#i always think of it in my darkest hours <- many hours

[todayisafridaynight]

where the fuck that aoki post where op was drunk and was like 'i always wanted him' or somethn

[wntrswolf]

love mirage

✧ pair: benjicot "davos" blackwood (fancast) x freader!secret-lover-betrothed-to-a-bracken

✧ theme/warning(s): slight/implied smut, angst, forbidden romance, star-crossed lovers. — (all characters mentioned are of age!) 18+

✧ word count: 1.8k

✧ author's note: hello! this is my first writing! this one-shot was spontaneously written as it was meant more for self-indulgence but i thought why not share it to others who also has a current obsession with the rising blackwood character, right? :-) anyways, reading fics under the benji tags manifested many scenarios in my head, and gave me inspiration to write something. lastly, forgive me for any possible grammatical errors, i still am an amateur in fictional writing. enjoy!!!

It was the dead of night. The sky had been painted in its darkest hue, the moon stood nearly at its peak, offering its gentle glow along the riverbank. The distant chatter that could be heard during a long day's labor was no longer present, replaced by the solemn silence of nature's symphonies—the flowing river, the rustling of leaves as they danced in breaths of wind, and the lullabies of insects as they clicked and buzzed.

The forest was no stranger to you; befriending the woodland for the passing moons. You often wondered if anyone would, or had, grown an inkling of your periodic disappearance following the hours of supper—what others would think of your father’s only daughter growing a rather sudden interest beyond the walls of your family's stronghold. You always made your way out stealthily, though his words echoed in your mind,

“You are our only hope, daughter. Do not fail us.” A stark reminder of your duty, which would soon bring honor to your family's name.

If it means anything, you knew it was wrong from the start. You had never intended anything as such to happen. For the name of a nobleman was bound to yours, yet your lips would chant whispers of another.

Time became irrelevant right before you met him on this cool summer night. There the young man stood, one hand steady on the hilt of his dagger, ever vigilant should danger lurk in the tranquil embrace of the silent woods; his tense body relaxing upon the sight of your cloaked figure before him—a beacon of familiarity. You had planned to tell him about your betrothal tonight.

Although it was not much longer that you would find yourself a whimpering mess under the Blackwood boy. Your sighs mingled with the saccharine words Benjicot spoke, adding harmonies of moans and gasps of pleasure in the serenity of the haven you both made. You often feared getting caught but Benji assured you in these remote lands, he doubted anyone would be near enough to witness anything— not even the treacherous act you both selfishly indulged in. You still pray to the Gods that they grant you both the favor that no eye spies this clandestine meeting; and the many before.

You never really questioned yourself on why you couldn't confide in your father about your betrothal; had you already envisioned the conversation—mayhem would ensue. It was simple, it was the decision he made—securing your family's position through a marriage pact, a political alliance they called it. Duty, you thought yet again.

You didn't know what, or whom, to shift the blame on—or maybe it was the complexities of guilt. your guilt. You knew the inevitable, yet your selfishness, your greed, your immature desire for love; tainting your rationale. Or that maybe you should feel resentment that your father and the Lord of Stone Hedge, Humfrey Bracken regarded their relationship as close as to being kin. Maybe then you would have the strength to ignore your obligations, this once.

You cursed yourself for thinking the way you did, and you cursed the Gods for the decades-old rivarly between the ancient houses—a hatred and feud born long before either of you were born; beyond your father's time, and his father's before him, yet its roots grew, multiplying the petty divide among those that followed after them.

It made you question what started the war between the two in the first place, as sin begets sin begets sin; however, unwavering was the tryst between you and Benjicot—untouched by the strife and grudges.

He knew. You were aware of his knowledge with the woven webs you had with the Brackens; about your father's bond with the red stallion lord. Your thoughts do not come to a plausible explanation as they endlessly spun in your mind.

And all it took was Benjicot's hips to lower into yours, silencing these whirling thoughts.

Your cloak drapes over you, offering its warmth from the breaths of wind, coming from the riverbank. It spared the watchful eyes of the forest spirits from your unneeded bareness. At your side, Benjicot lays as he adjusts his breeches.

“There’s a war soon to come,” he says as he stares at the sky, hands behind his head, ”And I ought for you to know that given the growing wars, you have not left my mind since.” he nervously confessed.

You hum in response, the weight of his words settling heavily in the quiet of the forest. "I fear what lies ahead, Ben" you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur, filled with both longing and apprehension.

He turns to you then, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that spoke of unspoken promises and uncertainties. "No matter what comes, my love for you will endure." he vows, his fingers gently tracing the contour of your cheek.

You turn your head and sit up, feeling around for your discarded garments to dress.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, sitting up, his expression betraying confusion at your abrupt reaction. 

"No, it's not that." you breathed out, your back faced to him. It was this very moment you had feared since the first: the inevitable.

"Well, did you not finish as I had?" he ventured in jest, a playful side of him that you loved. "Or is it because I professed my love for you?", hoping his declaration had not caused you to pull away. "Trust me, I will make sure there's nothing—"

"My betrothal..." you did not let him finish, "it's to Aeron Bracken." you said, still facing away from him as you rose from the ground. You picked on your fingers picked in nervousness of his next response. The weight of your confession hung heavy in the air.

At first he thought he had not heard you clearly, as if the world had gotten awfully quiet. It was when you repeated once more, realizing his ears did not fail him as his blood got hot—of you saying the name whom ignited an unexplainable fury in him.

"Aeron Bracken," Benjicot repeated in disbelief of your sudden confession, "The Bracken twat, eh?" — the very same Bracken he encountered in fresh conflict, near the mill's boundary stones. Although he did not show it, the tension in the air was strong enough to burn and linger its flames; his knuckles turning pale as he clenched his fists at his side.

"A craven false king follower... is bound to your name, to you." he chuckles incredulously. 

He paced in the clearing, his footsteps heavy as he turned to you. "And what are you to do about it?" He posed the question, pain plain upon his face, though hope bled through the mask of his composure. Deep down, he already knew the answer. He could scare tell if asking you such question was to self-inflict torment, or just a desperate need to face the harsh reality of your confession— not a difference between the two really.

You finally turned to meet his gaze, "It's my father's decision," you explained softly. "I... I cannot defy it." You stood before him, as your tears glisten in the faint light. Torn between love and duty.

"Ben," you pleaded, your voice shaking. "You know the stakes. It’s my duty. My family's honor—” 

"Fuck honor!" he interrupted, his voice thundering through the forest. He strides towards you, "It was long gone the very moment we first met—" he huffed out. He knew in his heart that despite the love he developed towards you, the tangled web of your kinship with the Brackens would soon unravel the bond you shared— still, he gambled with the odds, just as you had.

He had ever hoped that the old Gods would bestow the blessing of his fervent wishes—that it would be you, not some other maiden, whom he would take to wife. He often dreamed of you bearing the heirs of his house, growing gray together, and watch as your blood flow through the veins that would carry on his legacy. Yet, it was only ever a distant dream.

You reached out to him, to calm the storm raging within him, but he jerked away. "Tell me, then," he challenged, stepping closer with fire in his eyes. "Where do your loyalties lie, beyond this," he motioned between the two of you. "Are you suggesting that your father, and even yourself, are to declare for the usurper cunt of a King?" he whisper-yells to you. “Or is this some sort of arrangement with those Bracken fucks, to get back at us Blackwoods, simply just using me as a pawn, 'cus you know I'm now Lord?" His words spitting at you like venom;

“Oh, you know where my loyalties lie," you spat, your voice filled with heartache, "But I won't stand for you questioning my integrity nor my family's honor to secure a future." You glared at him as your heart stung with hurt, "And to accuse me... I would not dare to commit something so heinous even if i could; I'm not cruel, Benji."

Benjicot's jaw clenched, shaking his head as he stood facing the river, incomprehensible words muttered under his breath.

"I never asked for this," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. "But I have responsibilities. We both do." you sniffled, swallowing the tension of your throat away, "And I know you know..." you wiped your tears, "we know... that this was bound to occur, sooner or later, Ben." your voice was barely audible, even with the deafening silence the forest came to be. "There's a war coming."

The silence hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken words and the weight of impossible choices.

Benjicot stood before you, his expression torn between love and anguish. His hands trembled as he gathered his scattered belongings, his movements reflecting the turmoil in his heart. You mirrored his actions, silently picking the remnants of what you felt is to be your last fleeting moment of happiness.

"I swear it," he finally spoke, "would that we were not bound by the enmity between our folks, I would have already vowed myself to you. Long before your father would have you promised to another."

His words pierced your heart with longing and regret, the bitter truth of your circumstances hanging between you like a veil of sorrow. “And I would have gladly accepted it,” you replied with a heavy sigh. "—my Lord."

The Blackwood male nodded, his gaze fixed on yours, filled with a depth of emotion that mirrored your own. With a heavy heart, you both silently acknowledged the futility of your love.

Benjicot turned away first. The distance between you both grew; and his silhouette became one with the dark forest.

You knew that somewhere, amidst the pain and heartache, you would find a way to carry on—a life of uncertainty but fraught with duty. As you walked away from the happiness and love that the forest had given you, the ache in your chest spoke of a love that was lost but will never be forgotten. It would be a bittersweet reminder of what once was, and what could never be again.

[essektheylyss]

Fearne had, in true Fearne fashion, wrapped herself like a personal pashmina around Dorian, which left Orym to curl into his chest.

They had slept this way dozens of times before. Fearne’s blackened fingers wrapped tightly around his forearm as she snored loudly into Dorian’s ear. Orym’s head rested on Dorian’s bicep, his arms folded together between them, and his bare feet were gingerly resting upon Dorian’s thighs just above the knees, as Dorian had coiled enough to let Fearne’s fuzzy leg stretch over his hip. They were exhausted, and this was familiar, and he should’ve been fast asleep.

But Orym’s mind buzzed.

Fearne had always been a strong source of heat, but now she was a furnace, and even without covers it was too warm. But Fearne was not the reason why Orym’s skin burned where it met Dorian’s.

He was a fucking grown man. He was fully capable of admitting that.

Admitting it didn’t change it.

Neither did it change his awareness that Dorian had been too still for the past hour, his breath too precise and measured to be natural as it fell upon Orym’s hair. Orym was not going to presume that the cause of this was the same thing afflicting him; there were plenty of other reasons Dorian would be lying awake tonight.

“My family will find your brother,” he murmured finally, and Dorian’s breath wavered for just an instant before he regained his composure and returned to his measured, singer’s breathing. It was so slight that no one else could’ve noticed it, but Orym noticed. “You said there’s a body— the Tempest can bring him back, or Fearne, honestly—“

“I know,” Dorian answered, and this too was so faint that no one but Orym could’ve heard. “I know,” he said again, as though this one was only to appease himself.

“Do you think… do you think any of Opal is still in there?”

“I don’t know. I could barely tell what was in there—“ he cut himself off. “I couldn’t even help my brother. I think Fy’ra Rai might’ve… she must’ve seen something. I hope so,” he added, inhaling, trying to capture an airy tone that he didn’t fully manage. “The Spider Queen doesn’t deserve her. She doesn’t deserve anything.”

Orym had nothing to say to this. He hadn’t cared what the gods did or didn’t deserve in weeks, but now he could see the vein of fury that sharpened Dorian’s edges. It didn’t frighten him the way it had frightened him months ago, when things had been simpler, when there was not a war to be fought. It simply saddened him. “I’m so sorry about Opal,” he said, after the silence had lingered. “But I’m,” he breathed out a single dark laugh at himself, his selfishness, “I’m real glad it wasn’t you.”

Dorian’s laugh matched his own. “I suppose that is a silver lining.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Orym admitted. It was easier to keep his voice from cracking at a whisper. “I’ve thought about seeing you again so many times— I wish the circumstances were better—“

“I’m here,” Dorian said, for the second time today. “The circumstances tried very hard to make even that impossible, but— I’m here.”

Orym pulled his arm gently out of Fearne’s grasp and raised his hand to Dorian’s cheek. It was too dark to see the tinge of lavender against his skin, but Orym could feel the warmth bloom beneath his fingers. He still couldn’t bring himself to attribute his friend’s insomnia to anything so self-serving as his own, but perhaps it was one factor.

He pulled his hand back. Was there a flash of disappointment in Dorian’s eyes? He couldn’t tell in the dark. But he brushed his fingers together, drawing upon the wellspring of life within the ground beneath this hastily-erected encampment. The Hellcatch looked like a barren wasteland to most, but that life was still present even here.

Perhaps not now, but after a rainy season, the valley would bloom with wildflowers. The seeds waited in the earth for their time to sprout. Life went on, even in the darkest of places.

He produced a small stalk of life from his hands, and held out the tiny bundle of forget-me-nots to Dorian.

He should’ve said that they were for Cyrus, to remember him by. He wanted to say that they were for Dorian himself, that a day hadn’t gone by that he hadn’t thought of him. He didn’t speak at all as Dorian’s hand wrapped around Orym’s, pinching the stem beneath his fingers but not letting go.

“Orym,” Dorian breathed, looking from the flowers to his face. Then a strange expression came over his face, a wrinkle of consternation as he stared into the middle distance. “Fearne, are you braiding my hair?”

Orym lifted his head an inch to peer past Dorian’s ear. He had noticed that the snoring had stopped, but he’d been too caught up in the conversation to process it. Fearne’s wide eyes stared back with perfect innocence, her hands indeed weaving Dorian’s hair into a loose braid.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” she whispered quickly. “I’m totally not here.”

When Orym dropped his head back to Dorian’s arm, he was met with a crooked smile. It was not meant to be disarming, but it disarmed him anyway.

“Just like old times, eh?” he said, but his hand was still around Orym’s.

