#xavier thorpe

[merlina95]

Why do I keep getting upvoted by wenclairs? I HATE THE SHIP MY POSTS ARE NOT IRONIC THEY ARE SERIOUS! Anyway I saw this meme on twitter ( the picture ) and turned it into a video

[super-andromeda]

perv! xavier who watches the way your ass bounces under your skirt, turning his head from the bench he was sat at drawing.

perv! xavier who has a box full of paintings of you, some of your whole naked body.

perv! xavier who watches your tits as you draw a bow, and how they shudder when you release.

perv! xavier who jacks off in the shower at the thought of fucking you just once.

perv! xavier who wonders what else your lips can do.

perv! xavier who makes his paintings of you come real and they dance around him.

perv! xavier who ‘accidentally’ ran into you in the hall, slamming his groin into your ass.

perv! xavier who blackmailed a siren into singing to you, telling you to start liking him.

perv! xavier who notices you look at him and immediately get hard.

perv! xavier who smacked your ass during the poe race, and ran off like it was nothing.

perv! xavier who would finger you for so long and so passionately just to see the look on your face.

perv! xavier who makes you lick your own juices off his fingers.

perv! xavier who dicks you down so good you cant breathe.

perv! xavier who will keep his head between your legs for nearly an hour.

perv! xavier who gropes you infront of everyone.

perv! xavier who saw you leaning over the counter at weathervane talking to tyler, and made you cry and apologise that night, just with his dick.

(requests open!)

ˡᵒᵛᵉ, ᵃⁿᵈʳᵒᵐᵉᵈᵃ 🫶

[thecharacterchronicler]

Shapes, Shadows & Lines || Xavier Thorpe x Reader || (18+)

Outline: You only meant to help Xavier with his sketches. You didn’t expect to find dozens of portraits of yourself hidden in his shed and you definitely didn’t expect to walk back in and catch him messy, desperate, and too obsessed to stop...

Word Count: 5'527

Warnings: aged up characters. Explicit smut including obsession, voyeurism, masturbation, caught in the act, oral sex, and a messy climax.

Author's note // Quick disclaimer: This is about Xavier Thorpe the character, aka Nevermore’s “sad, obsessive artist” archetype. This is definitely not about the actor, whose actions I don’t support. To keep the separation between the actor and the character clear, I’ll always use generic images when posting about him.

The classroom smelled like ink and parchment and dust. Xavier kept his head down, pencil scratching at the page, pretending to care about the nothing he was sketching, pretending not to notice the way the air shifted when you slid into the seat beside him.

Too close. Closer than anyone usually sat.

His grip tightened on the pencil. He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. If he did, he’d give himself away in seconds. Better to hunch lower, let his hair fall forward, act like he hadn’t just gone rigid at the sound of your bag hitting the floor.

“Sorry,” you murmured, adjusting your notes. Your voice brushed over him softer than chalk dust.

His throat worked. “No, you’re fine.”

He meant it. God, he meant it. You were fine, too fine, the kind of fine that made his stomach twist itself in knots. But it came out clipped, awkward, and he kept his eyes on the page like if he stared hard enough at the lines, you’d forget he existed.

For ten minutes he held himself still, every muscle wired tight. Every shift you made in your seat sent sparks racing across his nerves. You probably thought he disliked you, most people did, when he got distant and broody. It was easier to believe he didn’t care than that he cared too much.

Then your pen slipped. A clatter against the stone, rolling just out of reach.

Xavier didn’t think, he reacted. Graphite dust swirled under his hand, smudgy lines lifting from the paper, shaping into fingers, a half-finished sketch-hand that darted across the floor. It caught the pen and laid it back on your desk before collapsing into smoke.

Your breath hitched. “Uh… Thanks?”

Heat flared at the back of his neck, crawling up to his ears. He ducked his head lower, shading furiously like he hadn’t just betrayed himself completely. “Sorry,” he muttered, voice rough. “Just… quicker than watching you crawl under the desk.”

Idiot. Stupid thing to say.

But then you looked at him — really looked — and for one heartbeat he dared to meet your gaze. Soft. Curious. A little startled, but not afraid.

The pencil almost slipped from his fingers. He dropped his eyes fast, hiding behind his hair, scratching nonsense shadows onto the page just so he didn’t have to see the way your lips curved when you whispered back:

“Quicker.”

You spun the pen in your fingers and went back to your notes.

But Xavier couldn’t focus on a single word the professor said. He couldn’t stop replaying the sound of your voice, the flash of your eyes, the thought that you’d glanced sideways at him again, like maybe you’d noticed him after all.

The professor’s voice was a dull hum, nothing but background noise. He let his pencil keep moving, lines crossing lines until the paper was nearly black. Better that than look at you, sitting right there, chewing on your pen like you didn’t know what it was doing to him.

“Are you even paying attention?” you whispered.

His grip tightened, but he didn’t stop sketching. “Are you?”

“At least I’m pretending to.”

The corner of his mouth twitched before he could stop it. He hated how easy it was for you to drag that out of him. “Pretending’s a waste of energy.”

You rolled your eyes, shoved your notes closer to him just to annoy him. His chest went tight.

“So is whatever you’re doing instead of learning.”

“Art,” he said flatly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh please, you’re probably just doodling little skulls and bats in the margins.”

His pencil froze, just for a second. Then he slammed the sketchbook shut so fast it rattled the desk. “Not skulls.”

Your brow lifted, curious, and he felt his stomach sink. He’d given himself away.

The bell saved him. Students scraped their chairs back, the professor’s voice chased them out with reminders about tomorrow’s assignment. Everyone rushed to the door, except him. He gathered his things slowly. But he was tired, distracted, and when he finally slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped away, he left his sketchbook behind.

“Seriously?” your voice murmured, the rustle of paper flipping open stabbing straight through him.

His blood iced. He spun back, lunging for the book, panic choking him. “Don’t…”

Too late.

Your eyes were wide, scanning the pages he’d ruined with you — dozens of you, or almost you—your mouth too sharp, your eyes too dark, hair smudged into shadows. Every failed attempt was laid bare.

“Is this… me?”

Heat burned his face, crawling down his neck. His hand flexed helplessly at his side. “It’s… uh, they’re not good.”

“They’re everywhere.” You turned another page, another face that almost matched yours but not quite. “Why?”

His chest caved inward. All the shame he carried every time he picked up the pencil welled up at once. He dropped his gaze, voice rough. “Because I can never get it right. I see things when I draw, visions, but never of you. Ever. So I try, and it never…” He swallowed hard, frustration twisting the words.

“And… is that bad?”

He forced himself to look up and meet your eyes. His voice was lower, sharper now. “Not bad, just abnormal. I have visions all the time, about everyone, everything… But not you.”

You tried to laugh it off, but it fell thin in the air. “Well, maybe you just can’t have a clear vision of me because you never really look at me.”

Something in him snapped at that. His jaw locked, his hand clenched tighter around the strap of his bag.

“I do look at you.”

The words came out raw. The truth pulled straight out of his chest like it couldn’t be stopped.

And when you blinked, caught off guard, he felt the shift. The weight of it landing between you. For the first time, you believed him. The silence after his words pressed down heavier than the stale classroom air.

You hugged the sketchbook to your chest, pulse racing, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t even tried to take it back.

“Well… clearly not enough if you can’t get my nose right.”

His mouth twitched, almost a smile, but it slipped away. He wanted to tell you he’d memorized the slope of your nose, the exact angle of it in different lights, the way it wrinkled when you laughed, but all that came out was: “It’s not your nose.”

“What then?”

His eyes betrayed him, flicking down to your lips, your throat, back up again. He swallowed. “It’s everything. You never come through clear, it’s like you’re… blurred out on purpose.”

He wanted you to laugh, to tease him, to call him dramatic and ridiculous and shove the sketchbook back at him. He didn’t want you to look at him the way you were now, chest tight with something he couldn’t name, because it made hope claw up through his ribs in a way that terrified him.

“Maybe you’re just overthinking it,” you said lightly. “You’re trying too hard. Maybe if you just… ”

“Just what?” His voice came out hoarse, like the words scraped his throat raw.

“Maybe if you drew me while I was really there. Not a memory, not a vision, just me.”

The world tilted.

For a second, he thought he’d misheard you. The look on your face was open, unguarded, like you didn’t understand that you just offered him to let him watch you, study you, capture you in a way his visions never allowed, shamelessly.

It was dangerous. A gift he didn’t deserve.

And yet, when he found his voice, all he could do was nod, breath shaky. “You’d… do that?”

“Sure.” You shrugged like it was nothing, like his heart wasn’t slamming against his ribs. “Why not? Might as well help you get my nose right.”

That twitch of a smile returned, softer now, nervous and fragile. He looked away before you could read too much in his face, before you could see how fast his pulse was hammering, how badly his hands shook.

He told himself he’d wait, that dragging you into his shed straight after class would scream desperation but when you nodded when he suggested you did, when you said “yeah, why not,” it short-circuited something in him. So he brought you here. His place. His sanctuary… His prison.

