallow. You couldn’t be near her right now, not in this dilapidated part of the forest with a crumbling church in the foreground. She wanted to talk about good and evil, but there was a thing past evil and you loved her more than words could describe. She was in your veins, in your blood, engraved into you like your DNA was intertwined. 

“No, you’re not. I know how fear colors your cheeks and this is different. What is it?” She lifted a brow, reading you as perfectly as she always had. As she spoke she kept taking measured steps towards you. You matched her pound for pound until your back hit the smooth bark of a looming oak that must have been older than the both of you combined. 

When you didn’t answer her hand came up to your throat, wrapped around it perfectly. Not enough to hurt, but a gentle squeeze that made sure you got your thoughts in order before you dared opening your mouth to speak again. She tilted her head to the side expectantly. 

“This is dangerous.” 

“This is you not answering my question, babydoll. I won’t ask again.” 

“I’m horrified, Mary.” You whispered, her grip loosening, but her hand remained clamped where it was. “But I understand. I think I’ve known this entire time, I was just too damn content to mention anything. I still am. You could tear your way through the other half of the Delta and I’d wash the blood from your skin. Do you understand?” 

Mary let out a shaking breath, gave you a moment to savor the exhale so close to your lips before her mouth was on yours. A startled hum moved through you, body moving in accordance with its own desires. You encircled Mary’s waist with your arms, pulled her as close as she could get, allowed her to swallow all of your small noises of pleasure.

The heel of your boot slid on a patch of mud at the base of the tree. The world tilted and in your haze you scrambled. The only thing in grabbing range was the lapel of Mary’s jacket. The air was knocked out of your lungs when you hit the ground, and the lack of air was knocked out for a second time when Mary landed on top of you.

You couldn’t help laughing. It was a horrible situation. Mary was giggling into your neck and it was hard to imagine this as the creature that had wreaked havoc along the small towns that branched out from Greenwood.

“That was very sexy.” She nosed at your jaw “You’ve never been hotter.”

She bracketed your head with her arms, hovering over you. Exhilaration shot through you like a bullet. There was a smear of mud on her cheek and too much of it coating your back. She pressed her pelvis against your own, let out a small groan.

“Are you packing, doll?”

You blushed dangerously, watching the smirk curve against Mary’s lips. Her hand trailed, worked expertly at the zipper of your pants. Her touch was cold from the elements, from her nature itself. Her floral perfume clouded your throat and your lungs, and the more she touched, the more you forgot about what exactly those hands had done.

She crept down your body, tapped your hip in a silent bid to get you to lift them. You did so, sufficiently dumbed down enough to follow absolutely anything Mary wanted. She was your common-law wife, after all. The justification of in sickness and in health was paper thin, but that didn’t matter too much when Mary’s warm mouth was this close to the last minute toy you decided to grab.

You hadn’t expected her to bring you to a church.

Mary had no qualms. The glowing embers of her eyes never pulled away from your own as she kissed the tip of the flesh-colored strap, pressing with just enough power to make it rub against your slick. A sharp breath sawed at your throat.

“I’m wet enough for you to slide right in like the good fucking girl you are.” She purred, dragging her tongue across the length. You whined, desperate and needy and wishing you were buried inside her. “You interested in fuckin’ me, pet? Makin’ me feel nice?”  

“Yes, fuck, please.”

She pinched your side. “Language! Such filthy things coming from such a beautiful mouth.”

Mary shifted, straddling your waist, hovering directly over you. She was steady, a devilish look in her eyes. You went to buck your hips up, craving some type of friction. But her hand was splayed on your chest, holding you into the mud in the next moment.

“We’ve forgotten our manners, too?”

“I…” You clenched your jaw, breathed out with frustration “I said please.”

“Too bad. I’m not convinced.”

You let your head fall back against the ground, hands resting on her thighs, trailing under the silken fabric of her skirt. She hadn’t worn any panties and was dripping with the pure effort of keeping you properly in your place.

Her skin was cool and smooth and you had the sudden urge to sink your teeth in, lick the blood away. Mary lifted a bro, smiled just enough for you to see the flash of her canines. “Mary I need you; I need to be inside of you, I want you to feel me. Please.”

“Mm, poor thing just wants to be close.”

She was cooing at you one moment and sinking down fully on your hidden length the next. The textured end pressed fully against your clit, making you hiss through your teeth, fingers twitching against her. You couldn’t formulate a word, a for a moment, neither could she, adjusting to the feeling of being filled up.