Carefully, Orym moved to tuck the flower behind Dorian’s ear, bringing both of their hands with him, and then laced their fingers together instead. “No,” he said, and tucked his head so that his brow rested against Dorian’s chin, and pressed their entwined hands to his lips. “But I think that’s okay.”

[yandereunsolved]

🐉 ✧ Yandere Aemond Targaryen ✧ 🐉(part 2)

With you, this has been Aemond's only safe place since you were hired when he was but a child, and so were you. He would see you following the other maids and workers around like a lost duckling, constantly tripping over yourself, and failing at the simplest tasks. You grew proficient over time, but that didn't stop the harassment that came from young Aegon and the others. He had to become blinded in one eye to truly see you.

He thought you foolish at first. He pitied your futile attempts to reject Aegon's advances. Your education was nonexistent, and your manners only the minimum. You had not the physical strength of the guard nor the cunning that every power-hungry noble possessed. You did have two things that made you worth his time: your curiosity and comfort.

You didn't gasp in horror after his horrific disfiguration. You didn't scold him for not being wise or mighty enough to win the battle of being ambushed. Chastising him was not within the rights of your station, but many below him still did. Perhaps that is why he was so surprised when you were the only maid who offered to change his bandages and report to the maesters on his healing.

As you got bolder in his care, you dared to lightly caress the scar with the pad of your thumb. He would never admit how embarrassed he felt that you had taken such a liking to him. You seemed so content with the fact that he was now damaged goods. What lady would want a man with such a deformity?

You even gave him a porcelain eye for his socket as a gift. It wasn't the best made, but it was the most you could afford. You spent half of your weekly wages on such a thing. Aemond could feel a fiery sensation rising in his gullet. His fingers caressing the porcelain and meekly thanking you before dismissing you back to your duties.

He never wore the gift, as it wasn't what he had truly hoped for. Even as a sapphire remained in his empty socket, he always kept that glass eye in a wooden box right next to his bedside. He sat up many nights with pathetic droplets of sadness rolling down his pale face while clutching the object. He couldn't be strong all alone, but your token of good faith helped him get through his darkest hours.

That is when his courtship of you truly began. It was subtle. He had grown into a young man, and you had grown to be a fine worker within the walls of the Red Keep. Many would be suspicious if he always asked for you to care for him and do your duties near his room instead of having to traverse all throughout the castle.

He would leave you small gifts, like how a dragon will offer dead beasts to its rider as a sign of affection. They would be flowers from the gardens, trinkets, and silk cloths. Small notes of words that are translated into High Valyrian. "'Avy Jorrāelan', it means I love you in High Valyrian. I am sure your lips are sweeter than any pastry the finest chefs could bake." The short notes became increasingly violent and lewd over time. "One day, I will kill every man who has touched you who is not me. I will ravage you atop their dead corpses, and you will see their blood mixing in with my spilled seed." You stopped reading them. So he switched to another tactic. 

He had you carry his gear when he went to ride Vhagar. He introduced you to her, and she loved you just as he did. He could see it in her eyes. He's never seen the savage beast look so at peace. Vhagar went as far as to gently grab ahold of your clothing and tear at it. It caused you to become fearful and hide behind Aemond, but there was a certain mischief behind his dragon's actions.

"My prince, I fear your dragon dislikes me." You mutter so softly that his ears are barely able to pick the words up.

"I think she is very fond of you. If she hated you, then she would have eaten you already." There was an air of amusement present in his voice that you haven't ever heard before.

"Should I take comfort in that?" You inquired while a bit confused about this peculiar situation.

"You should."

"I shall, then. She is your dragon, and you know her best. You always end up being right about these things—I mean you are extremely intelligent. You are just always able to figure these things out. Your good looks and charm help to. I—" You felt you said too much and shut your mouth.

Aemond learned to tease you in such a way that would get you to spill these thoughts of yours. He did it so shamelessly. He made sure those bastards knew you were taken through his method. He almost kissed you just to prove that neither Jacaerys nor Lucerys would ever be able to lay a hand on you. He didn't have to worry about Aegon anymore. His drunk of a brother learned well not to trifle with you after he gave him a broken nose and a bloodied lip. If anyone dared upset you, especially those not his kin, well, they have particularly gruesome deaths.

All of this and you thought him mostly indifferent to you. None of the most twisted emotions ever rose to the surface when he was around you. He always waited until in private. He knew he had to keep you in his clutches. He couldn't scare you away quite yet. 

"Dear?"

"Me?" You squeak in surprise.

Aemond tucks a dragon's breath flower behind your ear as you turn to face him. No words escape him. Only a contented smirk appears. Before you have an opportunity to question him, he walks off. How strange. You gently adjust the flower in your hair. It makes you oddly giddy. 

"How cute." You murmur.

Aemond heard your words. He couldn't wait for the morrow. He will take you back to Vhagar and confess his love. He will offer you to become his spouse. His mother surely wouldn't be happy, but he would. And if the worst comes, he will burn down all of Westeros just to be with you.

[arminsumi]

Seeing ex!Geto again after years

💗 すぐる

note : srry to make y'all cry 👍 this was written from a raw heart lol

summary : oh god, he still loves you. oh god. all of it comes back to him in the moment he sees you. you say his name and it feels like a gunshot wound to the chest.

warnings : angst, kinda hopeful ending, not proofread

playme : my love mine all mine

In the moment you turn to face the stranger, the world stops. Or at least the world between you and him. You always did "live in your own world" when you were dating, everyone pointed it out.

When Suguru sees you for the first time after not talking to you for... what, a year? He's so stricken. His eyes widen. His pupils dilate a bit. The color drains from his face. He doesn't know what he feels, but it's a snapping shattering breaking ruining feeling.

And when you, so shocked as you are, whisper his name with a chip in your voice "Suguru...?" It's like a gunshot wound to his heart. Bang. It kills him. And god it's only his name, isn't it crazy that the effect is so severe?

It has such a hold on him, you saying his name. He can't move; he's stationary, statue-like just like you in the middle of this cafe. He's paralyzed by your voice. The voice that used to sing him to sleep. The voice that used to talk philosophy with him at 2:32 AM on school nights. The voice that was the only thing that calmed him down during his darkest hours.

He stutters. No words come out of him or you, and yet so much is said. So much is said.

"Hey." he chokes out.

"Hey." you return.

Isn't it funny, he thinks when he gets home and slumps against the door after closing it.

How we used to speak until we ran out of breath, until we exhausted all topics possible. And then stared with pure love at each other in silence...

...and yet when you encountered each other in public by chance again, nothing but "hey"? He used to tell you that he was gonna spend his whole life with you. He used to call you baby. He used to cradle you in his arms. He used to love you vehemently. He used to kiss you until he gasped for air and laughed. He used to smile into those kisses. He used to swear he was yours, all yours. He etched your name into his skin, not figuratively; when you were teenagers you were fucking insane and giggled over the idea of etching your names into each other.

Sad. So sad. He feels his whole chest weighted, gravity pulls on his heart like it's pulling him into a grave.

While in bed, he stares at your phone number in his contacts. He blocks and unblocks. He types and deletes. He calls and ends calls. He nibbles his lip and sighs and gives up.

What would I even say...?

The image of a memory from September 21st 2019 flashes in his eyes. Your smiling face. Okinawa.

He snaps. And calls you. And it rings, rings rings rings rings rings —

"...hello? Whose number is this?" you ask, voice sending a shiver down his spine.

Fuck, that voice. That voice... is capable of murder. You kill me, baby. You kill me with your voice alone.

He makes a strangled noise. Tears roll off his cheeks. There's so many tears in fact. So many. Endless. It hurts him to shed every single one. And all his tears are for you.

"...Suguru, is that you?"

How could she know?

He chokes up and stutters, and says the quietest "hey" after clearing his throat.

It's 1:30 AM.

"You're still a night owl?"

There's tense silence............................................then you chuckle and it fucking breaks him. Devastates him. Tortures him so deliciously. Oh he missed that. Oh god he missed that. That laugh. That laugh is so beautiful to him. It's so brief and yet it nourishes his whole soul just to hear your laugh again. Oh god your laugh. Oh god... your voice.

Oh god, you.

"I am, yeah." you respond. "But you're awake too, aren't you?"

I want to hear her say my name again.

"I am..."

Please say my name again.

"You are."

Baby say my name. Say my name. Say my name.

There's silence. He knows, and you know, that the both of you are feeling flashbacks of memories crashing over the two of you like tidal waves. Memories of you and him.

Us.

"...did you ever think of me?" you ask.

"...I thought of you every day from the moment we parted."

You choke up. You laugh to cope with his revelation.

"How dramatic..." he can hear your voice grow hoarse, like you're in pain but trying to be funny. Because... it is funny, isn't it? This insanity we call reality?

"Sorry..."

"I've got to sleep... got work tomorrow."

"Me too."

"Okay..."

"Yeah."

"Hey?"

"Yeah?"

He holds his breath.

"Suguru."

His whole world... god, it's... he just... he...

"Y/n."

The two of you hang up.

A few minutes pass. Then the two of you call each other again. It's you calling him. His heart thumps hard. His chest is so tight.

"...hey."

"...hey."

And then... well, it's... it's just like the old days. But different. But still... that old feeling engulfs you and him during this phone call.

A phone call that starts at 1 AM and ends at 5 AM.

Dawn comes. When birds chirp.

And the two of you pass out while talking, the phone call still going. You wake up and see that he never ended the call after saying he would once you fell asleep.

[leeknow-thoughts]

୨୧ ENDEARING

𝝑𝝔 cw : they're in love your honor!! porn with so many feelings and a plot, p in v, foreplay, oral (reader rec.), petnames, angst if you squint, so much fluff, no clear dynamics but Minho is on top, realistic smut (a rarity on my page), slightly jealous!Minho if you squint, reader is Han's younger cousin and is one of the skz managers!! (read part 1 if you want more context!!!), drinking (nothing crazy but still felt like I should give a warning for it just in case), so many kisses,

𝝑𝝔 part two of "Kiss it Better"

𝝑𝝔 a/n : guys I love Mimo, he's so sweetieful I'm gonna fucking vomit

It was harder to sneak around than either of you thought it would be. Concealed kisses in empty practice rooms, his hand grazing your thigh under the table during dinner with the group, him sneaking out of the dorms to come over to your apartment in the darkest hours of the night. Being an idol meant he had no privacy, and being his manager meant at times you also had no privacy.

"You know," your older cousin, Jisung, starts from his seat on your couch, "I think Minho is starting to warm up to you, he's been acting different since you two went to Japan together to film his vlog."

"Really? I don't see it," you lie.

If only Jisung knew just how differently Minho had treated you since then. How Minho's once cold touches became gentle kisses to your face, how his glares became lingering gazes from soft eyes, or how his sour words became the sweetest of compliments. Jisung couldn't know that though, he couldn't know about how Minho had fallen for his younger cousin.

"I'm telling you, something is different," Jisung hums, "maybe it's because hyung is seeing someone?"

"H-he's seeing someone?" you can't help but stutter, "I didn't notice."

"Well, he's always sneaking out at night, he thinks we don't notice, but we do, I just am wondering who it is," Jisung confesses, "I hope he'll introduce them to us soon."

"Mhm," you hum, "I'm sure he will soon," even though you hope for the opposite.

"So what about you? Are there any boys who are trying to get with you?" Jisung changes the subject.

You shake your head, "no, no, you know this Ji, guys just aren't very interested in me."

"Well, you didn't hear this from me, but I think one of the guys in our film crew has a little thing for you," Jisung wiggles his eyebrows, "maybe you should give him a chance, he sounds nice."

"M-maybe?" you speak only so he'll be quiet.

Later that night your doorknob is turning, Minho stepping into your apartment, "jagi," he calls out to you.

"Hey Min," you say from your spot on the couch.

You hear him shuffling around in the kitchen for a moment, "I brought you some ice cream and other goodies," Minho announces, "also you have some mail."

"Mhm," you groan, you sit up and get a good look at the man who is standing in your kitchen, scooping your favorite ice cream into a bowl for you, and you can't help the warmth that runs all throughout your body at his gentleness.

"Did you have a rough day?" Minho inquires as he puts the tub of ice cream back into the fridge, finally turning to face you.

"Kinda," you inform him through a shrug, "just swamped with school and work and Ji came over earlier today as if I didn't just see him yesterday and my cat has a cold and yeah... today is just not my day," you ramble.

Minho is bringing the bowl of ice cream to you and wrapping you in his arms, rubbing soothing circles on your back, "I'm sorry, jagi," Minho muses, gently cupping your face in his hands, "I brought some wine, and I was at the store a few days ago and I noticed they had a sale on your favorite bath bombs so I grabbed a few of those for you," he informs.

"You're the best," you mumble, bringing Minho in for a tender kiss.

"I know," he hums against your lips, "let's take a nice bath together," he proposes.

He leaves one last kiss on your lips before he is standing up and walking into your bathroom, "eat your ice cream, jagi, I'll take care of everything else," Minho reassures.

You begin eating your ice cream and you hear the water for the bath turn on. You had just finished your bowl of ice cream when Minho is calling you into the bathroom.

You stand up and put your bowl in the sink before joining Minho in the bathroom. The only part of your apartment that you genuinely had no problems with was your jacuzzi style bathtub, it was large and perfect for relaxing in. The bath was full of warm water with bubbles floating on top, "I'm gonna go pour you a glass of wine," Minho announces before he steps out of the room.

You practically tear off your clothes and slowly sink into the warm water, letting the feeling of warmth and comfort completely consume you. "Jagi," Minho hums, opening the door to your bathroom carrying two wine glasses and a bottle of your favorite red wine in the other hand.