And now you stood there in the patch of light like you belonged, your hands folded against your chest, your skirt riding just high enough to undo him.

Xavier forced his eyes up, anywhere but the curve of your mouth or the hollow of your throat. He couldn’t let you see it. The walls were covered in sketches, monsters and failed versions of you he hid under black stained cloths.

“What are these?”

His chest seized. Two steps, and he was in front of the wall, tearing a badly hidden portrait of you down, burying it under the stack. His voice came sharper than he meant. 

“Nothing. Just… practice sketches. Ignore them.”

The heat crept up his neck again as you nodded, but he could feel your eyes still on him, like you didn’t quite believe him, like you saw too much already.

“Here,” he muttered, dragging the stool under the light. He didn’t give you a chance to argue. “Sit.”

And you did. That killed him the most; you didn’t even hesitate. You sat like you trusted him, like he wasn’t one breath away from falling apart.

He opened the sketchbook, pencil poised, but his hand didn’t move. He just stared at you, at the way the sunlight caught on your cheekbone, at the line of your throat when you tilted your chin, at the subtle dip of your waist where your blouse folded.

You shifted, fidgeting, breaking the spell. “Well? What do I do?”

“Just… stay still.” His voice was too tight, cracking at the edges. He adjusted the stool an inch, like that mattered, like any angle would make this safer. “And don’t… don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He shook his head fast, ducking over the page, forcing the pencil down. “Like you’re waiting for me to mess up.”

The scratch of a pencil filled the silence, but it wasn’t enough to cover his pulse hammering in his ears. He couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking up, couldn’t stop them from catching on the soft part of your lips, the edge of your skirt, the rise and fall of your chest. Every time, he dragged them back down to the page, furious with himself.

But you felt it. He knew you did.

You shifted again, and the fabric of your skirt inched higher on your thighs. The air left his lungs in a rush.

Stop staring. Stop staring.

He pressed the pencil harder into the page until the lead nearly broke but still his gaze climbed back up, helpless, caught on the sunlight sliding down your collarbone. And you smiled, just slightly, like you knew… Like you were doing it on purpose. He drew the outline of your lips, your neck, graphite grinding too dark into the paper. His hand twitched lower, sketching toward the line of your skirt before he yanked it back to your face.

“What?” you asked, head tilting.

The words spilled raw, low, dangerous. “Clothes always get in the way of… shapes. Lines. Shadows.”

The second he heard himself, his blood went cold. His grip tightened on the pencil. 

Stupid idiot.

You raised a brow, slow and wicked. “What, you want me to strip for your art?”

Color flooded his face so hot it hurt. “No, I mean… Forget I said that.” He bent hard over the page, scribbling like he could bury the words in graphite, smear them into nothing but the air was ruined now, stretched taut and humming with heat.

You crossed one leg over the other, pretending it was casual. His gaze flickered, quick, guilty, but it was there, the inch of bare skin where your skirt slid.

“Better angle?” you teased.

He choked on his breath. “Y-yeah. That’s fine.”

The pencil trembled. His strokes were too heavy, too dark. He swore, fumbling for another, smudges streaking his knuckles. You rolled your shoulders, blouse slipping just enough to bare more of your throat, more of your chest.

His hand stopped.

When he glanced up, his eyes locked on you, wide… And hungry.

“Should I fix it?” you asked, smug.

His mouth opened, closed. He dragged his eyes back to the page, ears burning scarlet. “No. I mean, it’s fine. It’s good. Just… Stay like that.”

“Sure, whatever helps the shadows and lines.”

The scratch of his pencil came frantic now, his hand jerking like it didn’t know whether to draw or shake. He wasn’t sketching anymore. He was memorizing the slope of your collarbone, the faint rise of your chest, the bare inch of thigh.

Stop staring. Stop…

The pencil snapped in his hand. “Shit.”

He reached for another, and you bent forward, blouse slipping lower. His eyes dragged up before he could stop them, and he froze, swallowing hard.

“You can’t…” His voice cracked, low and strangled. 

You leaned back slow, folding your hands neatly, like you weren’t setting him on fire. “Can’t what?”

His hand clenched the new pencil. He stared at you, tried to pull the words out of his throat, failed.

“Can’t… Expect me to draw anything right when you…” He broke off, shaking his head hard. “Forget it.”

But you wouldn’t. He saw it on your face and he knew he’d already lost, because every time his gaze snapped back to your skin, no matter how hard he fought it, he wanted more.

Every time you shifted on the stool, it was worse. Every inch of skin, every tilt of your head in the light. His pencil wasn’t capturing you, it couldn’t. His hands were shaking too badly, graphite smudging into nonsense while his eyes betrayed him, dragging back to you again and again.

And you knew - of course you knew - the smirk you fought to hide, the way you leaned forward like you were offering yourself up just to watch him fall apart. It was torture, and he couldn’t stop wanting more of it.

Then there was a knock and a voice outside calling your name, reminding you of the next class. The sound shattered him.

You glanced at the door, then back at him. His chest was heaving, fingers tight around the pencil until it cracked again. He didn’t even try to cover it.

“I should go,” you said softly, slipping off the stool.

No. 

The word screamed in his chest, but his throat locked around it. If he opened his mouth, something worse would come out. 

Stay. Please. Don’t leave me like this.

You smoothed your skirt, all innocent again, though the fire you’d lit in him burned too hot to be disguised. You stepped closer, plucking the sketchbook from his lap and setting it on the table.

“I’ll come back later,” you said, voice playful.

His head snapped up. “Later?”

The hope in his voice made him sick, it was too raw and too obvious.

You smiled like you knew exactly what you were doing. “So you can finish drawing me.”

Then you were gone, the door clicking shut behind you. Xavier sat frozen, lungs burning, hands trembling, the echo of your words ringing in his skull.

But how the hell was he supposed to wait?

He pressed his hands over his face, smearing gray dust across his skin, but it didn’t matter. You were burned into him now, the curve of your collarbone, the inch of thigh, the smirk when you caught him staring.

Later. You promised, but he was going to break long before then. The shed was too quiet without you in it.

The stool sat in its patch of sunlight, empty now, and his sketchbook lay closed on the table where you’d put it down. He should’ve picked it up, gone back to work, kept forcing line after line until he got you right. That’s what he always did, but he couldn’t.

His hands still shook, every nerve humming from the way you’d leaned forward, the way your blouse had slipped. You thought it was a joke, a game, and maybe for you it was but for him? He was drowning.

He dragged his fingers back through his hair, pacing once across the room. The air was thick with turpentine, charcoal dust, and you. He swore he could still smell the faint trace of your perfume clinging to him.

This wasn’t new. He’d been here before, in this shed, when the visions wouldn’t come and you were the only thing in his head. He’d fill page after page with you until his hand cramped, until the paper tore, until he was left with nothing but smudges of a face he could never touch.

And then, he’d give up on drawing and close his eyes instead. Let his imagination sketch what his hands couldn’t: the sound of your voice, the tilt of your smile, the way your skirt rode up when you crossed your legs. He’d fisted himself to the thought of you more times than he could admit, guilt and need blurring until he didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

But today had been different.

Today, you were here. You sat in the light for him, all soft skin and cruel smirks, and let him stare like he always wanted.

He wanted you. Not just on paper, not blurred, not half-finished, not slipping away through smudges. He wanted you real, under his hands, against him, until there was no doubt you belonged to him and him alone.

The thought wasn’t new either. It had been there for weeks, months, clawing at him in the dark but now it wasn’t just a thought. Now it was a need burning through every inch of him.

The sketchbook sat there like bait. The page smeared with the half-finished lines of your mouth, your collarbone. Shadows where he’d lingered too long. His hand hovered, shaking, before he started flipping past frantic scribbles, past ruined versions of you, until he found one that was close enough. Not perfect — it never was — but close. Your lips parted, your eyes tilted just so, a faint curve of your body sketched in light strokes before he’d abandoned it. Close enough to fool him when his blood was this hot.

He groaned, slumping back into the chair, sketchbook open across his knee. His other hand shoved down his jeans before he could stop himself. The relief of skin on skin made his eyes slam shut, breath shuddering out of him.

And then it was just you.

His fist worked faster. His hips jerked into it, no rhythm, just need.

“Fuck…” he hissed, jaw clenching. His head tipped back, throat tight.

He pictured you leaning forward like before, smirking when you caught his eyes. Better angle? God, the way you’d said it, like you knew he was burning alive.

His grip tightened, desperate. He could almost hear you teasing him again, that sly voice cutting through the haze: What, you want me to strip for your art?

“Yes,” he groaned, voice cracking, spilling into the empty shed. His chest heaved, shame and lust tangled together, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop imagining you slipping the blouse off your shoulders, baring more and more until you were there in front of him, not lines, not shadows, but real. Flesh and heat and his.

He pumped faster, thighs trembling, knuckles white where they gripped the sketchbook. His eyes locked on the portrait and suddenly it wasn’t enough. He needed more.