“M-Mary,”

She was breathless, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Don’t just sit there, work for it.”

She didn’t have to tell you twice. You started slow, rutting into her, an even and torturous affair. A delicious keen pulled from the back of her throat, her head falling back, eyes catching the pale light of the moon.

“Ah, just like that baby. Such a good girl, helping me get off like this.”

She was getting close, the subtle shift of your hips were just teasing enough to bring you there with her. Your breaths were getting punctured, movements more sporadic. Mary started to roll her hips, a low moan escaping her with each bounce.

Her wetness coated your thighs, soaked through the fabric of your pants. You didn’t trust yourself to move your hands from her thighs, to dig them into the slick of the mud. But there was no purchase to be found in either endeavor as your head started to spin.

Mary fell forward, kissing you frantically and rough. It was your turn to mute her sounds with your mouth, swallowing them hungrily. Each time you pumped into her like she desired the closer you got. Anything, you’d do anything to please her.

“I’m going to come,” She whispered desperately into your mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Now seemed like a horrible time to remind her of her langue. She clenched around you, digging her nails into your collarbone with a vicious sting. You climaxed with her, feeling the waves of pleasure rush through you as you held her close, pulled her against your chest as if she was in danger of letting you go. As if you were in danger of losing her entirely.

You shuddered underneath her, whimpering as she continued to ride you, head buried in your neck, breathing you in. The two of you panted against one another, let the moment settle. For a moment, you swore you heard the crickets and the bullfrogs, or perhaps it was the deafening screams of the dead that rushed past your ears.

Mary groaned as she shifted off you, suddenly empty. She had a blissed-out smile on her face, leaning close to press her lips against your own. She kissed you sweetly and slowly, her fingers tracing the edge of your jaw. She made it easy to forget about anything other than her warm body close to your own.

“You were just going to leave?” there was an anger to her words that tightened your shoulders like a wind-up toy. Mary had the disposition of a house cat, creeping close and silently without you picking up on her. It was often her perfume that notified you of her presence. Lately, she did not smell like her own. Lately she smelled like cheap over the counter scents that clung to her skin from her latest violent kill. Vanilla sugar mixed horribly with that of blood. 

One of her shirts was clenched between your fingers, or perhaps it had been yours. Trivial things were harder to remember when the article of clothing was a staple in your closet. You ruined the fold job you’d performed, thumb running over the uneven stitching. Anything to keep your eyes away from her own. 

“I was going to leave a note.” 

Her jaw audibly creaked as she clenched it. That was the wrong, clunky thing to say, but it was the truth and that made it easier to speak out loud. There was a roiling, vicious, pit at the base of your stomach. It burned all the way up your throat until you figured your words would come out as pure white flame. When you faced her, you expected to see anger, insurmountable, instead there was resignation, shoulders slumping under her coat, hands limp at her sides. 

“A…note?” Mary sniffed, shaking her head as she stepped further into your room, eyeing the suitcase on the bed. “Thirty years together and you think a note suffices as a good farewell?” 

You swallowed the sour on your tongue, words whispered. “No, I don’t. But, if I saw you again, I knew I would lose my nerve. That you would give me one look and that would be enough to convince me to stay.” 

“Then stay.” She closed the distance that stretched between you both. It felt longer than it was. Her hands were heavy and warm on your shoulders. “You don’t have to leave, babygirl. I’ll be better, I promise you I’ll be better. No more killing in cold blood. Just me and you again.” 

Mary’s voice cracked and a dampness collected in her eyes. They were reddened from her using her knuckles to drag across the fair skin in a nervous habit, not really itchy and not really discontent. Her bottom lip was on the verge of trembling, so she pulled it between her teeth to preserve something of herself. 

If this decade had proven anything, it was it’s broader introduction to human cruelty. Inhuman cruelty in some cases. A rash of serial killers had overtaken at least one section of every state and it had only become easier for Mary to con her way into homes before ripping through soft tissue and congealed blood. There was no reason to suspect someone like her. They had no clue what she was capable of. 

But you’d seen it. 

Stack had called you from a payphone a few weeks back. You had tangled your fingers in the curled wire of the wall phone as if that was your salvation. Y/n, she’s… you have to come to franklin and fifth. I can’t pull her back. I tried. I can’t. And you had known it was urgent enough to leave the phone dangling against the wall. Stack wasn’t one you had ever heard scared before. The emotion was so far removed from him that you nearly believed it wasn’t him at all. 