You can't help the smile that breaks across your face when you see him, he puts the glasses down on the counter, popping open the bottle before he pours you a glass of wine and hands it to you. "You always know just how to make me feel better, Min," you say while taking a sip of your drink.

"I try my best, jagi," he muses, beginning to take off his clothes so he can join you in the bath.

He eventually sinks into the tub across from you, sitting there with his own glass of wine that he poured. "So, I didn't know your cat was sick," he says after a moment.

"Yeah," you chuckle, "she woke me up getting sick on my bed this morning, so I took her to the vet, the poor thing has a stomach bug," you explain to him, "they are giving her some medicine and treating her overnight at the clinic."

"Ah," he nods, "I was wondering why she didn't greet me when I walked in," he takes another sip of wine.

"Yeah, I just hope she starts feeling better," you mumble, taking another sip of your drink, "but, enough about me, how have you been?"

"Y'know how work is, hell, you probably know more about my job then I do," he chuckles and you can't help the smile that spreads across your face, "it's well, work," he sighs, taking another sip from his glass, "honestly I'm excited for our break that's coming up soon, speaking of which, I was going to go camping and well I-I wanted you to go with me."

"Oh?" you raise your eyebrows, "me?"

"Well who else would I be talking to?" he deadpans.

You playfully roll your eyes, "I mean - why me?"

"I- you're my girlfriend," he tells you like you don't already know it.

You scoff, "well I know that- I-I just I'm not one for the woods."

"Well then we don't have to go camping, we should just take a trip, wherever you want," he rubs his face.

"W-wherever?" you can't fathom what he is telling you, "are you being serious?"

"Why would I lie to you, jagi?" he counters, "of course I'm being serious, is there anywhere you want to go?"

"I-I don't care, m-maybe Okinawa, I heard it's really pretty this time of the year," you comment.

"We can definitely do that," Minho's voice is like honey, the sweetest you've ever heard.

No one has ever spoken to you quite as sweetly as Minho has, it threw you for a loop everytime he would speak to you gently like this.

"I can't believe I used to find you intimidating," you mumble, talking about the man across from you in your tub.

"Most people find me intimidating, jagi, I think you're in the small minority of people who don't see me that way," he whispered in response.

"I can see why people think you are, but now whatever they find intimidating I just find endearing," you quietly confess.

You look into his eyes, his gaze soft, it was always soft when he was staring at you, like it was a privilege only you had, him looking at you that way. "I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," he breaks into a grin.

You take one last sip of wine before you're reaching up and placing the empty wine glass on the sink counter.

You dip your head into the water, wetting your hair before rising out of the water. You grab a bottle of shampoo, pouring it on your head, before massaging it into your scalp.

Minho repeats what you do, wetting his hair before shampooing it. You're putting your head back in the water, rinsing the shampoo out before grabbing your conditioner and putting it in your hair.

Once Minho rinses out the shampoo from his own hair you pass him the conditioner, letting him apply it.

While waiting for the conditioner to set in your hair you're moving over to Minho and straddling his lap, he takes a sip of wine before he's putting the glass back on the edge of the tub, his hands moving to your thighs under the water, gently squeezing the skin in his hands.

"You know, I can't believe how lucky I am to have you," you whisper before leaning down to kiss him gently.

You kiss him gently, hoping that your kiss will be as gentle as the way he speaks to you. A passionate kiss that he happily returns, it reminds you of the first kiss you two shared, the one that is a secret kept only between the two of you.

Each kiss you two share is a secret, almost like a language only the two of you know, one so tender and full of emotions. So rare and cherished because you both know you're the only two who will understand the words. As if every sentence spoken in the language was punctuated with a kiss.

Your chest went tight at your sudden realization, you love Lee Minho.

"You okay, jagi?" the man you love's voice snapping you out of your trance, "you went all still for a moment there," he chuckles.

"Y-yeah," you insist.

His right hand comes up to cup your face, pulling you back down for another kiss, "m'kay," he mouths against your lips.

Your lips move together in an almost hypnotic way against each other, in a way that leaves you dizzy and wanting more and more and more. You want as much as he'll give to you.

"Jagi," he hoarsely whispers against your lips, "y-you're perfect, y'know?"

Your arms link around the back of his neck, placing a peck on his lips before leaning back to get a good look at him, his eyes were glistening, wet hair slightly disheveled, and his lips are kiss bitten.

He breaks out into a toothy smile when he notices how you're looking at him, "you know, Ji thinks you're seeing someone," you inform him.

"Yeah?" Minho lowly chuckles, his eyebrows raising, "if only he knew I'm seeing the prettiest girl in the world, who just happens to share the same last name as him."

You can't help the blush that creeps onto your face from his sugary sweet words, "yeah, well, only if he knew I was seeing the handsomest guy in the world, who happens to be his best friend," you counter.

Minho's hands are tracing your sides now, tracing the stretch marks on your hips in the softest way imaginable, "they look kind of like lightning," he hinted at your stretch marks, "they're sexy, is that weird that I find every part of you sexy?" he ponders outloud.

"Just a bit, but I can't say much, I find every part of you sexy," you confide with a light blush on your cheeks.

You watch as the tips of his ears turn red and a shy smile breaks across his face, "every part?" he questions.

"Every part," you affirm, "even the parts you don't like," you whisper the last part.

You lean in and place a tender kiss on the underside of his jaw, while he leaves a kiss on your collarbone. Ripples of electricity flow through you when he gently bites down on your sweet spot and you can't help but gyrate your hips.

"J-jagi," Minho groans against your neck, "y-you're so fucking perfect."

"Make love t'me?" you request.

You can feel Minho's smile against your collarbone before he speaks, "let's rinse the conditioner out first," he suggests through a small chuckle.

You're quick to move off of him, dunking your head under the water, rinsing out the conditioner from your hair before watching him do the same. "You're eager," he teases, standing up from the tub before he's stepping out onto the bath mat.

You get a good look at him like this, a body so beautiful it looks like it was sculpted by the ancient Greeks. You can't help the way your eyes trail down his naked form, taking all of him in, from his beautiful face down to his strong calves and every piece of him in between.

"Like what you see?" Minho teases, grabbing a towel before drying himself off.

You can't help but rub your thighs together when you stare at his cock, semi-hard and quickly chubbing up.

You're standing up quickly, stepping out onto the bath mat, water dripping down every curve of your body, Minho is wrapping you in a towel of your own, helping dry you off.

He sinks to his knees without shame before he is drying off the lower half of your body. You can't help the whine that escapes your throat when he kisses your inner thigh, mere inches away from your cunt.

"And you say I'm eager?" you can't help but retort as you push the hair out of his face, his brown eyes staring up at you.

He smirks before kissing above the mound of your cunt. "I have the most beautiful woman in front of me, obviously I'm going to be eager," he compliments.

You're going to say something back to him but before you can you're moaning at the feeling of him gently sucking your clit into his mouth. "M-Minho-" a whimper tears itself from your throat.

"Just relax, jagi," he rasps before giving your clit a long, drawn out lick.

Your hands are grabbing at the sink counter for support because your legs are shaking so much you feel like they may give out on you. Minho's mouth working wonders on your clit, alternating between sloppy kitten licks, harsh sucks, and long drawn out movements of his tongue.

Your mind is turning into static and with every ministration of Minho's tongue you just fall deeper and deeper into the comfort of pleasure. Your hands are in his hair while his hands are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you still for him.

Time slows down like this, the only thing that matters in this world is the way your body shakes with every time Minho sucks on your clit. "My sweet jagi," Minho growls against your cunt, the vibrations of it sending you leaps and bounds closer to your orgasm, "are you enjoying yourself?"

He's not trying to tease you when he says this rather looking for genuine feedback and wanting to make sure he's doing a good job, "Minho d-don't you d-dare stop," you command, hands tugging on his locks.

And he is in no spot to deny your commands, returning to kitten licking your sloppy clit.

With a particularly hard suck on your clit you're squeezing your eyes shut and all that can be heard is white noise as you ride through the shockwaves of your orgasm, Minho's tongue gently licking over your clit, drawing out the fire pooling in your lower abdomen.

Your thighs shake in his grasp and your breathing becomes jagged while the bliss of your orgasm begins to fade away. "F-fuck," you cry out.

Minho gives your clit one last kiss, a gesture that makes tingles run up your spine, before he is standing up.

He is quick to bring you in for a passionate kiss and you can taste your essence on his tongue and it feels oh-so good to be this close to him. His tongue in your mouth and the taste of your own cum filling your taste buds. His hands resting on your hips before slowly moving up to your breasts, tweaking your pebbled nipples with his fingers.

When he pulls away from your lips he is breathless as he stares down at you, "you're so beautiful," he whispers, his chest heaving.

"Min," you choke, "p-please," is all you can manage to say.

But Minho knows what you want, almost like he can read your mind.

"I don't have a condom, jagi," he informs you.

"I'm on birth control, just please fuck me, Minho," you beg, "I think I'll go crazy if you don't."

He laughs at your remark, "okay," he whispers, pressing one last kiss on your lips before he's gently flipping you around, bending you over the sink counter.

You can't help but squeal as your body is pressed against the cold surface of the counter. A strangled moan tearing itself out of your throat when you feel Minho's cock rubbing against your entrance.

You look up into the mirror above the counter, watching Minho's face as he slowly pushes his cock into your awaiting cunt. Relishing in the way his eyes shut tightly and how his mouth falls open, a guttural groan ripping from his throat as he sinks into your pussy.

You can feel every vein of his pretty cock like this, questioning why you hadn't let him fuck you raw before. But you don't have much energy to think, not with the way Minho stills inside you, waiting for you to tell him to move, letting you adjust to his cock. Gentle with you even when you can tell he wants nothing more than to fuck your brains out.

"My perfect j-jagi, God i-it's so fucking warm 'n tight-" he groans, leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on your back, you can't help but clench at his words which pulls an immediate reaction out of him, "g-god jagi, I-I c-can I move pl-please?"

You're nodding more frantically then you hoped you would, but you don't have time to be embarrassed when Minho's cock starts slowly thrusting into you. You watch as his brows knit together in the mirror, the look of pure bliss on his face.

And when his pace picks up and the head of his cock finally hits that spongy spot inside of you, the one that has you seeing stars, you lose all your composure.

You turn into a moaning, whimpering mess, letting out little 'ah,ah,ah's each time his mushroom tip kisses your cervix. Your head falls and you do your best to completely drown yourself in the pleasure of the moment.

The only sound you can hear in the room is the sound of skin slapping against skin accompanied by you and Minho's groans.

A strong knot begins forming in your lower abdomen, one that grows tighter and tighter with every hypnotizing thrust of Minho's cock.

Honestly, you don't think it can get any better until Minho's fingers trail down your side, moving to softly rub rub rub your clit.

And that is what sends you over the edge of another orgasm, the band in your abdomen snapping as you cum around Minho's cock.

Moans escape your throat to no avail as you clench on his cock, every thrust into you more delicious than the last.

"G-gonna cum," Minho announces with a low growl, "gonna cum in this perfect little cunt."

"P-please," you plead, chanting the word like a mantra as you feel hot ropes of Minho's cum spilling into you.

He rides out his orgasm thrusting into you erratically before his hips eventually stop their movements and now the only sound that can be heard is the two of you's labored breaths.

"My perfect girl," Minho leans back down, placing kisses along your spine, you whine when his cock slips out of you, "thank you."

You can't help the dazed, almost drunken-like grin that spreads across your face as you feel his cum dribbling out of your cunt.

Minho cleans the two of you up after that, helping dress you in one of his baggy shirts and a pair of your underwear while he wears a pair of grey sweatpants and a white tank top. He grabs the wine and the wine glasses and brings them into the kitchen, putting them in their respective places before joining you on the couch.

The two of you sit on your couch, your legs thrown across Minho's lap while you watch the show that the two of you had been binging for the past few weeks. Minho's hands tenderly massaging your calves, rubbing away any remaining stress before gently tracing shapes on your shins.

When he gets up to grab water he returns with a glass of water in his hands and a letter in the other hand, giving it to you, "it's from Hannie's brother," he informs you, placing your feet back on his lap.

You tear open the letter, a wedding invitation for you and a plus one of your choice. "Ji's older brother is getting married," you inform him, "it's a wedding invitation."

"Ah," Minho nods, you pass the letter to him letting him read it over, "a plus one?"

"Yeah," you shrug, "I would take you but, y'know..." you trail off.

"Yeah, I get it," he hums, placing the letter on the coffee table.

Two weeks before the wedding and Jisung was accompanying you while you went dress shopping. "Ooh, that one's nice, fits the theme," he comments when you come out of the dressing room with a nudish-pink frilly dress on.

"Yeah, I guess, what are you wearing?" you question.

"I'm wearing a grey tux, y'know being the best man and all," he informs, "but my date is wearing black."

"You have a date?"

"Well he's not a date, more like a friend, it's your favorite person," he wiggles his eye brows, sarcasm dripping from his voice, and obviously he was hinting at Minho.

Little did Jisung know, Minho was your actual favorite person, but he couldn't know that yet. "Are you bringing a date?" he interrogates you.

"No," you chuckle, "who would even be my date?"

"I'm telling you, y/nnie, that guy on our camera crew!" he gaffs like it's obvious, "I'm positive he'd love to go with you! And he seems nice! And I promise I won't embarrass you in front of him!"

"I dunno Ji," you sigh, just hoping Jisung will be quiet.

Later that week you were at the filming of one of the SKZCODE episodes, organizing the boy's schedule whilst waiting for the boys to get done with their hair and makeup the camera and set crew setting up, "y/nnie!" Han muses, you snap your head up, looking up at your cousin, next to him was a man you had seen at other recordings, one of the cameramen.

"Did I ever introduce you to Jang Siwoo-ssi?" he motions to the man next to him, obviously hoping to start off a conversation between you and the man next to him.