With a snarl of frustration, his hand clamped down harder on himself, hips bucking into the motion like he could fuck the air, fuck the ghost of you that hovered everywhere in this shed.

Images blurred behind his eyelids: you in the stool, in his lap, bent over his desk, your skirt hiked up, mouth open around his cock. He wanted to mark you, sketch the aftermath across your skin with his teeth instead of his pencil. It was wild. The kind of desire that scared him when he thought about it too long… But right now it was the only thing that mattered.

He groaned your name, low and broken, pumping harder, chasing the edge like it was oxygen. His body curled forward, hair falling into his face, sweat beading on his brow. He was close, too close. The stool sat empty in the sunlight, and all he could see was you in it, lips parting…

The door creaked.

And there you were, standing in the doorway, watching. 

His hand froze, blood roaring in his ears. He jerked his head up, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving. For one fractured second, he thought he’d imagined you, another hallucination, but then you spoke:

“I… uh, I forgot my backpack.”

He followed your line of sight and saw it, propped against the stool where you’d been sitting minutes ago. He hadn’t even noticed.

Now it was real. You were real. And you were looking at him, at his fist still wrapped around himself, at the sketchbook opened on his thigh, your half-finished face staring back in smudged lines. Heat slammed up his throat, flooding his ears. Shame tore through him so hard it almost knocked him sick but his body betrayed him, twitching in his hand, still aching, still desperate.

“Shit…” he rasped, fumbling to yank his shirt down, to cover himself, as if that would undo anything. His voice cracked. “I—I didn’t… Fuck, I didn’t know you would…”

You didn’t slam the door, you didn’t even move, you just stood there staring at him like he was something wild and cornered. The shame should’ve gutted him — it did — but underneath, darker, hotter, was the rush of being seen.

“You weren’t supposed to…” His voice broke, tangled between apology and hunger. “You weren’t supposed to see me like this.”

Something cracked in his chest. He should’ve begged you to forget, promised you this would never happen again. Instead, the words slipped out hoarse, raw, like a confession he’d already whispered in the dark a hundred times.

"I’ve tried to stop. I swear I have. But then you sat there in the light, looking at me like that… ” His hips twitched into his hand, helpless.

His fist flexed, pumping once despite the shame, dragging a broken sound out of him. Your eyes widened, surprise flashing across your face. His free hand dragged through his hair, but his eyes stayed on you, glassy and desperate. 

You shifted, just slightly, weight tilting on your feet and that was all it took. His pulse spiked, hope clawed up through the shame. His hand worked faster, reckless, his whole body shuddering. He should’ve felt ashamed, he should’ve begged you to leave. Instead he wanted you to see, to understand.

“I can’t see you in my visions,” He groaned, head tipping back, voice ragged. “So I make my own.”

You stepped forward. His pulse slammed against his ribs. Then your hand was there, warm and wrapping over his fist, guiding the stroke. His whole body convulsed, a strangled noise breaking from his throat as his hips jerked into your grip.

“Fuck…” His head fell back, hair hiding his eyes, shame and ecstasy colliding. “Don’t… don’t do this unless you mean it.”

You didn’t stop. You stroked him smoother, faster, pulling desperate little whimpers from him he’d never let anyone else hear. His thighs trembled. His chest shook. He’d imagined this a thousand times, but nothing compared to your hand on him.

Then you shifted lower. His eyes flew wide when your mouth replaced your hand, wet heat enveloping him. His whole body arched, a ragged groan tearing from his chest. His thighs shook, his hips stuttering shallowly as your mouth worked over him. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t think, every flick of your tongue short-circuited him, every hum of your throat made his vision blur.

His hand fisted in your hair, his body shuddering as you swallowed him down. He’d imagined this a thousand times, alone in this shed with nothing but paper and guilt. But the reality — the wet heat of you, the way your lips stretched around him, the sound of you taking him deeper down your throat — it was too much and too good.

His chest heaved, panic and need colliding. At the last second, he pulled back with a broken growl, slipping from your mouth slick and throbbing, his body trembling with the effort not to finish right there. You looked up at him, your lips flushed and wet, and it nearly undid him anyway.

He tried to cover himself, hand pumping in a last frantic blur, but his body betrayed him. His climax hit hard, spilling across the sketchbook he’d left open, white streaks splattering over the blurred lines of your mouth, your eyes, dripping down the paper in messy ruin.

He collapsed back in the chair, panting. His gaze found yours, wild and ashamed, but reverent too, like you were the only thing left tethering him to the world. Your ruined portrait was smeared with the proof of what he couldn’t hold back. He should’ve been horrified. He should’ve begged you not to hate him, but when his eyes lifted and met yours… You weren’t even looking away.

Something inside him snapped again.

“You shouldn’t…” His voice cracked. “You shouldn’t look at me like that.”

But you did. You stepped closer, sliding your blouse off your shoulder, letting it drop forgotten to the floor and suddenly you were in his lap.

The sketchbook slid to the ground with a soft slap of paper, his stained hand instinctively catching your waist, smudging dark graphite on your skin. His other hand trembled, gripping the edge of your thigh like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to push you away or drag you closer.

“This was… It’s wrong. I’ve thought about this too many times… ” he said, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressing to your collarbone. 

Your fingers tipped his chin up, forcing him to look at you. “So stop thinking.”

His restraint shattered. His mouth crashed into yours, clumsy, desperate, tasting of paper, dust and him. His hands roamed blindly, smearing stains across your skin as he touched everywhere he’d been too afraid to before. Your thighs, your waist, your chest.

When you gasped against him, he swallowed the sound like it was oxygen. His hand slid under your skirt, his streaked fingertips leaving faint black smudges of graphite as they dragged higher. You shifted against him, grinding down, and his strangled groan vibrated into your mouth.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you tight against the bulge still aching between his legs, guiding you to grind against him. His head tipped back, eyes dark, lips parted. Your answer was a kiss, deep and hungry.

If his visions never showed you to him, maybe this was better. Maybe this was the only truth he’d ever needed: you, real and trembling and pressed against him, with pencil dust all over your skin.

He kissed you back — clumsy, desperate, teeth clicking against yours — because he didn’t know how else to keep himself from falling apart completely.

You tugged at his shirt, sliding it up just enough to feel his skin under your palms. He groaned into your mouth, body jerking like every touch was too much after weeks — months— of starving for it. He kissed his way down your throat, sucking just enough to leave a mark, his hair falling in a curtain around his face.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your skin, voice cracked and raw. “Not blurred. Not slipping away. You’re real.”

His fingers slid under your panties, slow, shaky at first, then deeper, curling just right. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, and he groaned, forehead pressing into your collarbone like your voice was pulling him apart. His hand pumped into you, messy and desperate, thumb circling your clit until your hips bucked against him. 

You tugged his head up, kissing him hard, tasting the shame and need all tangled on his lips. When you gasped, he caught it, swallowed it, dragging you higher into his lap until your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Tell me you want me.” you whispered against his mouth.

“I need you.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, begging silently. When you nodded, he pushed into you slow, almost reverent at first, a groan tearing from his chest. His fingers gripped your thigh as he started to move.

“Fuck.” His voice was hoarse, every thrust shaky with months of pent-up need. “You feel… better than anything I ever… Better than I ever imagined… ”

You clung to him, pulling him closer, your body moving with his. Every time he pressed into you, his breath hitched, his mouth finding yours, kissing you like he was drowning.

The stool rocked under you both, creaking against the floor, and he buried his face against your neck, groaning into your skin. Your nails dug into his back, and his hips stuttered, pace quickening, fingers slipping down between you to rub your clit.

You tightened around him, and the sound that tore out of him was raw and guttural. He thrust harder, faster, chasing it with you until the world narrowed to pencil smears, sweat, and the heat of your bodies tangled in a patch of light.

When you came, gasping his name, he followed instantly, shuddering, groaning into your shoulder as he spilled inside you, grinding through it until he was trembling.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, panting and shaking. Finally, he pulled back, eyes flicking down at the black smudges he’d left all over your thighs, your waist, your chest. He groaned, half-guilty, half-awed.

Then, his stomach dropped.

What the hell had he done?

“I…” His voice cracked, breaking under the weight pressing down on his ribs. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

You stood up slowly, skirt rumpled, hair mussed, still flushed and you looked at him like he hadn’t just ruined you in every way he could, like you weren’t about to bolt for the door.

“Xavier.” Your voice was soft, steady, pulling his wild pulse down a notch.

He shook his head violently, staring at the floor, shame burning hot through him. “I’ve thought about this too many times. About you. It’s… it’s sick, obsessive. You should hate me for it.”

You slid closer, shoes quiet on the wooden floor, and stepped into his space. His head jerked up, startled, when your hand caught his.

“I don’t hate you.”

The words slammed into him harder than anything. His throat worked, eyes burning as he searched your face. 

“You don’t get it. It’s not normal. I can’t see you in my visions, ever, and it makes me…” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “You’re all I think about, all I draw, you’re… everything.”

You reached up, brushing his hair back from his forehead and you smiled, soft and real.