He hadn’t told you the house number, but the wretched scent of too much blood led you right to it. You entered without fanfare, the property dilapidated enough to be long abandoned, needing no permission when the home belongs to nature now. You’d found Mary in what was once a grand dining room, working methodically. 

Three bodies, most likely unhoused that were at the wrong place at the wrong time, soaked the wooden floor with pools of blood. She hadn’t just bitten. She’d clenched her jaw around each jugular  and tore it away in large chunks. Her entire front was splattered in red, making her clothes cling to her. 

Your stomach lurched at the sight. She’d bitten off their fingers, let them lay scattered across the room like children's toys. She rejoiced in stripping them of their identities, making sure they knew they were nothing to a predator like her. A small noise pushed past your lips at the thought of her actions taking place while one ounce of life remained. Her head snapped to the side, eyes glowing like rubies in the darkness of an endless mine. A spring rain had started to fall outside, the damp smell permeating the crumbling structure. 

You couldn’t help but think of the church, just months earlier, how it was sinking into the softness of the ground. You had done nothing to stop her. Worse than that, you turned a blind eye and sunk further into the warm embrace that she offered. Because, Mary hadn’t changed with you. She was steadfast with her love and her attention and her promise of eternity. 

Wake her up. You have to wake her up. 

And how do I do that, Stack? If she’s as far gone as you say. 

You take away the thing she cares about the most. 

That night, you’d mulled over the idea. Mary hadn’t put up a fight when you asked her to leave the house on Franklin. Her stare softened at the state of you and smiled with teeth that dripped with gooey bits of flesh. Your chest had clenched at her genuine happiness in your presence. She had stepped over the nearest body as if it were a fallen log in the woods. 

She’d cleaned herself up and was back in bed with you, where everything felt safe and right, as long as you didn’t think about what she had done. What you’d walked into. Her arms encircled you and her nose nuzzled into the small of your neck. She was rightfully exhausted, legs tangled together in the softness of light that barely had a chance to slip through the curtains. 

You’d made up your mind. 

The keys to the car were weighing heavy in your pocket. She’d let you take it without even asking, dusk had just fallen and the roads out of Mississippi would be empty this time of night. But none of that concerned you. Being alone didn’t even concern you. What scared you the most was detaching yourself from the only person who had ever loved you. 

“You’re hurting, Mary.” You ghosted the tips of your fingers over her jaw, felt it tremble under your touch. She moved to nose into your touch, but you’d taken it away as fast as you had given it. “I can’t watch you destroy yourself like this.” 

“I promise I’ll-” 

“No more promises, baby.” She whined something terrible. An ache that tore from the center of her chest and bounced off the walls in the room. The years you’d created together; the countless books and movie posters and polaroids of the two of you. They were fading now, blackening around the edges. If you let yourself soften for even a moment, you would shatter entirely. “You remember what you said to me in the woods that night?” 

Mary sniffed, shook her head. She used the crook of her elbow to wipe away the tears that were streaking down her face, dripping onto the collar of her shirt, wicking into the material. You reached out and took her hand, giving her cold, damp, fingers a squeeze. 

“You said you wouldn’t blame me for leavin’, no matter how painful it is.”

She nodded, somewhat frantically. “I meant it.” 

Again, you squeezed her hand to ground yourself to this moment. You leaned forward and placed a kiss at the very edge of her lips, breathing in the floral, tainted scent of her one last time. When you pulled back, her eyes were closed, she swallowed hard, listened as you grabbed the suitcase on the bed and made your way to the front door. 

“Take care of yourself, Mary.” You tightened your grip on the brass doorknob, couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. “I mean it.” 

Rain had dampened your jacket by the time you got to the car in the back lot. There was a hot, musty, feeling to the interior. Your fingers gripped the steering wheel like a vice. There was a wet hitch in your breath when you finally released it. The exhale turned into a sob, head falling forward. 

You had never known this kind of pain. You just hoped it was enough to bring your Mary back. 

[agathaswoman]

i need more fanfics about Mary from Sinners x reader, please 😩

[ejstrunck]

Character interactions from my personal She-Ra concept development project.

[arialcrow]

‘actually I’m not that obssessed with them anymore,’ I said, like a lying liar who lies

[badlydrawneverafterhigh]

[cassieopeauh]

WIP for a Gelphie x reader love triangle fic around 5k words on the way. This fandom has so little content so I’m doing a public service by creating more fanfics. 😊

[cassieopeauh]

Fic is done btw guys. Ended up being 5100 words. Also forgot to mention it’s like 70% smut lol. Will prob post a part two after finals week when I have time.