"N-no?" you stamper.

"Ah! Well he is the guy I was telling you about," he reminds you of the cameraman that he said had a thing for you, "and you two just sound like a good pair, so I wanted to introduce the two of you," he was straight to the point with his words.

"H-hi," the man - Siwoo - greets, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Hi," you return, "I'm Han y/n, I'm Han's younger cousin, and one of the managers."

"Well you two are already hitting it off! Oh look at the time! I need to get dressed!" Jisung is quick to run off.

"Uhm Han was telling me that you needed a plus one to a-a wedding," Siwoo informs.

"O-oh, yeah-"

"-well I think you're really pretty a-and if you still don't have a date I-I would r-really like to go with you?" he cuts you off.

"Oh," your tone falls, you can't not accept, if you refuse, Jisung will interrogate you to no end, "y-yeah sure, I-I'll give you my number."

You pull your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him, letting him type his phone number into your phone before he hands it back to you. "Siwoo! We need your help!" another cameraman calls.

"Coming!" the man in front of you responds, "I'll uh text you."

"Y-yeah okay," you agree.

Later that night you texted him the details for the wedding. The wedding that came sooner rather than later.

Your doorbell rang and you knew it was Siwoo, the two of you deciding to ride to the wedding with Han and Minho. You let the man into your apartment, the two of you making mindless chit chat until the door is being opened by Han, Minho behind him. "Who's this?" Minho asks, motioning to Siwoo.

"He's her date," Han informs Minho whilst grabbing a water out of your fridge.

"Ah," Minho's eyes find yours and you give him an apologetic glance, trying to convey your thoughts with your eyes.

The wedding ceremony itself was rather short, followed soon after by the reception, a reception where you were seated between Minho and Siwoo, Han on Minho's right.

You curse whatever God put you in this position, having to ignore Minho for so long, especially when he looked oh so good.

"I'm going to grab a drink, do you want anything?" Siwoo asks as he stands up.

"I'll join you," Han stands up, joining Siwoo.

You shake your head and let out a shaky breath, turning to Minho, his hand is quick to rest on your thigh, "you look nice, jagi," he leans in to whisper in your ear, "that color looks good on you."

"Minho," your voice trembles, "at times like this I wish I didn't have to pretend to hate you."

"Me too," he hums, "maybe we could sneak off? I could tell Han you're not feeling well, call a cab, and we could go back to your place," he suggests.

To say it's tempting is an understatement, Siwoo sliding back into the chair on the other side of you makes you almost jump up into the air. Minho's hand flying off your thigh and settling back onto his own leg.

Siwoo didn't seem to notice, though, which you were thankful for. "H-hey I had fun today, b-but I don't feel too good, I think I'm gonna head home," you announce to Siwoo.

"O-oh I'll take you back home," he offers.

"Oh, uhm, Minho was going to take me."

Siwoo looks between you and Minho for a moment. "Oh you two are-" you can see the gears turning in his head, "a-a couple?"

"Who are you talking about?" Jisung asks, standing behind his chair.

"Y/n and Minho!" Siwoo gaffs like it's obvious.

"What!?" Han's jaw practically falls to the floor in shock, "the-there's no way! I mean guys he's just talking out of his ass right now right?"

"I-I me-mean yeah!" you try to lie.

"Minho! You've been bumping uglies with my cousin!" Han can see through your lies, turning the blame onto Minho.

Now it is Minho's time to stammer and try to act oblivious, "w-what n-n-no!"

"Oh my God!" Han groans, "I'm so mad at the two of you I can't even look at you!"

Han is soon stomping away, leaving in a huff, you turn your attention back to Siwoo, "I-I honestly have no words, uhm, I- I'm gonna go," he announces his departure.

You glance at Minho, feeling so embarrassed you could cry. "M-Minho," you whimper, biting your tongue so you don't cry.

"Jagi," Minho coos, his hand resting on your thigh yet again, "c'mon let's go home," he insists.

He is swift to order an Uber. You can't help the lump welling in your throat the one that spills over with salty tears running down your face, "oh, jagi," Minho is quick to pull you up, across the reception venue and out into the hall.

He has you trapped between his body and the wall, "sweet girl, hey, look at me," he tilts your chin up so you're looking up at him.

His brown eyes lovingly gaze at you when he speaks, "everything is gonna be okay," he tries to reassure you.

"But it isn't!" you sob.

"It will," he promises, "I love Jisung, but not in the way I love you and not more than I love you. Are you hearing me, jagi? I love you."

The world could be hit by a meteor and you wouldn't care, not in this moment. Because all that matters is the man standing in front of you, cradling your face.

The man who has you as his cat's emergency contact, the one who knows every uninteresting thing about you, the man who loves you. He's in front of you, and he is unwavering in his love.

"Y-you love me?" you choke through a sob.

"I love you more than the tides love the moon," he confesses, "you don't have to say it back, I want you to mean it when you say it, don't just say it because I did," he insists.

"M-Minho," you pull him in for a hug, "I do love you," you confide.

"Y-you're being serious?" his breath hitches in anticipation.

"As serious as a heart attack," you try to joke through your tears.

You pull apart from the hug and look into his brown eyes, his gaze is tender, like always, but it's not just his usual tender gaze. The way he looks at you now is different, it's the look of love.

"Can't believe you love me," he whispers, "in no world am I deserving of your love."

You can't help but smile ear to ear, "are you trying to make me cry more?" you chuckle.

"No," he leans down and presses the softest kiss on your lips like if he kisses you too harshly you'll fall apart, he kisses you like you're made of the most fragile china, "I never wanna make you cry."

"I love you," you say it again for whatever reason, but Minho doesn't mind.

"I love you more," he insists, wiping the tears from your face, "don't worry about Han, he'll come around, he can't stay mad at me and you forever."

"Minho-hyung," Han's voice rings in your ear, both you and Minho's gaze snapping to the man, who looks like he walked in on the two of you, "y/n, I-I," he sighs, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten mad at you two," he apologizes, "so how long have the two of you been a thing?"

"Since that trip to Japan," Minho informs him, his hand moving down to interlink with your own.

"Well, you hurt her I hurt you," Han shrugs, "b-but I'm happy for the two of you."

"See? Told you he'd come around," Minho whispers to you.

Han is quick to return back to the wedding without another word, "so are we still going back to my place?" you mumble.

"Yeah, let's go," he agrees.

[rinniessance]

BEST FRIEND'S GIRL ༊*·˚ - suguru geto x f!reader

nothing has ever been tempting enough for suguru geto to stab his best friend in the back - until you.

꒰ warnings: nsfw - mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ non-curse au. cheating, kind of manipulation, kind of dubcon, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, so so many pet names and name calling (calls you slut once), choking, dacraphyllia, spit, overstimulation, he doesn't pull out when you ask. satoru is toxic and suguru is a creep and a very bad friend in this one ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ // word count: 5.6k ꒱ ꒰ notes: i am christening my new blog with this piece of absolute filth .ᐟ.ᐟ ꒱

being satoru gojo’s best friend is easy, it always has been. ever since suguru and satoru met in the elementary school, they've been inseparable, joint at the hip whenever they went. at times, no words needed to be exchanged between the two, a glance was enough for the duo to understand one another without missing a beat. and they always shared everything (and by everything, suguru truly means everything – his camera roll is a sin to be discovered) – that, until you came along.

geto remembers clear as day when gojo introduced you as his new girlfriend – he had to make sure he read the message he received correctly because when does satoru ever start a relationship without mentioning it to him before anyone else? suguru scoffs at his phone screen when he reads a text from gojo that he’s bringing “his new girl” to the party. “i think this one is special” reads his next message, and suguru laughs darkly. how many satoru’s special girls has he met already?

but when he sees you for the first time, oh when he sees you, all pieces of the puzzle come together. all of a sudden, satoru’s decision to keep you all to himself until he absolutely had to reveal you to the world makes perfect sense.

suguru thinks he’s never met as anyone as bewitching as you are, you have captivated him whole. the very moment your big doe eyes turned into tiny crescent moons when you smiled at him and extended your hand for a greeting is forever stitched into his brain, weaved into the crevices of his mind: it’s the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up and the last memory he replays before he goes to sleep. even when geto slips into the realm of morpheus, his dreams are still full of you. damn your strawberry lipgloss, your citrus scented perfume and your tiny pink dresses that leave so little to imagination. the pants suguru has to wear when he knows satoru’s bringing you along are getting wider and wider – to his embarrassment, it’s getting extremely difficult to hide his boner whenever you (unintentionally) bat your eyelashes at him.

(he had to jerk himself off in gojo’s bathroom once when he came over for a movie night – you were wearing your boyfriend’s t-shirt and he couldn’t stop imagining what his clothes would look like on your body. that thought alone was almost enough to making him cum.)

thoughts of you torment his every waking moment – he checks your instagram every hour for any updates and stalks your old posts in the hopes he will dream of your angelic face again; he makes plans with satoru under the pretense he is bored and has nothing better to do just to shamelessly gawk at you the whole time; and he feels like he hits the jackpot every time you laugh at his stupid jokes.

once in a while, the realization that he’s down bad for his best friend’s girlfriend hits him like a tidal wave – he can feel it coming, see the rising signs of the shame foaming up somewhere deep in the darkest corners of the ocean that is his heart. and when it finally washes over him, he feels himself drowning in the whirlpool of emotions he is usually too tired to deal with.

suguru knows exactly what you see in satoru – of course he does. his best friend is handsome, rich, popular; despite what others might say, he is a great conversationalist, and he will never give you a chance to get bored of him. geto is sure his best friend only showed his best parts when you started dating – that is why he is twice delighted when you get to experience the withdrawal symptoms as a result of satoru gojo’s absence. geto knows this game by heart – satoru gets a girl hooked, spoils her with attention and then suddenly becomes withdrawn. “it intensifies the feelings”, he usually says. special girl his ass. geto doesn’t complain though. instead, he works on an opportunity to create a rift between you two because he knows he can treat you so much better.

suguru gives you his number (“just in case you ever need to know where satoru is”), and casually starts texting you from time to time. it’s always simple topics: asking if you’ve heard back from satoru, saying he hasn’t been responding to geto’s texts (when he knows perfectly well he spoke with the white haired man that morning); wondering if the two of you have any plans later this week (he knows you don’t – his best friend has been on a successful streak of being hot and cold with you for the past couple of weeks); making sure everything’s okay between you two. he puts invisible effort into appearing to you as a concerned friend, and it pays off when you finally start texting him first. geto doesn’t know if it’s out of loneliness or sheer desperation – what he knows is that he is one step closer to tasting what satoru has been too dumb to properly treasure all this time.

you call suguru out of the blue on a saturday night. him and satoru decided to throw a party, and he is currently smoking his second cigarette, trying not to stare too much at the back of his best friend’s head while he is flirting with a girl he is sure to forget ten minutes later. why does gojo even bother when he has you waiting for him at home? geto looks at your display name in a slight surprise – the two of you have been getting closer but this is the first time you called.

“hello?”

“hi suguru… uhm…” he hears a quite sniffle on the other end of the phone line. you have been crying. “sorry to bother you but would you happen to know where satoru is? he has not been answering my calls and texts, and i am just getting worried.”

of course he knows where his best friend is – not even 4 feet away from him, having the time of his life. but geto chases the opportunity when he sees one, and he realizes this might be the chance he’s been waiting for.

“no, i don’t, i’m sorry. but if you’d like, i can come over and we can wait for him? if you’re feeling up to having some company.”

the silence ensues, and suguru thinks that maybe he overestimated the level of comfort you feel with him. he is about to apologize when you softly speak up again.

“yeah, i think i’d like that.”

“okay, i’ll be there in 30.”

he gives satoru a quick excuse as to why he has to leave – white-haired man doesn’t even blink an eye and just yells at him to be safe. but safe is the last thing he is planning to be today. suguru has never wished for the ability to teleport more than he did now because driving to your place takes entirely too long. but, as promised, he is finally standing in front of your door 30 minutes later. his hands are shaking from the adrenaline when he knocks – your ethereal features bless him mere seconds later.

“hi,” you whisper almost breathlessly.

“hello again,” geto responds, and you shuffle to the side to let him inside. he’s been to your house before, namely for the horror movie nights where he can pretend he is sitting too close to you entirely for platonic reasons, in the “this movie is so scary i need to hold someone” type of way. yet, it feels completely different when your boyfriend is not here.

“thank you for coming. i hope i didn’t distract you from anything important but…” he can see the beads of tears pool in the corner of your eyes, and fuck, he would be lying if he said his pants didn’t feel too tight for this situation. oh how he would like to make you cry for entirely different reasons, “satoru has not been responding to me and it’s getting a little too much to bear. as his friend, i appreciate your company.”

“anytime,” suguru breathes out – his brain is short circuiting and he is unable to string more than two words together. however, you don’t notice his slipping composure as you walk back to your couch and extend geto an invitation to sit beside you.

the silence only stretches for a few seconds as you press play on some movie. raven-haired man was about to say something to break the silence but stops his word vomit when he hears your soft sniffling. suguru decides this opportunity will not present itself again – he wordlessly opens his arms and gestures you to come for a hug. you seem unsure at first but then giggle quietly and carefully curl yourself into him.

geto has never been this close to you before – he can smell the scent of your shampoo; he can feel the softness of your hair and the smoothness of your skin where he is able to touch you; he can soak in the warmth your body is offering him right now. and all of that because satoru thinks he is too good to lose all of this.

“you know,” geto slowly starts, “maybe if he makes you feel this way, he is not a very good boyfriend.”

suguru knows he is playing with fire – but he would be a fool to not at least try.