“Maybe I want you, even if it’s messy... Even if it’s obsessive.”

His forehead dropped against yours, a shaky laugh breaking out of him, half relief, half disbelief. His hands came up, careful now, cupping your face like you were a sketch he finally didn’t ruin.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

But when you leaned in and kissed him again, slow and certain, he started to believe — just barely — that maybe you didn’t care. Maybe you wanted him just as tortured and stained as he was.

☕ If you enjoyed this, buy me a coffee and I’ll brew up more filth... 👀🖤

Post by @thecharacterchronicler · 7 images

💬 0  🔁 27  ❤️ 486 · MASTERLIST · Last update: Aug. 2025 All of these contain SMUT, please check the warnings before reading. // Find me on

Post by @thecharacterchronicler · 3 images

💬 24  🔁 74  ❤️ 2104 · Obsessive || Tyler Galpin x Reader || (18+) · Outline: The guy who made high school hell for you just escaped Willow H

[creepy-kooky-mysterious-spooky]

@psychic-refugee @hislittleraincloud

I think it’s kind of interesting how this flashback implies that before her scorpion was killed, Wednesday had the personality she was depicted with before the 90s.

[frost-queen]

Markings (Fem!Reader x Wednesday Addams)

Requested by: anon Forever tag: @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr,  @sweetheartlizzie07,  @floatlosers,  @vviolynn,  @evilcr0ne, @melsunshine, @ilocuras24

Summary: Reader is Enid's sister. When your plan to ask Wednesday out for the dance goes south, you sulk taking second best. When a spiked punch draws out the animal inside of you, you mark Wednesday as yours. Taken by shame afterwards, Wednesday doesn't let you off the hook so easily.

You felt rotten to the stomach. Rotten that your plans had been ruined. A plan that was well thought-through. There was only one thing you didn't calculate in your plan. The normie. Normie Tyler Galpin had wormed his way into Wednesday's life. Ruining your chances with her. Asking her out for the dance, before you even had a chance. You had it all planned out, till he evidently ruined everything. 

What made it even more rotten was that Wednesday Addams had agreed upon his request. There had been a small shimmer of hope that she would coldly decline his ridiculous offer, but she didn't. With no one else to turn to, you cried by your sister Enid. Who could only comfort you with a few pats and empty comforting words. 

There was nothing she could do to change her roomie's mind. Cryingly you had declared to renounce the dance entirely. To not go, for what was it even worth. Your sister Enid talked the idea out of your mind. You had to go, you had to be there. If not only to make Wednesday jealous in some way. Enid was well aware you liked girls. Clear as day. She also knew about your likes towards her dark minded roommate. 

She was so confident in your plan that it would work. Also not keeping in mind the persisting presence of the normie that ruined everything. Enid had already made a moodboard for the two of you. Assisting in the perfect attire and accessories. You had been equally swept up in her enthusiasm. Already dreaming away of the perfect night, that had come shattering down. There weren't a lot of options left for the dance. 

Luckily there might be a mutual friend that wanted to help you out. So you picked up your courage, asking him to go as friends. Settling on Xavier. Xavier didn't have a date yet, so he was more than happy to go with you as friends. No restrictions, no expectations. Still bummed you couldn't snatch up a date with Wednesday, you tried to shake it off. Trying to put your mind on having a good time.

Enid and you helped each other get ready. Both wearing white. Doing each other's make-up with colorful eye-shadow. Wanting a bit of you to shine through the white. Laughing together with playful music blasting in the background. "You are killing this look, Y/n." Enid complimented. Shifting her knees on your matrass to reach your eyes better. Doing your eyeshadow with a humming tune. 

"So when is Xavier picking you up?" Exclaiming with a soft squeal. "In twenty minutes or so." Shrugging your shoulder with a glance at the clock. Enid settled down, handing you a mirror. You smiled pleasingly at her work. Enid came to sit down, you following her lead. "Are you excited about Ajax and you?" You asked as she held her hands out to you. 

Enid giggled sheepishly. You offered her many nail polish colours. Pointing one out, you moved the others away. "Well he's going to love your look." Complimenting her whilst polishing her nails. "The world better watch out for us Sinclair sisters." Enid proclaimed, moving her fingers like claws out. 

Laughing loud, you lowered her hands to continue. "If a pack doesn't want us, we'll just start one of our own." You replied, knowing how worried she was about that matter. Enid squealed loud, wrapping her arms around you. "Nails, sister, nails!" Calling out for her to be careful with. "Oops." Sheepishly, she sat herself back down. Shaking your head at her bubbly. You finished doing Enid's nails when there were knocks on the door. 

You opened, welcoming Xavier and Ajax. "Ajax!" Enid exclaimed. "I couldn't wait to pick you up, and I figured you'd be here." He responded, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Enid quickly grabbed her purse, locking an arm with Ajax. Xavier gestured with his head to the hallway. You followed, walking beside him. "You look nice." Xavier complimented. 

"Thanks, you too." You responded feeling a bit awkward. The four of you made your way to the dance. The booming music thumping with an echo through the halls. The closer you got, the clearer the words to the songs became. Enid squealed loud upon arriving.

Feeling a dream had come true. Xavier shrugged his shoulders, offering you a hand. Shruggingly you accepted it. Following as he led you towards the dancefloor. Letting go of your hand. Dancing non-chalantly in front of you. Swaying your hips a bit, you joined in. Not fully committed yet. The awkwardness still present. 

Xavier noticed you looked uncomfortable, reaching for your hand. Catching you by surprise, forcing you to spin under his arm. You laughed, easing into the moment. Having changed position, you had a view of the other side of the dancefloor.

Gaze falling on Wednesday with Tyler. It wasn’t hard to spot her, not in that black dress that stood out from all the white. Her stare hard at you. Gritting your teeth, you laid your arm over Xavier’s shoulder, swaying more into the music. 

Eyes not lingering from Wednesday. Her eyelids slightly narrowed with a firm focus. Swaying her hands from side to side. Shooting them up and down, ruffling against the fabric of her dress. Her date, standing almost perfectly still. Watching her dance is out of the ordinary.

Holding onto Xavier with both hands around his shoulder, you swayed your head, hair flipping around. Eyeing Wednesday subtlety. Almost seductively. Wednesday shot her head up, waving her hands across. Gaze dropping down once more, going right over Tyler’s shoulder up to you. 

Biting on your lip, you had to control yourself. For a while now you have wanted to mark Wednesday as yours. There had never been a chance. The way her eyes held you in a tight lock. Making everything around you fade away. Knowing her gaze was preserved for you.

Despite the distance, you had never felt closer to her. You let go of Xavier, dancing your own bit. Wednesday’s jaw tensing. Tyler had slightly moved, making her shove him aside. Tyler stumbled over his own feet, chuckling confusingly. 

Twirling underneath Xavier’s arm, you ended the dance with a graceful bow. Music fading out, going over to the next tune. Out of breath, you let out a deep breath. Waving yourself some cool. “I need a drink.” Before Xavier could suggest fetching it for you, you had already walked off. Shrugging his shoulders, he made eye contact with one of his friends across the room. Going over to them. 

Scooping up the punch in a cup, you eyed the presence at your side. “I see Xavier is your date.” Wednesday spoke in a chill tone. Scooting over, you allowed her to take a cup. “You brought the normie.” You simply answered. Taking a sip from your drink. Tasting a bit different then what you imagined. Both of you shared a look.

Drinking the punch in one breath. Gaze never straying away from hers. “Jealous, Addams?” You continued. Punch spiking up to your head. Wednesday had refilled her drink. Taking your cup to do the same for you. Perking an eyebrow up. “Emotions are for the weakly-minded.” Was her answer. “Cheers to that.” You drunkenly exclaimed, letting her glass clash with yours. 

The staring remained when the punch went down. Reaching the bottom of your glass. Setting it down with a soft hiccup. Head spinning, coming to a conclusion something must be in the punch. Room swirling with nausea. “I wish I was this emotionless.” Swaying on your feet, nearly bumping into her.

“This way your betrayal wouldn’t hurt so much.” Stumbling back to keep balance. “My betrayal?” Wednesday responded with a surprise hiccup. Making her cover her mouth with the back of her mind. Humming loud, you gave her a shove in her armpit.

“I wanted to ask you, but no you accepted that stupid normie.” Bringing your glass closer to your mouth to speak inside of it. Words mumbled out. “If only I could’ve marked you as mine.” Letting out another hiccups. Wednesday lowered your glass.

Setting it down. Grabbing you by the wrist, she started pulling you away. Learning she had trouble maintaining balance on the staircase. With silly laughing and falling down from time to time, the two of you helped each other up to her dorm. Her nightly dorm calling you. 

Wednesday pushed you onto her bed. Bouncing up from the mattress, before your body settled down. Lifting up her dress, she came joining you. “Go ahead… mark me.” She let out with seriousness. You couldn’t tell if it was the drink talking or herself.

Shyness blurring away. Pushing yourself up by your elbows up to her level. Grabbing her wrists, you pushed her to fall on her back. Wettening your lips in the process. Her alluring eyes staring widely at you. 

