1 - 20 of 26 Works by Chefthefish
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She wanted to say she was fine. That she’d fix it. That it wasn’t her fault.
But her throat wouldn’t work. The air caught and shuddered out in wet gasps.
Her body was starting to shake. It wasn’t the pain that hadn’t fully reached her yet. It was the confusion. The way the world tilted every time she blinked. The way her body didn’t seem to belong to her anymore.
She turned her head. Slowly.
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Zoey couldn’t breathe.
The sound of Rumi’s voice, that single word drawn out and broken, still carved through her chest like it was happening all over again. She heard it when she tried to sleep, she heard it during rehearsals, she heard it when Rumi smiled at her like nothing had shattered between them. It was never gone.
“Zoey, please.”
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Cute? Sure. Small? Fine. But every other day? Please. Who did they think they were, just because they had the height, the muscles, the whole “effortlessly perfect” thing going on. Zoey wasn’t about to admit how Mira somehow made standing still look good, or how Rumi’s arms flexed whenever she reached for something. Nope. Not thinking about it.
Still, it got under her skin. They laughed, and Zoey laughed too, but in the back of her mind she kept a little score.
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She didn’t mind being the sober one—it wasn’t like she could drink anyway without her stomach staging a rebellion—but wow, they were *loud*.
“Our baaaaabyyyyy,” Mira cooed suddenly, her words slurring together in a drawn-out sing-song as her hand came up to cup Zoey’s cheek.
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Zoey dealing with her drunk girlfriends -
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Hate
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“Rumi, we… need to tell you something.”
That earned a glance, and then Rumi’s full attention. Her eyebrows lifted, curious. “What’s up?”
Zoey looked at Mira, wide-eyed like a deer in stage lights. Mira gave her that don’t chicken out now glare and then just… said it. Because of course she did. Mira was like that—sharp edges and straight shots.
“We like you,” Mira said, calm as if she’d just asked for the remote. “More than friends. We’re together, yeah, but… we want you too. If you want us.”
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Zoey and Mira confess to Rumi and Rumi handles it like a lovesick teenager
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her and Celine holding hands, smiling under a tree. She’d worked on it in secret for days. Tried to make the colors perfect. Her version of Celine had no face—just a shape—but she thought that was funny, like a little inside joke.
Celine didn’t laugh.
She didn’t even comment. She just cleared the table without a word and tossed the drawing in the trash.
Later, Rumi dug it out. Folded it up. Hid it under her mattress like a crime.Because if there was one thing she understood, even at that age, it was this:
You are not meant to be seen.
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Rumi broke.
The orgasm tore through her like fire in her veins, body locking up, mouth wide open on a scream she couldn’t even hear over the pounding in her skull. Her thighs spasmed. Her whole body shuddered like it didn’t know how to stop. She came so hard she thought she was gonna pass out, and still—still—Mira didn’t stop moving. Slower now. Just enough to keep the edge from fading. Just enough to drag her through it.
Zoey kissed her over and over, lips all sloppy and sweet, whispering nonsense. “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay. Just one more. I know you can do one more. We’ll hold you. We’ll catch you. You’re not going anywhere.”
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Rumi getting overstimulated a shit ton cause I love overstimulated smut
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Rumi's breath fogged up the mirror.
Her arms trembled, palms pressed flat against the cool glass. Her thighs ached, spread open and shaking, one foot barely balanced on the edge of the vanity. Zoey's hand was buried in her hair, keeping her head tilted just enough so she had to look — had to see herself, fucked-out and flushed, mascara smudged, lips parted in helpless little gasps.
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Rumi getting fucked by her girlfriends in front of a mirrors
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neither of them are listening.
“You need to lie down,” Mira says, pushing the blankets back and guiding Rumi in like she’s tucking in a porcelain doll.
Zoey, pacing near the doorway, mutters, “Maybe we should just call that tonic guy again.”
Mira groans, already rubbing her temples. “Please don’t bring him up.”
“He helped!” Zoey insists.
“He sold you a ‘universal healing elixir’ that turned out to be glorified grape juice.”
“Okay, yeah—but Rumi liked it.”
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All three of them getting sick and taking care of each other
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Zoey’s thumbs hovered over her phone screen, the glow illuminating her face in the dark dorm room. Mira and Rumi were both asleep, soft breathing filling the quiet.