“it’s not always too bad,” you respond back. there is an apprehension in your voice, doubt, maybe even little bit of fear. he knows this script by heart: you, pretending like nothing’s wrong by trying to concentrate on all the good memories gojo gifted you with, and him, always sealing the arguments with iron-hot kisses.

“yeah, i know. but don’t you think him making you feel this way is shitty enough? even if it only happened once, isn’t it already one time too many?”

“but he treats me so well,” you try to fight back and move to look him straight in the eyes. oh, that was a mistake asyour glossy doe eyes hold the beauty all the poets sing about. what was that saying? face that launched a thousand ships? yeah, he would willingly go to war for you. next words escape him before he can put a stop to his endless stream of thoughts.

“i can treat you so much better.”

he can see you gasp in surprise, making the most adorable face he’s ever seen. geto doesn’t want to hear what you have to say back – he is moving on instinct, animalistic hunger re-wiring his every nerve – so he kisses you, hard and breathtakingly, like he dreamed of ever since he first laid eyes on you.

you are startled, eyes as wide as two full moons, and you try to push himself off but he is persistent. suguru feels your hands curling into his t-shirt, and you cannot stop the moan slipping past your lips.

“you don’t have to be shy with me. it seems satoru has been neglecting you awfully a lot recently, wouldn’t you let me take care of you?”

“we s-shouldn’t be doing this, suguru. it’s wrong.”

“what’s wrong, sinful even, is to leave a pretty girl like you all alone. let me show you how you should be loved.”

before you can respond, suguru is sliding his hand down your shorts and feels your throbbing heat through the panties. you are not wet enough yet but geto knows he can change it very quickly.

“tell me, princess, when was the last time satoru fucked you? or better one, when was the last time satoru fucked you and made you cum?” suguru cups your sex through your clothes and grinds his palm on your clit. the mewl it earns him from you feels almost like honey on a sore throat – he swears it sounds almost divine.

“yeah, you like that, sweet thing?” he asks you, and you’re too embarrassed to say anything so you just shake your head. as your body starts feeling good, you stop caring how wrong it is: you cannot deny you’ve missed being treated like you’re the only one that matters. “you know, i don’t understand satoru. if you were mine, i would keep you under me the whole day. fuck you into this couch until i am the only one on your mind, and then make you cum again and again on my tongue and my fingers. would you like that, princess?”

geto’s honeycomb words make you lose any last reservations you’ve had about this whole affair. his fingers keep massaging your pearly bud – it’s been left without attention for way too long for your own comfort, and your own fingers do not bring you the same level of satisfaction as you got used to with satoru. so you kiss geto again, and climb on top of him, everything else be damned.

suguru kisses you back with a ferociousness of a starved beast – it’s messy and it’s loud, teeth clanking, wet sounds of your mouths moving in rhythm bouncing between the two of you, moans exchanged and swallowed. he is biting on your lip, hands squeezing your hips harshly – you’re sure you will see bruises there tomorrow – making you grind on him. you can feel the growing tent in his cargo pants, and that makes you feverishly hot.

“i will make you cum three times tonight, princess. first, you’ll do it on my tongue, second, on my fingers, and finally, i’ll let you cream around my cock. how does that sound?”

you want to respond back, say something, but words fail you for the -nth time today, the only sounds escaping you are loud moans, borderline on pathetic. suguru takes that as a confirmation and flips you into a position under him, your lips slightly swollen and eyes glistening with the previous tears. god, he cannot wait to make you cry for an entirely different reason.

he starts by capturing your lips with his again, rough movements of his tongue against yours. how many times has he lost himself in a daydream while you were around, watching you lick your lips clean, pink tongue darting out to wipe away any food? geto deepens the kiss and cannot stop the whine rushing out past his lips, immediately swallowed by you.

suguru does not want to pull away but there is something else he is dying to taste. his lips move lower, grazing the side of your sensitive neck – involuntarily, your hips jerks upward, your aching core starting to look for any relief, when he brushes past that spot in the dip of your neck igniting your nerves. you don’t try to stop yourselves from letting geto know exactly how he makes you feel. he keeps moving lower, removing your shirt and caressing the tender skin of your boobs, and then takes one of your nipples into his mouth, circling his tongue around the perky nub dying for his attention. closing your eyes and throwing your head back, you revel in this feeling of body worship. your wanton moans become louder, and geto’s cock becomes even harder when he sees the look of absolute bliss on your face. his unoccupied hand goes to play with the other nipple, gently twisting it between his digits, pinching it just enough to spike your pleasure with pain.

your shorts are gone next, together with your light-blue panties that suguru removes in one swift motion. you are sprawled out naked on your couch in front of your boyfriend’s best friend – yet you fail to feel any shame. geto spreads your legs wider and is delighted to discover the prettiest view in the house: your glistening pussy all wet and ready for him.

“huh, what is it?” he swipes between your folds, spreading your slick all the way to the clit begging to be touched, “little cute slut only needed couple of kisses to get this wet? did satoru really neglect his little princess this much?”

“p-please… ah… don’t mention his name while we do this,” you say, eyes still closed, geto’s digits continuing playing around your pearl, not giving you the full stimulation yet.

“do what, pretty face? fuck? i am about to eat your cunt but you’re too shy to even say it out loud?” suguru laughs, almost patronizingly, and slaps your clit with his hand, earning a surprised gasp from you. you hide your face in your hands, or at least try to, but geto has other ideas. “uh-uh, no, you cannot hide from me. open your eyes, i want you to keep looking, doll.”

geto leans closer to your throbbing clit and spits – your view is obscene, yet you’re unable to look away. even as he languidly swipes his tongue between your spread folds and flicks it around your nub, you keep your eyes opened. your hands grab his hair, and geto grunts but doesn’t stop you. he keeps drawing slow circles around your clit, and you can feel the coil in your tummy starting to tighten. you would be embarrassed at how fast he is getting you to your orgasm, yet you fail to care.

suguru wants to insert a finger but he promised he would make you cum with his tongue alone. long flicks of his tongue along your inner lips drive you insane, slurping sounding so filthy, you might need to move places now – and when geto sucks on your pearl, suctioning his lips just at the right spot, he is bringing you closer and closer to the peak of the ecstasy you’ve been craving. his hands are hot to the touch as they grab your hips with almost punishing force, pushing you even closer to his face.

just as you thought this was enough to light your whole being on fire, geto starts pumping his tongue in and out of you, sloshing sounds echoing in your ears, making you burn hot. suguru is alternating between giving your pretty clit attention, tracing his tongue along your lips, and sucking on nerve bundle that sends sparks to your pleasure receptors, making you burn all that hotter. flatting out the tongue, suguru is running it over your clit and labia, before pumping the tip of it back into your wanting hole.

your moaning becomes louder and louder, grip on geto’s hair almost painful now but he doesn’t mind. looking back up at you, he meets your gaze – and can’t help but praise you for how good you’ve been to him.

“my cute bunny actually listened to me, huh? keeping your pretty eyes on me while i eat you out like this? i bet you enjoy the view.”

and you do, of course you do. the orgasm is imminent now as geto speeds up his movement, licking up and down. your breathing accelerates and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of your pleasure – until geto pushes you over. it doesn’t take much longer for you to cum, juices dripping out of you and down his tongue. suguru is drinking up every last drop, not daring to spill his very own elixir of life.

“fu-uuck, it feels so good,” you cry out as he keeps tongue fucking you through your orgasm, your thighs trying to close around his head to escape the ongoing assault on your poor cunt, but suguru’s iron grip doesn’t falter. you whine and try to push his head away, body starting to shake with overstimulation, but geto is determined – he sucks on your clit again and you yelp, seeing stars. he finally relents and gets up from his knees, kissing you again. you taste yourself on his lips, and you feel the arousal climbing up again.

“thank you for the best meal of my life. that was one, yeah?”

he doesn’t give you time to respond before he is caging your smaller body, one hand moving to the nape of your neck to bring you even closer while other teases your entrance. you try not to seem too desperate, hugging suguru around his shoulders and bucking your hips into him. geto chuckles darkly, licking your lips and gently massaging the nape of your neck while his digits explore where his tongue already paved the way.

the first flick of his digits on your clit is embarrassingly enough to start lighting up your nerve endings again – a hot feeling, something akin to a molten lava, spreads across your skin, sending the goosebumps running wild. you concentrate on geto’s face, so close to yours, and you are tempted to kiss him again. but he is moving away when you try to chase him, and the prettiest, most adorable pout is dancing on your lips. it makes him want to ruin you.

geto inserts the first finger without any warning, and you’re tearing up from the sudden intrusion – you’re lost in the mix of pain and pleasure that you don’t notice the beads of tears escaping the corners of your eyes. suguru leans close and runs his tongue over salty trails, cleaning you up.

“shhh, it’s only one finger. it’s not your limit, is it? i have so much more to offer.”

geto pushes in the second finger, and you have to grab onto his shoulders. you’re curving your spine into him, trying to guide his fingers to touch that special spongy spot inside your tight, hot hole. suguru’s fingers are slender and long – fingers that should belong to a pianist or a guitarist. and you are no musical instrument, but fuck, you would be lying if geto didn’t know how to play you without missing a beat.

“sug-suguru…” you say thought a whiny hiccup, “i want you to move.”

“yeah? you want me to fuck you with my fingers? on the same couch where you and satoru probably did the same thing?”

mention of your boyfriend’s name sends a wave of shame through you, and geto is quick to notice. before your brain can process the feelings of guilt, he starts pumping his digits in and out of you while drawing tight circles on your sensitive nub. still recovering from your previous orgasm, your body is sent into overdrive, accelerating into ecstasy in no time. if this is wrong, then why does it feel so good?

the squelching sounds your pussy makes around his fingers makes your cheeks heat up, blush kissing your face in a way only suguru should be allowed to do. this time, you close your eyes and tilt your head back, losing yourself to the overwhelming feeling of pleasure spreading throughout your every nerve. geto’s hand comes to tighten around your body, and the sudden cut of airflow is intensifying everything tenfold.

your body starts panicking when blood stops receiving necessary oxygen but the pleasure signals in your brain are setting off like fireworks. geto is pistoning his fingers in and out of your leaking cunt while squeezing his hand around your neck just a little bit tighter. breathless moans are escaping you as your body fights for more oxygen, not able to decide whether the line between pain and pleasure is blurring fast enough. suguru is curling his digits inside you and oh! eureka! he touches that sweet spot making white spots to dance across your vision.

“yeah, that’s it. you’re being such a good girl for me,” geto says above you but his voice is coming through a vacuum – the ringing in your ears becomes louder as your tummy is tightening up again. your mouth hangs open, a ribbon of drool dripping down your chin, and suguru thinks he’s never seen anything sexier. keeping his rhythm, he rubs your clit again, earning a broken moan from you.

geto feels your pussy tightening around his fingers, and he growls imagining his cock stretching your pretty cunt instead. he keeps pushing them in and out, massaging your nub with perfect pressure, squeezing your neck just tight enough, and mere second later, you’re cumming again. a broken moan that turns into a sob is everything you’re able to let out – suguru thinks you look so damn cute, he wants to take a picture. his phone is forgotten somewhere on the couch so instead, he commits to memory every single sound and facial expression.

he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, again, and you try to push at his hand to stop.

“no, common, i know you can do better than this. keep it coming, yeah?” geto says with a smirk, and takes both your wrists into his hand, keeping them close to his chest. you cannot do anything but sob as the waves of pleasure keeps crashing against your shores, leaving you to fend for yourself through the aftershocks of ecstasy. sweat is running between your boobs, down the sides of your face – you’re glistening all over, and suguru swears that’s what a goddess would look like.

“g-geto… please… i can’t take it anymore…”

“geto, huh? i thought we were on the first-name basis now.”

“i’m sorry…” hiccup “it’s just so hard to think…” hiccup.

“aw, i haven’t even made you cum around my cock yet and you’re already fucked out dumb? poor little angel.” you know he is mocking but fuck, why does it feel so good?

geto finally relents when you bit your lips a little too harsh and takes his fingers out of you. he brings them to your lips, and you suck on the digits without any further instructions.

“such a good fucking girl. open your mouth wider for me,” you do as he says, and suguru spits inside. “now, swallow.”

again, you follow his command without any deliberation and then open your mouth to show you’ve done it. geto chuckles and very gently slaps your cheek.

“that was two.”

you whine, thinking if you had to cum one more time, you might actually pass out. you try to pout, and tug at the hem of his t-shirt. “i don’t think i can cum again, suguru.”

“nuh-uh, i told you i’ll make you cum three times, and i will. now come on, be good for me and turn around.”

“i want you to take off your clothes.” your simple request takes him by surprise, but he obliges immediately. his t-shirt is gone first, then cargo pants follow. you trail your eyes down and your mouth forms a perfect little “o” when you see the tent formed in his boxer briefs – geto mentally takes a picture of this moment – and you are left almost speechless.

“it’s not going to fit.”

“i’ll make it fit.”

you don’t dare to look away when suguru starts to pull his underwear down, and your suspicions are correct – he is big, maybe even too big for you. not as long as satoru’s but he is thicker, curvier. angry red tip already leaking with pre-cum, and you want to run your tongue along his slit.

“are you drooling looking at my cock?” geto chuckles, and you turn your gaze away in embarrassment. “aw, ‘m sorry, princess. let me give you something else to drool for.”

geto comes close and grabs you by your hips, moving you around. your forearms land on the back of the couch, and you can feel the heat of suguru’s chest against your back, his heavy cock slapping your thigh.