Lowering your head, you took in her scent by her wrists. Rubbing your head against her arm and chest. Powdering her with your own scent. Following in the nook of her neck. Breathing getting heavier with each rub. Allowing your cheek to brush against hers. Wednesday’s head tilted back.

Lifting your head up, you stared down at her. “You’re mine now.” Stating before ripping her dress by her chest. Taking the flesh by her collarbone between your teeth. Wednesday let out a moany gasp when your teeth sank in. Tasting blood on your lips. Hair flipping back with the rising of your head. Sucking in a loud breath, pinking a drop of blood from your lips. 

Wednesday’s fingers moved over your bitemarks in her skin. Curling up a wicked smile. Lifting herself up by her elbows. Drawing herself closer to you. Pulling back at the knocking of desperate thumps on her door.

“Wednesday are you alright? You ran away so suddenly?” Tyler’s voice coming from the other side of the door. You moved away so she could get out of bed. She opened the door. Tyler was about to speak when his gaze fell on her ripped dress. “Are…are you alright?” Asking with some concern. Then he noticed you behind her. 

“Y/n is helping me fix my dress. A minute please.” Shoving the door without a warning in his face. Wednesday shooting you a playful glare. Getting drunkily up, you stumbled out of her bed. Laughing loud at your own clumsiness. Hurrying over to her, helping her patch up her dress. Taking your leave from each other. Going separate ways. 

With a throbbing pain, you awakened. Groaning loudly. Head pounding with a headache. Slowly getting up, trying to remember much from last night. There were flashes and bits. Blurry views and nauseating spinning. Blinking rapidly, you tried to focus your mind on the flashes. There was Xavier. Blinding flickering spotlights. The punch. Wednesday underneath you. Teeth marks. 

Gasping loud, you shot up. Face turning bashfully a shade. Flustered that a bit of booze had made you more confident than you ever thought you could be. Then Tyler flashed before your eyes. Groaning again with a slap against your face.

How stupid you have been. How silly you must have been. Wednesday would surely be laughing at you. Then the panicking sobbing came like a wave. “I can’t face her.” Crying out pleadingly. You wished you could lay in bed all day, but school didn’t have a pause. Your only fear now was avoiding Wednesday. At. All. Cost. 

Avoiding Wednesday wasn’t easy but you had managed to dodge away for most of the day now. At every corner, you escaped. Disappearing into the crowd. Finding refuge under the stairwell, you knew she wouldn’t find you here.

Unfortunately someone else did. “For you.” Bianca spoke, slipping a note onto your lap. With furrowed brows you opened. It was Enid, requesting immediate assistance in her dorm. Pushing yourself up, you ran. Doing anything for your sister in a heartbeat. 

“Enid!” You panted out, barging into her room. Only to come to the conclusion Wednesday was alone. “Thing.” She ordered. Before you could turn around for an escape. The hand had locked the door, showing Wednesday a thumbs up. Muttering cursing words of annoyance to the hand under your breath. Thing hurried off. “You’ve been avoiding me, Y/n.” Wednesday let out, arms crossed. “I…I was busy…” You lied. 

Wednesday tsked her tongue. “And a liar as well. How dreadful.” Quirking up the tiniest of smile in the corner of her lips. “Look I really need to go…” You replied, turning the doorknob with little success. “So soon?” Wednesday spoke close to your ear. Making you gulp loud when her hand was firm on your shoulder.

Pinching you down, guiding you to her bed. “Wed…Wednesday look…” You began as she shoved you down. Crawling on top of you. Pinning your wrists down onto the mattress. “Are you the pumpkin princess?” Wednesday asked. Furrowing your brows, you tried to catch her drift. “Dance and leave with haste by midnight.” She clarified. 

“You mean Cinderella?” Answering confused to where she was getting at. Wednesday pinned your wrists with one hand, showing her collarbone with the other. “You’ve marked me.” The sight of your teeth in her skin made you sheepishly red.

“I…I…I…” Squirming underneath her in the hopes of disappearing into the mattress. “Are you my master?” She asked so plainly you couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or not. Quirking your brow up, there was a high chance that it was. “No!” You yelped back. “Then what are you?” Her alluring gaze firm to you. 

Her gaze unsettled you. Nerving you with the urge of spilling the truth. “I want you to be mine!” Calling out in a shaky breath. Wednesday’s smile growing larger. Lowering her head, her lips sucked at your wrists. “I…I…I…” Stuttering out.

Heartbeat pulsating through your veins. When her lips teased your neck, you couldn’t hold it together. “Love you!” Crying out in delight. Wednesday cherished her hand against your palm. “All I needed to hear.” Speaking before dropping her lips to yours. Tracing each other with precision. Humming loudly against each other’s breath. 

So lost in each other’s senses, the opening of the door was almost silent to you. Enid’s eyes widening with a shrieking squeal. Covering up her eyes immediately. Closing the door blindly, a silly smile on her face.

------------------------------------------------

Read more on my masterlists.

[mattsleftball]

This is a Wednesday fic idea!!!! Maybe do a reader that’s really popular and ppl can’t help but have a tiny crush on her bc of how sweet she is to ppl, like Ajax, Kent, Eugene, Tyler, Pugsley, Xavier??? If that’s not too main character syndrome BFFFHAHAH we need to feed the delusions 😛

YES THE DELUSIONS NEED FEEDING also pretend Xavier is still at Nevermore

Everybody's Crush - Nevermore Boys x Fem!Reader

There were a lot of things people said about you at Nevermore.

That you were sunshine in human form.

That you once made Principal Weems crack a real smile before her untimely demise.

That you once complimented Wednesday and she blushed.

You didn't think of yourself as popular. You just liked people. It wasn't hard - Ajax's easy grin, Enid's glittery energy, Eugene's constant bee facts. Even Wednesday, with all her sharp edges, you somehow found...endearing.

Still, it didn't go unnoticed how half the population of boys at Nevermore tripped over their own feet whenever you walked by.

-----

Ajax was the first to fall victim.

You'd stopped to help him gather the books he dropped when his snakes tried to get out the beanie on his way to class. "It's okay," you said, smiling. "Happens to the best of us."

He swore he felt his heart actually stop.

Later, when Enid teased him about it, he turned bright red.

"I wasn't staring," he insisted.

"Ajax," she said, grinning, "you called her an angel then walked into a locker door."

-----

Eugene was worse.

You'd shown up at his beekeeping shed with homemade honey biscuits "just because." He talked so fast he almost scared his bees.

"She...she smiled at me," he told Wednesday afterward, dazed.

"She smiles at everyone," Wednesday deadpanned, only half listening to what Eugene was saying. "It's her only weakness. Like a Disney princess without the dignity."

Eugene only sighed. "Still worth it."

-----

Kent decided you were "out of his league" after you laughed at his joke in fencing class. "Did you hear that?" he asked Ajax later. "She laughed. That's basically soulmate stuff."

-----

Tyler met you when you stopped by Weathervane for cocoa. You asked how his day was, remembered his name when you came back a week later, and said, "You make the best drinks."

He almost spilled espresso on himself.

-----

And Xavier?

Oh, he was done from day one.

He'd known you before Nevermore - not well, but enough to remember how you always said hi, even when people wouldn't look his way. Now, every time you complimented his art or smiled across the quad, he felt that old warmth creep in again.

You were too nice, too soft, too everything he didn't deserve - but he couldn't help but be infatuated by you.

-----

Even Pugsley Addams wasn't immune.

He'd been at the school for all of three days when you found him sitting alone at lunch, head down.

"You can sit with us, you know," you said, setting your tray next to his. "You're Wednesday's brother, right?"

"Yeah," he said cautiously.

You smiled. "Don't worry, I don't hold that against you."

He laughed - actually laughed - and you felt a little burst of pride at that.

Afterward, Pugsley told Enid, "She's...nice."

Enid just grinned. "Yeah. Everyone thinks so."

-----

It wasn't that you tried to make people like you. You just couldn't not care.

Even Wednesday - the one person immune to charm - paused sometimes when you offered her coffee or asked how her novel was coming along.

"You fascinate me," she said once, staring at you like you were a rare specimen.

"That's not necessarily a compliment, is it?" you asked, smiling.

"Not particularly. But you may take it as one."

You never noticed the glances exchanged across the quad 0 the way Ajax would wave first if he saw you coming, how Xavier would sketch you absentmindedly, how Eugene straightened his glasses, or even how Pugsley walked a little taller when you said hi.

You were just being yourself - bright, kind, and blissfully unaware that every boy in a ten-foot radius was nursing a tiny crush.

And maybe that was the charm of it.

Because at Nevermore, where everyone was a little strange and everyone wore shadows like badges, you were proof that light didn't have to be loud to be noticed.

[whosdinkleyhenderson]

Your eyes (Tyler Galpin x Witch!reader)

Other Tyler works: The Bodies , The past, Tyler Galpin Yay or Nay

Summary: Trusting your gut feelings is always the way to go. Y/n a young witch can't seem to wipe this feeling she gets from Tyler, and later she and Xavier are in for a surprise.