Her heart pounded as she typed.@mirrorumi_slave: I want Mira to step on me so bad 😩 why is she so perfect??
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Zoey being down bad for her girlfriends
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The courtroom was cold, not from air conditioning, but from the way her parents refused to look at her.
Zoey sat still on the too-tall chair, her legs numb, fingers twisted into the hem of her dress until her knuckles went white. No one asked how she was. No one asked what she wanted. She just sat there. Listening. Absorbing.
Her mother was yelling again. Her father was laughing in that fake, sharp way that meant he was angry and trying to pretend he wasn’t. The judge looked tired. The lawyers looked bored. Everyone had folders and coffee. Everyone had opinions.
“You don’t love her.”
“You only want her so you don’t have to pay me.”
“She cries every time she leaves my house.”
“She’s scared of you.”
“She said she wants to stay with me.” -
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Zoey pushed it open quietly, expecting resistance. Expecting a groggy Rumi to snap awake and hiss at her like a wet cat.
But Rumi didn’t move.
She was curled up on her side, facing the window, the dim light from a flickering streetlamp casting shadows across her skin. Her long sleeves were pushed up, and her usually careful hoodie had slipped down her shoulder.
Zoey’s breath caught.
Rumi's arms—smooth olive skin etched with glimmering, translucent markings, like silver and violet flecks trapped beneath glass—rested outside the blanket. The demon marks shimmered faintly, twitching and shifting like starlight caught in a storm. They were usually soft, ethereal, even beautiful when Rumi was calm.
But tonight, they were not beautiful.
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Christmas was magic for Enid. Everyone is hanging out with family and friends. Her mom lost her backhanded comments in the festive holidays, and she was able to decorate her dorm room in all the festive colors, and her favorite, the Christmas tree. It was perfect, skipping along her dorm while singing jingle bells,opening her dorm room to see her roommate typing away on her typewriter. Enid frowned, this is not the time to be working, it's time for holiday cheer.
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My very old work that I decided to finished, didn't delete anything just added on so that's why the writing style just switched T-T
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Wednesday Addams prided herself on her self-control. It took an iron will to maintain her aura of eerie composure, an unwavering dedication to detachment. Nothing could shake her. Not the grotesque horrors of the world, not the macabre, and certainly not—
Enid Sinclair.
At least, that had been the case before Enid had her werewolf transformation.
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Wednesday 5'1 self can't fight back Against Enid
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Enid had always been energetic, loud, and infuriatingly affectionate. That had not changed. But ever since her full-werewolf transformation, there was something different about her—something tangible.
Strength radiated from her now, effortless and raw. Her once-slim frame had filled out with muscle, her shoulders broader, her waist still trim but more defined. And Wednesday? Well, she was suffering.
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Wednesday "likes" Enids new body
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Wednesday sat on the edge of her bed, lacing her fingers together in what she clearly thought was an ominous, foreboding way. Her voice was low, almost theatrical. "I am a shadow that slithers through the night, an enigma wrapped in darkness and sealed with the whisper of the void."
Enid, sprawled out on her own bed, scrolling through her phone, barely looked up. "Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Willa."
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Wednesday being over dramatic about herself
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I'm going on hiatus, the burn out goes crazy prob be back soon tho
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The problem was, every time Wednesday tried to kill her, Enid mistook it for flirting.
“Willa, you’re so romantic,” Enid sighed dreamily after dodging a guillotine that had almost decapitated her on the way to their morning classes.
Wednesday scowled. "That was supposed to kill you."
"Awww, you're so cute when you joke!" Enid kissed her cheek and bounced off, leaving Wednesday standing there with a murderous glint in her eyes—and a warm, traitorous blush on her face.
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I had this idea in my mine for so long, Wednesday cutely tries to kill her girlfriend cause she's just built like
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Enid had always been a chatterbox. This was an indisputable fact of life, much like the sky being blue or Wednesday Addams being unfazed by the macabre. However, there were certain situations where words should probably take a backseat.
Like, for example, now. Their bodies were tangled together, limbs intertwined, lips locked in a heated kiss. The room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breaths and the rustling of sheets when Enid, ever the mood-killer, spoke up. “Hey, Weds, do you think if I bite you in the right spot, I could turn you into a werewolf?”Or
Enid has the most random thoughts and can't keep her mouth close