“you’re so fucking pretty, i can’t get enough of you,” geto sounds out of breath, burying his face in your hair and inhaling your sex-soaked scent. he wraps his hand around your waist while pumping his dick with the other. he spreads his pre-cum along his length, finally guiding himself to your waiting cunt.

the stretch is painful – even with all the prep suguru has done, it’s not enough for your tight little pussy to take him in comfortably. geto doesn’t give you time to adjust and pushes himself all the way in, until his balls slap against you. you squeeze your eyes, and little snowflakes of tears run down your cheeks, and your tongue darts out to taste the salty evidence. geto is moving his hips now, dragging his thick length in and out of you. your pussy is clenching every time he pushes against your needy spot, veins on his cock massaging your walls, helping you climb towards your climax again.

suguru grabs you by the jaw and turns your face towards him, losing no time ravishing your lips with his again. they are swollen – he could see how red they are – yet the kiss is hungry, as if geto’s appetite has not been satiated. he is so concentrated on kissing you, he loses his rhythm, and his dick slips out, making both of you whine in displeasure.

“please, give it back,” you mewl into him, and suguru’s losing himself in you – he is losing himself to you. so he gives it back, of course he does, thrusting his cock to the hilt, mushroom tip kissing your cervix. when geto sets a bruising pace, pistoning his hips with the punishing rhythm, you can do nothing but hold onto his forearm – he is the only thing tethering you to earth now, gravity has no hold on a force that is geto.

his slender digits start massaging your abused clit, and you can feel your toes curling again. he fucks into you fast and steady, and lewd sounds of his hips smashing into yours bounce around the four walls – the cacophony of squelching sounds your greedy cunt makes when it sucks geto’s cock fully and readily mixed with your wanton moans create the sex-induced symphony suguru never wants to forget.

you are completely lost to the storm that is suguru geto. he is everywhere, it’s all so much: his hand around your tit, squeezing the soft mound; his middle finger on your clit, drawing the perfect circles with purpose; his mouth on yours, tongue exploring the secrets between your teeth; and his cock being dragged in and out of your crying hole. suguru geto is all encompassing, and you can’t get enough.

geto pinches your nipple, and you jump in surprise while your pussy grips him even tighter. he keeps twirling your nub between his fingers while his mouth moves behind your ear, sucking the little sensitive spot that makes you shiver. soft pad of his middle finger is still playing with your clit, and every single feeling is becoming increasingly overwhelming. you can feel the sweat trickle down your spine and white spots dance across your vision as his curved cock kisses just the right spot somewhere deep inside you.

you think you are on fire – everything feels feverish and suguru’s body heat surrounds you like steaky sauna air. tingling in your fingertips and all the way down in your toes intensifies, and you further dig your nails into geto’s forearm. he growls in your ear but doesn’t stop; he continues fucking you in the earnest, like it’s his life-long mission to bring you as much pleasure as humanly possible.

geto’s forehead is pressed against the back of your head, and he can feel his composure slipping – he has been edging himself for a while now, trying to make you cum with him but it slowly becomes all too much. he starts blabbering into your ear, hoping his filthy words will finally bring you over the edge.

“common, pretty thing, i want you creaming all over my cock. i want you to cum with me, can you do it for me, kitten?”

his words reverberate in every crevice of your mind, and your last orgasm washes over you like tsunami. your body is shaking against geto, tears and drool running down the sides of your face and mouth; your vision goes black and you struggle to breathe for a moment. your brain is connecting nerves usually left untouched as climax waves rush over you, making you twitch in the man’s hold. you’re crying and moaning his name – he is the divine presence you need right now, the only god that’s worth worshipping. you’re on the verge of completely losing yourself to pleasure as you think you’re going to faint but suguru’s voice grounds you back.

“shhhh, common, we’re not done yet. milk my cock, gorgeous.”

“no, suguru, i’m not on birth control, you have to pull out.”

“that’s okay, i’ll get you plan b tomorrow. or maybe even better, babytrap you so you have no reason to come back to satoru, hm? how about that?”

“nn-no, please…” but before you can finish your sentence, you hear suguru groan and you can feel him cumming inside. you want to be mad but the overwhelming ecstasy he keeps taking you through is overshadowing every rational thought in your head now. you cannot hold yourself anymore, has not been able to do so for the past 10 minutes, so you helplessly hang onto geto’s forearm while he fucks his cum back into you.

when he finally slows down and pulls out, the two of you are a mess – the room smells of sex and something akin to guilt, but you don’t let yourself linger on it for two long. he gives you a final kiss, gently massaging the nape of your back, guiding you to lie down. you’re unable to stay awake as suguru walks back to your kitchen to grab you a glass of water, passing out on the couch before he even comes back. he smirks, looking down at your figure, and runs his fingers through your hair, hoping your head is only filled with the thoughts of him.

“that was three.”

© rinniessance do not steal, plagiarize or translate my works. do not recommend me on tiktok, thank you

[thunder-point]

Phumpeem au

hello have we all considered any kind of phumpeem soulmates au because, of course, i think the "once i become of age, everything i scribble on my skin appears on my soulmate's body as well" trope fits them so well.

just imagine: they become of age the same year, but phum is first. and for those months that separates them, peem is helplessly hit with little messages that make him want to rip his hair out, blow after blow. because the first time his soulmate writes to him, it's on his palm. letters small, unsure and so wobbly peem can barely make out the words. but he does. he does and he can't breathe for a few minutes after.

it reads "find me whenever you want, but please just like me. like me like me like me" his soulmate doesn't write often. but when they do, it's not 'hello', it's not 'i guess you're still not of age yet because you're not responding', it's not 'what's your name' or 'tell me things about yourself'

it's just every heart-wrecking piece of vocabulary ever created.

it's 'it hurts. i hope i'm the only one hurting so often. please take care of yourself'

it's 'i hope someone told you you're loved today. you deserve it. you deserve it even when i feel like i don't. even if we share this same soul.'

it's 'i'm sorry for hurting you. i feel like i'm hurting you sometimes. i just want to talk to you but i don't know how.'

it's 'are you reading me? can you see me? sometimes i feel like not many people can see me on this earth.'

it's 'i hope you like hugs. i hope you'll hug me until i can't breathe. please. please.'

and mostly it's just 'please like me. please don't find me lacking. not you.'

his soulmate writes them at the darkest of hours, and they're always wobbly, always without steady contour. and peem has understood from the first ever message that the ache in his gut is not his. not really. it's his soulmate's. it's the half that seems to tremble every time they seeks peem so ruthlessly.

when he becomes of age. he doesn't know what to do. his soulmate hasn't said a thing in two weeks. no more shattering messages that are whispered on peem's skin like a plead. peem can't find words to answer to everything ever revealed to him. to a pain he can't understand but can feel.

so he draws. he only draws. the first ever doodle he paints on his skin is a chibi version of himself hugging a shaded figure tightly to his chest. right in the center of his palm, where his soulmate chose to begin everything.

hours later, when he looks down at his palm, he stars quivering from within. because the paint is smeared. but it's not because of sweat. it has droplets peppered all over, as if someone cried over it freely. not peem's tears.

right under it, the same wobbly writing appears 'you are so talented. I'm sorry for ruining it. please don't stop.'

peem's tears join right after. q finds him sobbing into his elbow in a corner of their art classroom.

he never stops. he never fucking stops. he draws everyday. every morning, even if he's late for his first year of university, he opens his paints and doodles the most trivial of things on his palm, always in the middle of his palm. he mostly doodles himself, because he wants his soulmate to know him more and more. he doodles himself drinking coffee, because he loves coffee. he draws himself painting. draws himself bickering with q's chibi version, the bubbly letters 'this is my annoying best friend, you'll like him. he's the most caring person I've ever met.' right above it. he doodles peem's friend's sleeping on top of each other on his bed, and writes 'i hope you'll join the pile one day.'

he doodles the cats he sees on the streets 'i like them. what animals do you like?' he doodles characters from his favorite shows and books and bands. his soulmate answers them all hesitantly, after hours. like he doesn't know if he should, if he can.

but he never stops saying 'pretty.', 'talented.' never stops scribbling little, trembling 'thank yous' around peem's drawings.

most of all, peem just draws himself hugging the vague figure of his soulmate. because he likes hugs, he adores hugs and he'll give his soulmate hugs in every shape and form.

then one day, peem draws an annoyed version of his chibi's face, along with the words 'i met the most annoying person today.'

he didn't think much of phum at first. phum is annoying and cocky and nothing like his soulmate's meek writing, the ache that follows it. he and his deal get on peem's nerves. but also he seems like he can't escape phum. he can't stop seeing layers and layers of the guy. can't stop his initial annoyance from dissolving, watering down.

one time, he scoffs, mostly as a joke, as a taunt. 'i bet your other half is as much a handful as you are.'

but phum didn't rise to the bait, like he always does. his whole face mellowed, instead, voice the shiest it's ever been as he curls his palm to his chest and whispers, 'my soulmate is the most gentle soul I've ever met, even if he's my half.'

and peem is. he's shattered. mouth dry and shocked and strangely shattered. because what do you mean even if he's my half, what do you mean phum's so besotted it drips off his face like liquid paint.

weeks pass, time goes by and peem finds himself hurting for more reasons than one. because he's starting to yearn differently than before. because he feels no longer halved, but pulled in three different directions. he still draws for his soulmate daily, still feels warmth right in the middle of his chest when he receives his soulmate's words, no long so full of desolation, but mostly reactions to peem's doodles.

but there's a heat that engulfs him whenever phum is around. consuming and maddening and most of all, confusing. peem should not feel like this for someone who doesn't have the right to leave ink on his skin. he shouldn't. he should stop his heart from beating so desperately. he shouldn't because the first words his soulmate ever said were 'please like me like me like me' and peem can't go and break that unspoken promise of liking his other half until they both fade away.

yet his feelings are growing and glaring, and he finds himself grasping at delusions that do him no good.

peem finds himself trying to sneak looks at phum's palms, just for a glance, for an ounce of hope that perhaps the yearning is not so unfounded. that phum's moments of undiluted softness, so unexpected but somewhat familiar, are a sign from fate for peem to look, search, discover.

it's ridiculously hard to look at this man's palms, and that shouldn't give him such expectations but it does. because phum wears oversized stuff like he has something to hide beneath his sleeves. he keeps his hands curled nearly all the time, like he's protecting something.

[to be continued]

YEA WELL. I'm writing this one for ao3 so I'll stop here because it's already a very long post of me rambling. Many questions to be answered. Does Phum know before Peem does? For how long? How does Peem find out? Hmm.

[blughxreader]

Platonic Yandere!Batman x gn!Reader

Purge AU. Info on au. You receive your official government letter announcing a yandere's claim on you in tomorrow's Purge. Accompanying it are five crimson letters from the yanderes themselves. ~600 words

Dear [Name],

I want to take this first encounter to assuage your fears—you are in no danger.

The fear you must be feeling might be the most dreadful you’ve ever experienced, and I’ll forever regret it. While the monotonous bureaucracy of the Purge is taxing on everyone, it’s a necessary evil… Inside this letter, you’ll receive what brief explanation I can give you and, hopefully, comfort you in some capacity.

[Name], I’m your father, and this letter is my official and legal introduction. In the next 24 hours, I and your siblings will bring you home.

You don’t know this yet, but we met on a moonless evening many months ago. You were walking alone, trying to leave the emptying streets before Gotham’s evening crowd took hold of the city. I worried for you and decided to keep a close eye until you were home safely, but something about your demeanor kept my attention. How polite and unassuming, yet quick to navigate the streets you were. You drifted through the evening like a wayward spirit, eventually finding yourself in my heart and soul.

That chance encounter sent us spiraling down a destined path, one in which I never anticipated would lead to here. I never realized the grim darkness I had been living in until I experienced your light, and now, the day before our first meeting as father and child, the promise of eternal contentedness just beyond these 24 hours is almost too much to bear.

Your brothers and sisters are equally ecstatic. You’ll never be bored for a moment in your life moving forward, as the halls of our home are always thrum with the echoes of banter and excitement. I can’t promise it will be an easy life free from any sorrows, but your new family already loves you so, so dearly.

In time, I’m confident that you, too, will reflect on this event as the start of a better life.

However perfect your joining our family seems, I find myself asking how it came to this. How did I discover a soul as kind and lovely as yours? Despite all my failures and shortcomings, the world still crossed our paths and sent the merger of our lives into motion.

As a servant of justice, I’ve dedicated my life to protecting what is moral and just. I’ve spent decades refining my values and priorities, yet this has often left me at fragile crossroads between myself and my children.

I’m flawed. I’m imperfect. I don’t think I’ll ever be worthy of being your father. I need you to know these things before we meet, to save yourself from the inevitable misfortune that will strike us. Yet know this: there is not a force in this world that will keep me from you. I love you more than I love humanity, more than the Earth itself. I would defy the laws that govern the universe if it meant seeing you happy.

The world is dangerous and unpredictable. However inadequate I feel at protecting your light, I know you’re significantly more likely to fade from existence outside of my care.

To receive a crimson letter from the city a day before the Purge might be one of your darkest nightmares, and for that I’m sorry. With my heart, soul, and all my love for you, I promise to rectify the misery you and your biological family are experiencing. Please take comfort in the fact that you will be the most beloved and cherished person in the world.

I will give you everything. For your family’s sake, I hope they can rest easier with this knowledge.

Please remain put until we arrive.

See you soon.

Love,

Dad

Note... I love this self-hating old man. Damian's is finished and will be up soon! For more yandere batfam, visit my masterlist!

[spacesodaa]

Hi there! I saw that you accept requests! So, I was thinking about Wriothesley having a special person who is basically a sunshine, who loves nature, seeing the sky, singing and basically being a darling, but who has experienced very traumatic situations. But despite this they don't lose their innocence and warm smile.

I would love to read something like that.

Thank you, and take care!

Helooo, this sounds absolutely adorable! I will do my best!