Bold = Telepathic talking

Italics = Memories 

Tyler Galpin x witch!reader x Xavier Thorpe

TW: Harsh family living.

The trio were on their way to meet Wednesday. Enid had insisted she come along with her and Xavier.

They needed the young witch’s support, stating she would be an amazing asset to have if things got ugly.

But what Enid forgot to mention was the presence of Tyler, and that he and Wednesday were on a supposed date.

Tyler liked Y/N but hid it well. He needed to gain Wednesday's trust in order for his master’s plan to succeed.

Everyone in the group had seen Hyde or had an encounter with it, all except Y/N.

Tyler swore to keep it that way.

Y/N was a strong-willed young woman and coming from a home where emotions were weak and not spoken about, made her instant friends with Bianca and Xavier.

But after their split, she became distant toward the Thrope boy, shutting him out completely for Bianca.

To other students, the siren girl was a straight up bitch, but to Y/N, a good soul. The h/c girl would show little emotion, care, and only allow hugs when needed.

So when Xavier broke up with Bianca, Y/N allowed the girl to cry her eyes out.

Y/N's life changed the slightest when Weems assigned her as Wednesday’s tour guide around the school and town, where she properly met Tyler.

At first, she didn’t take much notice of the boy, it was a family rule that women didn’t mix with men, unless the witch wanted a child of her own.

Living in a convent full of women made it hard for Y/N to understand the second-hand emotion, people call Love.

The icy tone she had, led to a one-sided acquaintanceship with Wednesday Addams. As both girls had the same view of emotional structure.

Wednesday knew of emotion and how they made people foolish. Whereas, Y/N was never shown emotion and had no evidential knowledge or actions of what it was. More so, what it could do.

She never asked questions when she felt something off or funny, the girl knew better not to. But rather associate those funny feelings with her magic.

Students at the school compared Y/N to the two comic book characters Wanda Maximoff and Rachel Roth.

Enid had been the one to start the gossip and later inform Y/N about who the two fictional characters were. Both superheroes controlled the power of witchcraft.

One having red powers and the other blackish purple, and to most people’s surprise Y/N’s powers were a reddish-purple hue, labeling her as the in-between of the Scarlet Witch and Raven. 

Y/N discreetly remembered her first encounter with Wednesday Addams. The girl allergic to colour and lover of all things dark and mystique.

Y/N couldn't understand Wednesday's sudden interest in her. She found it quite strange for a person to like another in an acute meeting.

Information should be obtained before making such a conclusion.

-First encounter-

“I’m not sure what it is that has compelled me to take a liking to you. But you are different from everyone here. Which has surprised me.” Wednesday expressed.

Her deathly eyes examined Y/N's body language and to her surprise the girl hadn’t moved an inch. No smile, no eye twitch, nothing.

Her e/c eyes stared at Wednesday absorbing the information formally thrown her way. 

“You reek of amusement. Disgusting… And due to your sudden confession, I will let the devil decide the outcome.”

And for once in her life Wednesday was left gobsmacked, though she didn’t show it. She was rather impressed by Y/N’s statement. 

“Fair enough, witch.” Wednesday whispered back, at Y/N’s retreating form. 

-End of flashback-

As the group made their way to the Weathervane Cafe. The scene displayed inside brought disgust to two members, except Enid who clapped excitedly.

A stinging pain engulfed the girl's chest.

The sensation reminded her of the similar feeling she felt when she properly first met Tyler.

-Flashback-

Being assigned Wednesday’s tour guide was all but fun, and having to explain this to Bianca was one of the many challenges.

Weems didn’t make things any easier for the young witch either. Making sure Wednesday would behave herself, was a mission in itself. 

“Y/N please! I need you to do this. You’re the only one she listens to.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Weems' statement. She felt no obligation in making a friendship with Wednesday.

Bianca and her pack of goons were enough for one witch to hold a connection with.

“I still don’t understand why you’ve chosen me. I don’t hold any attachment or attraction to the girl… She confesses her feelings too openly, with a dead expression which tends to show a form of emotion. Even if she believes she doesn’t. It's rather pathetic, that she expresses her fondness of me.” 

Sighing Weems brought her hands down to the desk.

“I understand your point, Y/N. Look, just do this one trip with her and I’ll raise your grade.”

“Sounds like blackmail, I don’t need you to raise my grade. I am fine without support, nor do I need it.”

Freshly brewed coffee filled Y/N’s lungs and brought a welcoming feeling toward her as they entered. Silently calming her mind. Y/n had felt off at the mention of going into town. 

“Hey Wednesday, how are you…Oh hello.” 

And that's when she felt it, the gut wrenching feeling and the stinging in the heart. Her e/c eyes met his green ones. A mop of light brown curls, a knee melting smile. But she sensed something, something different, something off.

Call it intuition, Y/N didn’t like this feeling she was getting from this boy and by God did it stir something in her.

Without noticing, her eyes began to glow a reddish purple hue, Y/N’s powers began to act up due to the threat she was currently feeling.

Tyler freaked out at the sight in front of him.

“Holy shit your eyes.” 

Wednesday snapped her gaze toward the girl beside her analysing the situation. Y/N’s power rarely reacted unless she wanted them to or was feeling threatened. But they were here in a coffee shop with Tyler, who was currently being stared down by Wednesday.

Had he sent a wave of emotion to the witch, had Y/N never met Tyler before?

Tyler had mentioned seeing her with Bianca and her goons plenty of times. Stating he never had a proper conversation with the girl, only her friends.

Before both parties could utter a word, Y/N was out the door. 

“Well nice to meet you too, Y/N…didn’t think I was that much of a beast.” Tyler muttered watching the girl speed walk across the street.

His statement caused Wednesday to focus her attention on him.

“She can’t hear you…wait…You like her?” 

Spilling the coffee, Tyler blushed at Wednesday’s comment.

“What no…no…I…I am that transparent?”

“Hardly to the ordinary eye. But yes, if you’re asking from my perspective.”

“Gee thanks.”

-End of flashback-

Her actions caught Xavier’s eye, a furrow buried deep into his skin, not realising both teens shared the exact same mortified look. 

“You okay?” 

Nodding, she casted her eyes away.

“I believe so. Must be having a stroke.”

She had never felt this before, not even when one of her grand masters, had passed away from old age. Did she feel an emotion as strong as this. It felt strange and she didn’t like it at all. 

“So now what?” Xavier asked. 

“Yes, an explanation would be rather helpful, Enid.” 

The blonde girl’s attention was focused on the scene occurring behind the window. Happily smiling as Wednesday finally got something every teenage girl desired.

Her first kiss.

Snapping her fingers in the blonde’s face, Y/N eyes began to glow in a threatening behaviour, seeking an answer from the culprit that led them all there.

Enid sensed the heat of Y/N’s glare and quickly blurted out.

“Wednesday believes Tyler’s the Hyde. Don’t hurt me.” 

“You’re joking right? A Normie?”

Y/N watched as the blonde’s shoulders drop and sigh heavily, catching the attention of the two inside. 

“Your loudness has caught their attention! You foolish girl.”

The cafe door creaked open, Wednesday and Tyler stepped out, both Y/N and Xavier averted their eyes away from the two. Whilst Enid cowered under Wednesday’s harsh glare. 

Examining this, Y/N stepped away ready to leave and return to her dorm room.

As her thoughts trailed to her roommate, a message popped up on her phone.

BIANCA: 

Hey, when are you planning on coming back? Weems is getting Thronhill to do a bedroom check. 

Y/N:

Leaving now. 

BIANCA:

Okay, i’ll leave the window open for you x 

Y/N sent a ‘like’ to Bianca’s message and placed the piece of technology back in her pocket.

Feeling the hairs on her neck stand, she turned to Xavier. But it wasn’t his eyes who were on her, his orbs were set on the girl dressed in black.

The eyes that bore into her being, were those of curly hair green eyed boy besides him.

Y/N sensed something off about Tyler, his eyes no longer held that bright shimmer. He had bags under his eyes, his skin had become paler compared to his natural light tanned skin.

She needed to go, and now. 

Turning her back to the group, she chanted a spell. Cloaking her from everyone's sight, and jumped into the air.

Within 5 minutes she was at the windowsill, climbing in like Peter Pan, and flew straight into her bed. 

“You should be grateful, I covered for your ass. Saying you were in the bathroom.”

Bianca grumbled, turning over in her bed. 

“Thank you.” 

-The following week-

Y/N had been avoiding the group of outcasts for a week. Spending most of her time with Bianca and her followers.

Enid had been trying to catch up with Y/N, who had made excuses every time she would bump into the blonde. Or pretended that she didn’t see or hear her when she would call out.

Xavier on the other hand, knew best not to push the girl, whereas Wednesday had other ideas. 

Observing the girl from across the courtyard, chatting away to Bianca. The laughter and smiles made Wednesday sick to her stomach. The emotion spread across both girls' faces, emitting into the air, absolutely sickening.