Sorry if this took a bit long, I hope you like it ^^

Wriothesley x Reader - Brighter Than The Sun

Characters: Wriothesley, Reader

Summary: Reader is a little sunshine and Wrio is down BAD

Warning: unadulterated fluff bro

A/N: I posted this without text by mistake lmao

Wriothesley sighed heavily as he read the same sentence for the third time. He had been on the same stack of papers for about an hour with scarce results. He couldn't seem to focus and the more he willed the clock to go faster the slower the hands seemed to move. Tea break felt ages away.

He let his head fall into the desk with a thick thud and groaned in frustration. What was this? The fourth break he took? Today there seemed to be no way to get his work done.

Oh how he wished he could hear you sing, maybe it would reset his brain. Unfortunately for him you had gone out to the court of fontaine to run some errands, his valiant attempts to keep you glued to him in bed proved to be futile.

Sometimes he struggled to believe you were real and right at his side. You always had a soft smile on your face, eyes shining. To him your eyes weren't the only part of you that shone, in fact he saw all of you as a star. You went about your day shining with the force of a thousand suns, comforting whoever was around you simply with your reassuring presence. The first time he had experienced this quality of yours was also the first time he had met you. He was having a bad day and he was this close to punching whoever rubbed him the wrong way first, you on the other hand were happily chatting with a friend of yours at the reception desk. You didn't belong there, instead having come to visit said friend at her new job. Hell he wouldn't believe you belonged in the fortress even if he saw you commit a crime with his own eyes.

The receptionist had gone in fight or flight mode as soon as she had seen him, stammering a greeting. You turned and met his gaze, following with a polite greeting and that warm smile of yours. There wasn't any fear in your shiny eyes, nor pity for him being there for that matter. Your relaxed demeanor intrigued him, he was used to people feeling tense around him, yet you didn't seem to be. You then asked him about the fortress, roping him into a conversation he didn't think he needed. He realized at the end of it, that he was much calmer than before and even though the conversation was one he had had many times, he felt refreshed.

Later he had summoned the courage to ask the receptionist about you and the rest became history. He still looked back fondly to that day, as he did with every memory he had of you. There was this warmth about you and everything you did, he simply couldn't get enough of it. It wasn't surprising he had fallen head over heels for you. You had accepted every part of him without question, even the darkest corners, so much so, that your light had made those corners a little less daunting. What had surprised him though, was that you yourself had dark corners. He struggled to believe someone who shone so brightly as you did, had such big of a baggage to carry around.

Later he had witnessed when your light dimmed as you cried in his arms about the same reoccurring nightmare, about all the blood you had seen spilled, about the fear you had faced. Yet even if dimmed, you never stopped shining.

A knock at the door made him almost jump out of his chair. He was so engrossed in the details of your radiant face in his mind that he had gotten distracted. Wriothesley sighed yet again. He figured he couldn't get more distracted than this at that point so he answered.

"Come in" he absentmindedly ordered the stack of papers on his desk, swearing to himself he would get to them at some point.

What he hadn't expected, was for you to show up into his office, at least not at this hour.

"Wriooo" you sang cheerfully as you skipped towards his desk with your hands behind your back.

"Welcome back, I wasn't expecting you to be back so early" he got up from his chair, maybe a little too eagery, pulling an amused chuckle out of you.

"I finished all my commissions" you said "missed me?"

"Of course I did" he admitted and pulled you in for a hug. You responded right away, burying your head in his sculpted chest. When his muscles were at rest he made a damn good pillow and you loved it.

"I brought you something!" You beamed, letting him go briefly to hand hin a small green bag "I hope you don't have this one yet"

"Thank you darling" he took the bag from your hands and pressed a kiss to your cheek, followed by one on your lips. You hummed contently in response.

"Well, lucky for you I don't have this tea yet. I've actually wanted to order this for some time" Wriothesley studied the tea bag intently "how about an early tea break? I want to try this with you" he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles.

"Absolutely, I've also brought pastries!" You gestured to a colorful paper bag you had left by the door when entering.

"Oh how lost I would be without you" the duke said in a rather dramatic tone.

"I bet" you poked at his nose, grinning.

Your light was almost blinding. Nonetheless he would still keep staring at his sun even if it blinded him.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

My Reply | S.R

This one was a request from the lovely @reidsaurora-replies for my milestone celebration which got wildly out of hand. I think I damn near used every lyric of the song in this one. Also, Maeve does not exist in this universe. I felt like his phone calls with her were too similar to the letters with reader and not needed

Summary - Spencer writes his deepest tragedies down on paper for his pen pal. After ten years of exchanging letters and some divine intervention from JJ, the two of you finally come face to face.

CW - this one covers most of Spencer’s canon storylines including Tobis Hankel and his drug addiction, his moms illness, his fathers abandonment, getting shot in the knee, his headaches, Emily’s “death”, prison arc, Mr Scratch and Emily’s kidnapping, angst, interfering friends, lots of literary quotes.

WC - 6.3k

Making friends was always something Spencer Reid had been inherently bad at. He was always too young or too smart which always seemed to put people off of forming friendships with him. 

When he joined the BAU, his team called themselves his friends. But Spencer knew if he’d met any of them outside of work he would have nothing in common with them. 

They were simply friends by proximity, which admittedly was better than having no friends at all. But he couldn’t talk to them about everything, afraid to scare them away with talk of his mothers illness or his fathers abandonment. 

And sometimes he just needed to talk to someone. 

It was Garcia’s idea that he sign up for a pen pal. When she found out about his mom during the course of the fisher king case, he’d confessed that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to the team about such things. 

At first she’d actually suggested talking to someone online, she had many online friends who she talked to in various chat rooms. But after almost an hour of trying to explain that to the technophobe doctor and getting little more than a deep frown in response, she changed tact. 

A pen pal appealed to Spencer greatly. He already wrote daily letters to his mom and found it somewhat cathartic, getting his thoughts down on the page, but he never bothered her with the darker stuff. 

The idea of a faceless person he’d never meet reading his deepest, darkest thoughts was actually intriguing to him. And so with the help of Penelope he found himself a pen pal. 

In his first letter he’d just introduced the basics, his name and age, what he did for a living and that he lived in DC. 

He went on to explain how hard he found it to make friends and the difficulties of talking to his already established friends about the darker parts of his life. He ended the letter with a quote from To Kill a Mockingbird.

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” - Harper Lee.

He received a reply little over a week later. 

Your name was Y/N and you were twenty two, three years younger than him and a grad student at Columbia University. You told him you would be happy to read whatever he sent you, that you were more than willing for him to write to you about the things he didn’t tell his friends. 

You signed off with a quote of your own quote from the book Infinite Jest.

“You will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realise how seldom they do.” - David Foster Wallace. 

And so he did just as you said and he wrote another letter. 

His second letter to you was five pages long. He went into great detail about his mothers illness, how he’d been left to deal with it alone at ten years old. He wrote about how he’d made the decision at eighteen years old to have her committed to a sanitarium. 

He told you about growing up as a child prodigy in Las Vegas and how hard that was. You were the first person he ever told about Alexa Lisbon and being tied naked to a flagpole. 

He spoke about the events surrounding Elle leaving the team and how it didn’t feel complete without her. 

He ended the letter by apologising profusely that he’d wasted your time with his long winded rambles and said he hoped to hear from you soon and scrawled a quote from The Great Gatsby.

“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald.

He said he would understand if you didn’t reply. But you did. 

The letter took two weeks to arrive and you explained that it was because you wanted to really process his words and give each and every one of them the time they deserved. He read the last few lines of your letter over and over again in a loop even though they were etched into his memory after only one glance.

I wish there was something I could say, to erase each and every page you've been through,

even though it's not my place to save you. 

“When I get lonely these days, I think: so be lonely. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person’s body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.” - Elizabeth Gilbert - Eat, Pray, Love. 

He wasn’t familiar with the book and so he’d gone out and brought it and read it cover to cover within an hour. 

Reading your letter made Spencer feel understood for the first time in his young life. You didn’t pass judgement on him. Spencer found that between the pages of your letters he found a kindred spirit. 

The letters continued back and forth for several months until one day you didn’t receive a reply. His last letter had been penned to you on route to a case in Atlanta, which you’d responded to the day you received it. But there was radio silence from Spencer. 

You shouldn’t have been as worried as you were, but you couldn’t help yourself. His letters had become such a huge part of your world, often rereading them hundreds of times just to make sure you didn’t miss any little nuance on the page. 

His handwriting was ingrained within you, his scrawly, sometimes barely legible penmanship danced behind your eyelids every time you closed your eyes. His letters had rapidly become the best part of any day. And for over a year you didn’t receive a reply. 

After a while you’d stopped holding out hope every time you collected your mail. Eventually you gave up ever expecting to hear from him again. Maybe he didn’t need you anymore. Perhaps he’d made a real life friend, maybe even a girlfriend and you’d been rendered ineffective. 

But then little over a year after you sent your last letter, you found an envelope in your mail slot with the familiar handwriting you adored so much and the DC postmark. 

Y/N,

I don’t really have any excuses, all I can say is I’m sorry. I have written you fifty three letters over the course of the last year but never mailed a single one. They are piled up on my desk, addressed and even stamped, but I couldn’t bring myself to mail them. 

I’ve been struggling, I can’t lie to you. I can’t even lie to you through a letter and tell you I’ve been fine because I haven’t. I think you would see through my prose, know that I wasn’t being truthful. And you’ve never given me a reason to be anything but honest with you.

The case in Atlanta was one of the hardest I’ve ever worked. I’m not going to beat around the bush, I’m just going to tell what happened and hopefully this letter will end up with you and not in the pile on my desk. 

I was kidnapped by the man we were hunting down. I spent two days tied to a chair being beaten within an inch of my life but a man with multiple personalities. In fact, that’s not strictly true. I wasn’t beaten within an inch of my life; one of the personas killed me. 

I’m not entirely sure how long I was technically dead before he revived me but obviously not long enough to cause permanent neurological damage. Irreversible brain damage occurs after four minutes without oxygen so it stands to reason it was less than four minutes. 

But during that time, my life flashed before my eyes, including every single word of every single one of your letters. 

One of the alter’s drugged me in his own way of trying to save me. Drugging me was supposed to help with the pain, both mental and physical. I fought it at first, desperate for him not to stick that needle in my vein. But after that first hit, I stopped resisting. 

I think you can probably already see where this is going. You’re incredibly smart and you seem to know me so well. After I shot Tobias Hankel dead I took three vials of dilaudid from his corpse. 

I should have prefaced this by saying I am now ten months sober, and offered up the good news first. But there were several months that I continued using the drug in secret, hoping it would aid in erasing the memories of it all. 

It took a case in New Orleans in which I met up with an old friend Ethan and ended up almost destroying my career for me to decide to get sober. I’ve had a lot of difficulties in my life, as you know, but getting clean is the hardest thing I have ever done. 

And now for the first time in months I’m craving again. Maybe that’s why I’m writing to you, determined to send this letter this time. I need to know that everything is going to be ok and you are the only one that I will believe it from. 

My team tries. Now it's all out in the open, they try to help. But you don’t even need to try. Your help is so effortless, so easy and I’m in real need of that right now. 

His letter went on in this vein for another six pages. He also included several pages of handwritten poetry which he had copied out of a book to send you. With each word you consumed you felt your heart breaking for him a piece at a time. 

And he signed off with a surprising choice of quote from The Lorax.

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” - Dr Seuss. 

You spent the next month or so trying to cultivate the perfect reply, but for the first time in your life, words failed you. 

It was three days after Spencer received his one year sober chip that your letter arrived. 

I got your letter and the poetry you sent me, postmarked in December of last year. I really hope you’re doing better, all your friends close by your side, one step closer to recovery.

I hope by the time you receive this you are close to one year sober, but if you didn’t make it you need to know that’s ok too. Life is full of ups and downs Spencer. If you didn’t make it this time you will the next time. Or the one after that. 

If you relapsed I need you to not beat yourself up over it. You will be ok, Spencer Reid, for that I am certain. 

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. 

***

When he got shot in the knee, he wrote to you from the hospital. He told you how hard it was for him to turn down pain medication when he was in so much agony. But he was over two years sober now and he wouldn’t do anything to risk a relapse. 

Your reply spoke of how proud of him you were and how you knew it couldn’t have been easy for him but you hoped the fact you were proud went some way to aid him. 

He told you it meant more to him than you would ever know. 

Then he started having headaches and the letters became sporadic. When he did write he told you how painful it was for him to try to focus on the words in front of him. 

I’ve seen so many doctors and no one can tell me what’s wrong with me. It’s like they think I’m making it up, like this pain isn’t real. 

On my good days it’s a dull throb but on the bad days it’s nearly paralysing. I’m so scared that this is a precursor for schizophrenia. I'm still young enough for my first break, and it is a genetic illness. 

I love my mom but I can’t turn out like her, Y/N, I just can’t. I'm so, so scared. 

But your letters are the greatest comfort to me. I don’t think there are words to describe how much they mean - I will try to surmise it with a quote from Charlotte's Web -

"'Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.'" - E.B White.

You could feel his fear through the pages. His handwriting was somehow even harder to read than usual and sentences often tapered off with no ending. There were whole passages scribbled out so violently his pen had ripped the paper in places. There were crude drawings of brains and dark rain clouds in the margins. 

Spencer, 

I am so sorry you are going through this and that no one can give you the answers you seek. But this isn’t the end for you, even if it is schizophrenia, you can still live a full and normal life. 

If you'll just hold on for one more second, if you just hold on to what you have, you will wake up tomorrow. Behind every rain cloud lies the sun. As Victor Hugo said in Les Miserables -

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.” 

In his next few letters he seemed to be getting better, his headaches slowly dissipating until they only hassled him every once in a while. Things seemed to be looking up for him. 