Tyler had been on her case asking where Y/N was, her only response was a shrug.

-Flashback-

“So that’s your answer, a shrug?”

Her cold eyes found his once more.

What more could he possibly want, the other night he had taken her on a date not Y/N, so why the sudden change of emotion.

It compelled Wednesday how strange and distant he had been for a while.

One day he would be all warm and kind towards her asking if Y/N was with her. Then the next cold and dark, talking about how he preferred her over Y/N, any day.

Two personalities in one body. 

“If you don’t like my answer, then go find out yourself. I have no time to talk nonsense, I have other matters to tend to…” 

The boy’s expression was priceless, he couldn’t believe this girl, no heart, to give him a proper answer.

She and Y/N must not like each other; it had been over a week since he last saw her.

The pull he felt toward the h/c girl was impeccable. Even though they hardly ever spoke a word to each other, there was something. 

“Of course you do,” He sighed.

The appearance of the dark clothed girl did send a jolt in him, but didn’t last long when he noticed that look in her eyes. 

“What exactly did you come in here for, then?”

-End of Flashback-

She had enough of the h/c girl ignoring her, Y/N was the key to unlocking answers around the town and she wanted them now. 

Later that night Y/N was getting ready to have a shower when she received a text from Xavier, the one out of the three she wished she didn’t ignore. It wasn’t his fault if anything he was in the same place as she was. 

XAVIER:

Hey, can we talk? 

Y/N:

I suppose. 

XAVIER: 

Meet me at the front gates. 

Y/N:

Okay Xavier.

XAVIER: 

Thanks Y/N, see you. 

Placing her phone in her pocket, she began chanting a spell, reddish purple hue gathered around the girl's body encasing her within it. 

Xavier waited anxiously for her arrival, he needed a friend at this moment. Ignoring people usually was his 'go to' thing when he was with Bianca.

Keeping his emotions at bay, but Rowan would manage to get it out of him.

Sometimes Y/N.

She didn’t need to say anything she could tell; she had promised from day one that she would never read his mind.

And when he first came to her about something, she knew. 

-Flashback-

“I thought I told you not to read my mind.” 

The poor boy had been pacing back and forth, ignoring all signs of his emotion and how his friend tried her best to explain herself.

She watched; her head following his pace and brought a headache forth.

“Well, if you’d grant me your silence.”

Y/N had enough of these accusations she stood up, stopping him dead in his steps with her magic. 

“I didn’t read your mind. I don’t have to, your eyes speak for themselves. Everything is in your eyes.”

-End of Flashback-

A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he kicked his foot into the gravel, creating a cloud of dust. It twirled in the air dancing like a delicate ballerina.

Appearing behind him Y/N quietly observed the boy’s actions. His eyes never leaving the dust at his feet, a small smile resting on his lips as it began to disappear into the night sky. 

“Thank you. For coming Y/N.” 

She smiled and nodded her head as he faced her. 

“Always, Xavier…shall we?”

His features reflected her own and took a hold of hand. 

Entering his shed the two sat down in silence, Y/N’s eyes dancing around taking in the paintings scattered along the walls of the tin shed.

Xavier was certainly an amazing artist, most of his works were of people, objects, animals and insects, all but one.

A hideous creature sat in the midst of his desk, unfinished and heavily sketched.

Walking up to it she lightly traced her finger tip across its face.

“What in the seven hells!?”

Coming up behind her he peered down at the unfinished piece as well.

“I know…I had a dream about it.”

Her eyes squinted, the creature had curly brown hair.

Looks a lot like Tyler's hair.

“It’s rather un-Godly to look at. Disturbing…problematic if it were a real person.”

She concluded turning her attention back onto the tall boy. 

“Yeah. But before I woke, it looked like it had reverted back to human…weird…well it’s just a dream. Can’t be real…I hope.”

A knock came from outside the shed, alerting both teens, who shared a look with each other. Their silence airing the same question.

Who was at the door?

Raising a finger to his lips Xavier carefully made his way to the door.

A knock came this time accompanied by a cry for help.

“Hey come on. Please somebody open up.”

Swinging the door open Xavier and Y/N were met by a breathless Tyler, who stumbled in.

Meeting Y/N’s eyes as he came toward her. He was the last person this girl wanted to see, out of all the people to come knocking on Xavier’s shed door had to be him. 

“Why couldn’t it have been a demonic entity?” Her snide remark echoed in Xavier's mind.

“I know…You don’t think he was following us?”

“My suspicions believe so.”

Tyler finally got a better view of Y/N. The first time in two weeks he finally got to see her, talk to her.

To feel her skin against his fingertips. 

“Hey.” 

She shot a look at Xavier.

He knew she wanted nothing to do with the curly head boy at the moment. With cautious steps she slid past Tyler and to Xavier’s side. 

“He’s giving off this strange aura…I can feel it and I don’t like it one bit.”

“Yeah…something definitely isn’t right.”

The taller boy smirked, his eyes never leaving Tyler’s frame.

“What exactly are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home with your dad?”

Tyler’s eyes crossed between the two, but didn’t leave Y/N’s once they landed on her. Begging her to believe every word that came out his mouth.

He needed her trust, no matter how hard Xavier tried to convince her. 

“You guys have to believe me, I swear. I was looking for Elvis, and then I… I heard this growl…I thought it was Elvis, but it wasn’t…You have to believe me.” 

His pleads went deaf to Xavier’s ears, Y/N, on the other hand, held an unreadable expression.

She wasn’t about to let him get into her mind and heart, not after the last time. Leading her to believe that there was the tiniest hope he may like her.

She had been ready to finally open up and experience what having emotions, good ones, were like. But seeing him there on the other side of the glass kissing Wednesday was a different story.

Casting her head away, she found Xavier’s expression hardening.

The muscles in his jaw clenched tight, warning Tyler he had overstayed his welcome. 

“I truly believe you should leave Tyler… Maybe inform Wednesday of your worries regarding your dog. I am fairly certain she’ll have the slightest bit of heart to care, since you two are rather... intimate... that way.”

Her voice stabbed him in the heart killing off the last of his light. Tyler finally got the hint that she wasn’t going to budge with his nice guy act anymore, so better to let the beast out now. 

“Fine don’t believe me…I just have a few last words for you, before you die.”

Y/N and Xavier snapped their attention to the lonesome boy.

His green eyes no longer held that sparkle of light in them. His skin became deathly pale, veins appearing along his forehand and neck. 

“Oh this can’t be good.”

“By Lucifer's hooves. This is not something I want to see Xavier.”

“I agree, let's head out…if we can.”

“STOP THAT!”

His voice shook the tin shed, sending a deep vibration through their soul.

Oh this is definitely not good, at all.

“I know you’re communicating telepathically. You’re so stupid Y/N. Thinking I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

His laugh sent a shiver down her spine as he locked his eyes on hers. 

“See the thing is Y/N… even though you believe you’re incapable of feeling emotions. Your eyes speak for themselves. Everything is in your eyes.” 

Your eyes.

She continued to watch him pace up and down, tutting as his foot landed with each step. 

Your eyes.

Her own words betrayed her.

Used against her.

How dare he!

“And how the hell do you plan on doing that, cryptic normie?” Xavier growled. 

Ceasing his steps, Tyler averted his attention back on the two and simply smirked.

“Rather than tell you…I’ll…just…show you.”

As his words filled the air, the two watched in horror at the sight in front of them.

His eyes began to bludge.

Limbs elongating.

Clothes ripping.

Height increasing.

Muscles swelling.

His whole body grew in front of their very eyes. 

A horror scene in the making and these two had no intentions in being a part of it.

“Oh, fuck this.”

Without hesitation Xavier grabbed Y/N’s hand and began running toward the school.

An earth scattering growl followed closely behind the pair. Turning back, in fear that Tyler was catching up with them, Xaiver and Y/N misplace their footing.

Collapsing to the ground, the panic grew harder, their focus became off and confusing.

Their lungs becoming sluggish and the air burning their windpipes. Y/N felt at any moment that she and Xavier were never going to see the likes of tomorrow.

Their hopes of escaping Tyler, were wearing thin with each second that passed.

“Oh shit! Come on he’s hot on our ass Y/N, come on.”

Picking themselves off the ground both teens sprinted their way back to the school. Tyler's deathly growls the only noise in the surrounding air.

The gates were only a few steps away, opening themselves, Xavier and Y/N flew straight through the gates. Activating her power Y/N shut the gates.

The reddish-purple tendrils wrapped perfectly around the gate making sure they wouldn’t move. 

“What is going on here?” 

Xavier’s movements were quick.

Weems stood behind the teens, her nightgown wrapped securely around her. Students and staff, following close behind her.

Whispers of worry filled the night air. Looks of confusion and worry painted on each individual’s face.

“We could hear screaming.”

Gulping Xavier shared a look towards Y/N who was still focused on the gates. 

“We... were chased... by the, Hyde.” Casting his eyes toward Wednesday.

“You...you were right Wednesday…Tyler...he’s the Hyde.”

Y/N prayed the tendrils around the gate wouldn’t give way; she couldn’t risk the whole school getting massacred by some numb nuts.

Tone deaf to all, a low growl reached her ears, increasing the thunder of her heartbeat. Her vision beginning to blur, droplets of blood dripped onto her perfectly plumped lips.

“You think you’re out of the woods Y/N? This is only the beginning.”

Her gasps caught the attention of the staff and students around her, as a loud howl echoed throughout the night. 

"Y/N!!!"

"HELP HER NOW!"

Part 2, anyone, or nah?

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

* begging on my knees * write something for Xavier. Us Xavier girls are not having a good time this season...

I am sad there is no Xavier this season too.... Let me know if I should do a part 2. Maybe Xavier going to the weeding?

Summary: This summer, the Addams clan travels to Transylvania, Romania for the wedding of Cousin Itt and Margaret. While being there, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to go to the infamous Bran Castle. On your way to the exhibit about Vlad the Impaler, a boy sitting with a sketchbook drew your attention. 

—

Perched on a rocky cliff and cloaked in mist, Bran Castle loomed like a relic from a darker time. You had been dreaming of visiting the historical fortress since you were old enough to read Dracula, the pages of Bram Stoker’s novel forever tying the image of this place to something eerie and magnetic. When Cousin Itt and Margaret’s wedding invitations arrived in the mail, it felt like fate. This would be your chance to see the infamous castle up close, not just in stories, but in stone and shadow.

Despite the summer warmth, there was a gloom in the morning air of Bran village that clung to the cobblestones and hung low beneath the trees. The castle's spires and battlements pierced the sky, jagged and defiant, as if daring the sun to burn through the clouds. It looked like something out of a gothic novel, hauntingly beautiful in its isolation. The structure seemed to grow out of the rock itself, a silent sentinel watching over the valley, its weathered stones whispering secrets older than legend.

Camera hanging around your neck, you captured the moment, impatient to add it to your photography portfolio — and show it to Wednesday, who decided to stay behind and work on her novel. She needed to hurry if she wanted to beat Mary Shelly as youngest published author. You wished you would have experienced this with her, a sister bonding moment. She would’ve appreciated the texture of the place: the cracked stones, the rusted hinges, the gargoyles that looked like they’d whisper curses if you stood too close.

As you got closer to the opened gates, people were starting to crowd. There were shops outside the main entrance, selling souvenirs made by local artists, plates with historical facts written, and even a cliché Dracula cosplayer. You wrinkled your nose at his costume, too cartoon-ish for your liking. You would’ve thought a popular touristic place like this would use more budget on their employees’ costumes. 

You raised your camera to capture the towering archway, but just as you framed the shot, something in the corner drew your attention. A boy sat alone on a low stone bench, hunched over a sketchbook balanced on his knees. Every few seconds, he glanced up with quiet focus, eyes scanning the scene before returning to the page, his pencil moving in deliberate strokes as he drew whatever had caught his gaze.

He was divinely handsome. Not in a hollywoodian way, but in the kind of way that made you want to stare just a little longer. His hair was tied into a half up hairstyle, with a few pieces falling and framing his face. He furrowed his eyebrows as he used his finger to smudge a line, then drew a few more with his pencil. His gaze was so focused, completely ignoring the loud cawks of a crow nearby.

You glanced over your camera, and when he glanced up again, his eyes met yours for a moment so intense it felt like the summer breeze had stilled. A shiver ran down your spine and the noise of the crowd, the chatter and footsteps, melted away, leaving only the two of you suspended in that charged silence.

⸸ִ ࣪𖤐°.⋆༺♱༻⋆.°ִ ࣪𖤐⸸

On your way to the Vlad the Impaler exhibit, you saw him again. His head tilted slightly as he read off one of the laminated posters on the wall. Most of the visitors didn’t care enough to take the time to read about the Count. To them, he was just a fictional character from vampire lore. Not worth stopping for.

However, he seemed to be interested.

‘’There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights,’’ you said as you stepped beside him, a calm softness in your voice. 

Talking to boys was not something you mastered, but a common interest was a good way to start. 

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, surprised that someone would quote Dracula to him. ‘’Did you know Bram Stoker never actually visited Romania?’’ His voice was softer than you expected; it had a hint of an accent which you couldn’t place. ‘’He depicted the imaginary Dracula’s castle based upon a description that was available to him. The etching in the first edition of Dracula looks strikingly like Bran Castle — more than any other in Romania.’’

Of course you knew. You’ve read Dracula more times than you could count on your fingers. 

‘’Although, without bashing Stoker’s novel, I find it’s a poor effort to describe something you witnessed firsthand,’’ you replied. ‘’When you rely solely on someone else’s perspective, it lacks the detail and depth that come with personal experience.’’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘’True. But if Stoker limited his descriptions on what he could see, it would have been an obstacle to his imagination.’’ 

Spiders filled your stomach. You almost couldn’t believe what was happening. You were having a conversation about gothic literature with a stranger. It wasn’t something that happened often. In fact, it never happened before. In your town, it was rare to meet people who shared your literature preferences. 

You introduced yourself, and he extended his hand. ‘’I’m Xavier.’’ His touch was gentle, his eyes holding yours. He was a few inches taller than you, having to look down at you. His hand stayed in yours for a bit longer than usual introductions, but you didn’t mind. ‘’Is this your first time here?’’ 

“To Romania or the castle?” you asked. 

‘’Both,’’ he responded, tilting his head slightly, causing a piece of his hair to fall from his half up hairdo.

‘’I’ve been to Romania as a child. My grandmother on my mother’s side used to live here.’’

Granny Frump lived a thousand lives around Europe. She couldn’t live in the same house for more than a year. Her life was captured on film and pictures, which you loved to go through whenever you visited her. 

‘’You?’’ you returned. ‘’Is it your first time here?’’ 

The corner of Xavier’s lips curled and he shook his head. ‘’No. My father lives close to the village. I just love artistic history.’’

⸸ִ ࣪𖤐°.⋆༺♱༻⋆.°ִ ࣪𖤐⸸

You continued your visit of the castle, accompanied by Xavier. He led you through the secret passageways and narrow staircases, and for a moment, you felt like you were the main protagonist of a gothic novel, sneaking around with her forbidden lover. 

Except Xavier was not your lover. He was just a boy from the village who happened to have common interests with you. 

Much to your annoyance, the sun had come out while you were inside and was shining over the inner courtyard. You wrinkled your nose in disgust. You despised hot weather — especially the sun. It always ruins your pictures. 

 ‘’Can I draw you?’’ Xavier asked, pulling you out of your summer hatred thoughts. 

You glanced down at the sketchbook he held tucked under one arm. ‘’Draw…me?’’ you repeated. 

Xavier nodded. ‘’I just don’t want to forget today. And you make the perfect model. I mean, you look like you belong here. A ghost of the past bound into this castle instead of a tourist.’’ 

Everywhere else, you always stick out like a sore thumb, looking like you came straight out of your coffin. But here, standing in your long skirt and silky dark hair, you blended in the decor as if it was your house.

‘’Eh…thank you?’’ 

‘’I mean it,’’ he added, sincerity in his green eyes. ‘’These people look so bland in comparison. You outshine anyone.’’ 

You were taken aback by his words, not expecting such compliments. You got those on very rare occasions. It was kind of strange honestly.

So, for the next thirty minutes, you sat on the stairs as Xavier worked his pencil on his sketchbook, capturing your alluring beauty on the paper.  

How would he draw you? Was he more of a semi-realistic, minimalist, or perhaps even caricatural type of artist? 

You watched him from the corner of your eye, focused and brows slightly furrowed in concentration as his fingers became more grey from the smudging of the graphite. The occasional breeze rustled the fallen front pieces of his hair, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

When he showed you the final sketch, your breath caught slightly. The version of you he had drawn looked haunting. Being a quick sketch, the portrait wasn’t as detailed, but Xavier had captured the perfect essence on the paper. The ancient stones behind you were shaded with delicate strokes, your hair cascading over your shoulders like ink. The drawing reminded you of a scene from Carmilla. 

‘’This is truly sublime, Xavier,’’ you said, your voice quieter than you intended. 

Compliments didn’t come easily to you, but this one felt earned. 

‘’You make it easy.’’  

As you were looking at the sketch, his fingers lightly tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. His eyes wandered over your face, taking in the way your eyelashes casted shadows, or how your lips were parted in a small gasp.

The moment of silence stretched, and you felt your heart beat a little faster under his stare. You hadn't expected your visit to Bran Castle to take this turn. And, although you hated surprises, the thought of not meeting Xavier made your little black heart ache. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but an unsettling violin ringtone came from your backpack — your phone. Apologizing, you fished it out, seeing a message from your mother asking if you were on your way back.

All good things must come to an end, right? 

Refusing to lose contact with Xavier, you exchanged numbers before saying goodbye.

Before you disappeared back inside the castle, he grabbed your hand and kissed the back. ‘’Careful on the way. The Count might step out of his lair and take you for his next wife.’’

—

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