But then one of his best friends died. 

His detailed letter told you all about Ian Doyle and Emily’s history with him and went on to conclude how she died on the operating table. 

I’ve been through a lot of trauma in my life, lost a lot of people close to me but never like this. I’ve never had to bury someone I love and honestly I don’t know how to move past this. 

My initial reaction has been dilaudid. It's the only thing I can think of to take the pain away. 

Tell me not to do it, Y/N, please. Please tell me that this grief will get better and that using drugs again is not the answer. Please help me stay clean. 

"When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time — the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers.” John Irving - A Prayer for Owen Meany

It took you longer than it should have done to formulate a reply. You felt pressured, like his sobriety hung in your hands. You hated that his friend had died but you didn’t think it was fair of him to put this on you. And you told him such.

Spencer,

I am sorry to hear about Emily, I know how close the two of you were. I’m no expert on grief, I can’t tell you how to deal with this.

You know full well that using dilaudid again is a bad idea, you really don’t need me to tell you that. Honestly, I’m a little frustrated at you for putting this on my shoulders. 

I am always here to help Spencer, in any way I can but sometimes I think you expect too much from me. We’ve been trading letters back and forth for the better part of five years and I don’t think you’ve ever really asked me about myself aside from those first initial letters.

And it’s fine, you needed this friendship more than I did. But over time this has started to feel so one sided and I don’t always look forward to your letters as much as I once did. 

I realise this is not the best time for me to be saying these things but I can’t hold back any longer. I’m glad I can be someone you can turn to but I have my own life, my own issues and I have no one to talk to about them. 

You put too much pressure on me Spencer and it’s a lot to take. I’ve tried to help shoulder your misery all these years but it’s starting to bring me down. All I can say is you need to wake up, you've gotta believe; you can't give up. Time keeps going on without us, long after we're dead and gone.

And you finished it with a simple quote from After You by Jojo Moyes.

“No journey out of grief was straightforward. There would be good days and bad days.” 

It was no surprise to you that you didn’t receive a reply. 

***

Y/N,

It’s been two years and I’m sorry for that. Two years, one month and eleven days. The truth is your last letter was hard for me to read as you can probably understand. 

The hardest part of reading it was the fact that I knew you were right. I’ve been selfish all these years. I’ve treated you like a sounding board for my problems and never once asked how you were. 

It's taken me time to write this because I wanted to get to a better place before I responded. I was angry at first, I felt like I was being abandoned again and my anger would not have been conducive. 

Then I was hurt, hurt that the one person I thought would always be there for me had turned their back on me. I displaced my grief over Emily’s death onto you and anything I would have written in that time would have only been the rage fuelled epitaph of a grieving man. 

And then once I dealt with those emotions, life simply got away from me. Emily was alive and well, her death was faked to get Doyle off of her back. Again I was angry about being lied to by my friends but eventually I was just happy she was alive. 

Then I turned thirty and had a crisis of faith I suppose. I guess with my intellect I always assumed I would be doing something more with my life and turning thirty kind of threw me through a loop. 

We had some changes to the team, new agents coming and going. All in all things have been somewhat hectic. 

But that’s not why I’m writing. 

I am writing because I really do want to know everything about you. I want you to be able to open up to me the way I always have to you. I want to be your shoulder, your repreve. I really hope I haven’t completely blown our friendship and I hope to be the kind of person who you can talk to. 

These arms remain stretched out to you and maybe someday you'll accept them. Maybe it's too late to save a young girl's heart that's long stopped beating. But I hope that it isn’t. 

“You have been in every way all that anyone could be…if anybody could have saved me it would have been you.” Jennifer Niven - All the Bright Places. 

You wanted to tell him it was too little too late, that after two years of silence you weren’t interested anymore. 

You wanted to simply not reply, ignore him entirely like he’d done to you. 

But you couldn’t. And so you replied. 

It was your longest letter to date, depicting in great detail how he’d made you feel over the years and all the hardships you’d faced without having someone to vent to. 

But getting to write it all down had been purifying, and by the time you were finished you weren’t mad anymore. 

I am willing to give this another shot, but things have to be different. If we’re to continue this friendship then it has to be a two way street. 

But I can’t pretend that I haven’t missed your letters because I have. I see pieces of you between the words, parts of yourself I’m not sure you realise you leave on the page. 

I’ve painted a picture of you in my mind's eye and even after two years with no letters, I’ve carried that picture with me wherever I go. 

I feel like I somehow know you better than I know myself and I hope going forward you can start to know me the same way. Charlotte Bronte once said -

“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.” - Jane Eyre. 

***

Spencer didn’t know how it happened, he only knew that it had happened. Over the course of all the years writing to you it was almost a surprise it hadn’t happened sooner. Or maybe it had and he just didn’t realise until now. 

Spencer Reid had fallen in love with the woman who wrote her prose to him. 

It had been ten years of letters, every single one of which he kept in their envelopes in date order in the bottom drawer of his desk at home. 

Those letters were his lifelines on bad days, the one thing that kept him tethered. He didn’t even know what you looked like, even what you sounded like but he loved you. He loved you with every fibre of his being. 

And he couldn’t stop himself from telling you exactly what you meant to him. Even if it inevitably destroyed what the two of you had, he couldn’t stop the words from flying across the page. 

So that’s pretty much everything that’s happened these past few weeks. Mom’s doing ok but obviously it's a huge adjustment for her and I’m not entirely sure how long I can keep her living with me but for now it works.

How did the interview go? I have absolutely no doubts that you blew them all away with your presentation, you’re a hard person not to fall in love with.

Your presence in my life has brightened my every waking minute. You once told me that behind every rain cloud lies the sun; you are the sun behind my clouds. Your letters bring me back to life, your handwriting penned onto my soul. 

Is it foolish of me to be in love with someone I have never laid eyes on? William Makepeace Thackery said in Vanity Fair -

“It is better to have loved wisely, no doubt: but to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all.” 

I suppose that’s as good of an answer as any. 

***

Five days after he penned his love confession, he was arrested in Mexico. Once all the drugs had left his system, only after he was extradited and arraigned and placed at Milburn was he able to dwell on the fact he never received your reply. 

And being trapped in a cell gave him way too much time to think about that. 

It was possible you had replied, maybe even just to tell him he was crazy to even think he could be in love with someone he had never met. But he was sure you wouldn’t have even bothered to respond, thinking him a lunatic you needed to cut ties with. 

After a month in prison on one of JJ’s visits she brought a letter with her which she had found in his apartment. She recognised the handwriting on the envelope from several she’d seen him reading over the years. 

She wasn’t allowed to give him the letter but she offered to read it to him. At first he’d declined because he had no idea what to expect from your reply but after several long minutes he’d decided to let JJ read it to him. 

Spencer,

I am pleased to hear your mom is doing well but I do think you know that this solution won’t work in the long run. You say you live in a one bedroom apartment? You and I both know that you can’t sustain having your mother live there permanently. But I know you and I know you will figure out what’s best for you both.

The interview was amazing and they offered me the job on the spot. If it wasn’t for all your help with the presentation there is no way I would have gotten it, so thank you so much for that. 

As for the other thing…

For some time now I have been wondering about feelings I didn’t understand. You’ve been such a large part of my life for so long and even though we’ve never met I feel like we have, if that makes sense? I feel like in my heart I know you. My heart knows your heart.

Falling for you was as inevitable as the sun rising each morning. Perhaps it is foolish but I believe Thackeray knew what he was talking about. And I also believe Emily Bronte was talking about me and you when she said, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” 

Spencer had interrupted JJ then, when she was smiling from ear to ear as she read your words out loud. 

“That’s enough.” He cut her off, burying his head in his hands.

“Wow, Spence, I had no idea you’d met someone.” 

“I haven’t met anyone. She is simply a woman at the other end of a series of letters.” 

“How long?” JJ placed the pages down in front of her.

Spencer looked up at her, a small blush on his cheeks. He didn't want to be talking about this, least of all on the other side of a plexiglass screen with his other inmates nearby but he responded all the same.

“Ten years.” He shrugged. 

“Ten years?” JJ sounded incredulous. “Ten years of letters and you’ve never met? Why?”

“I, uh, it never really came up.” It wasn’t a lie, you’d never once discussed meeting in all those years. 

“Is it like a distance thing? Does she live far away?” 

“No,” He sighed with a shake of his head. “She’s in New York.” 

“New York!” She huffed. “New York is a five hour train journey, Spence!” 

“Jennifer, now is really not the time for this.” He lowered his voice as JJ’s had garnered eyes in their direction. “There is really no point in discussing this as we have no idea when or even if I’m going to get out of here.” 

“Don’t say that.” She shook her head.

“It’s true.” He shrugged sadly. “I really can’t think about all this right now, ok? Just take the letter back to my apartment and pretend you didn’t see it. Please?” 

If it weren’t for the desperation in his eyes she might have argued it. But she didn’t want to waste what little time she got to spend with Spencer fighting.

“Ok.” She relented with a small roll of her eyes.

“Thank you, JJ.” He offered a tight lipped smile. “How are the boys?” 

JJ filled him in but she wasn’t really focused anymore. In her head, she was already penning a letter of her own…

Y/N,

My name is Jennifer Jareau, JJ, and I work with Spencer at the BAU. I’m not sure if he’s mentioned me to you or not. He hasn’t really told me too much about you if I’m honest. But I have learned that he has strong feelings for you and you for him. I’m wondering if I can make a suggestion…

***

When you received the strange letter from Spencer’s friend JJ in response to yours, you’d been initially extremely confused as to why he was letting his teammates read your secret correspondence. 

But when she’d gone on to tell you that Spencer had been arrested along with all the details surrounding his incarceration and how she’d read your letter to him during their visitation, you started to understand. 

But then a few days later, before you had a chance to reply to her, you received another letter from Spencer with a postmark from Milburn Correctional Facility.

Y/N,

Maybe Thackeray and Bronte were right or maybe they were wrong, I can’t say for sure. What I can say with certainty is that I can’t carry on like this a moment longer.

Something has happened to me, it won’t be hard for you to figure out what as soon as you see the postmark. I am not willing to get into it or explain how I ended up here. But I have no idea how long I am going to be inside and I don’t want the rest of our communication to be sent through a string of guards who will pick apart each tormented sentence. 

I ask you not to write me back. This has to be the end of the road my dear. This letter has to be our last. I don’t know how much longer I will continue to be able to live like this. Each day my hope dies a little more and I’m sure I won’t make it out of here alive. 

I am writing simply to say thank you. Thank you for all your years of listening, for all your patience and kind words and your hopeful prose. In my darkest hours you have shown me the light, dragged me out of the shadows of my own creation. 

I love you for all that you are and all that you have done but even you can’t save me this time. This really might be the end for me and I don’t want you to blame yourself. You are the only reason I made it this far in this treacherous game we call life. 

Take care of yourself, continue to live your absolute best life. And in time I pray that you forget me and are able to love someone far more tangible. 

All that is left to say can be summed up by a quote from The Miniaturist - 

“You are the sunlight through a window, which I stand in, warmed. My darling.” Jessie Burton.

You replied firstly to Spencer, his heartbreaking words more pressing than JJ’s letter. You kept it short and to the point, knowing that various other prison guards would read it before it even made it to his hands. 

I appreciate but can't accept this thank you note that's sealed with your last breath and I won't stand aside and listen to you give up. 

You are stronger than that Spencer Reid and if I know anything about your team from all the years of hearing you speak of them it’s that they are the best at what they do and they will prove your innocence. 

Just remember what Ernest Hemmingway said in A Farewell to Arms -

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are stronger at the broken places.” 

You will be stronger at those broken places, Spencer, I have no doubt about it. 

And besides, if you don’t make it out of there, how do you  propose to ever meet me? 

Whilst on a role, you grabbed a clean sheet of paper and started scrawling again. 

Jennifer,

Thank you for your letter. I have spent some time musing on your suggestion and I think you might be right. 

I think it's time for me to take a trip to DC…

***

Spencer never opened your last letter because he had no intention of replying to it. If he didn’t read it, he could pretend you had never sent it and he wouldn’t be tempted to write a response. 

Instead he stuffed it between the pages of his book and tried not to think about it. 

After two and half months his team proved his innocence and he was released but he was thrown into the deep end of trying to find his mother. 

And even once he found her unscathed, he was rapidly thrust right into Scratch’s web after he kidnapped Emily. 

Taking the elevator back up to the BAU alongside JJ after they’d escorted Emily to the hospital it already felt like a lifetime had passed since he left prison. And all he wanted to do was chronicle all of it to you. 

Maybe once the dust settled, once he’d wrapped his head around everything that happened he would open your letter and send you a reply. 

But for the first time in ten years, Spencer didn’t want to drag you into his mess. 

JJ was strangely quiet as the elevator made its ascent. He didn’t even want to be here, he’d planned on going straight home after leaving the hospital. He hadn’t slept in his own bed for two and a half months and he couldn’t wait to collapse into it. 

But JJ had insisted that instead of him getting the metro home, if he popped back to the BAU with her to collect some paperwork, she would drive him home. 

And honestly he was just too exhausted to decline. 

JJ’s eyes were hyper focused on the digital floor numbers as they got higher. A few seconds after it displayed number five, one floor below the BAU, she turned and looked at him. 

“Don’t hate me for this.” She blurted out. 

“Excuse me?” Spencer frowned, too tired to try to understand what she meant. 

“I couldn’t just let it go.” She shrugged, a guilty smile on her lips. 

“Let what go?” His frown deepened. 

Her eyes flicked back upwards as the number five rolled into the number six and the elevator started to judder as it prepared to stop. 

“Just remember I love you and that’s the only reason I interfered.” She shrugged as the elevator stopped entirely and soon the doors were peeling open. 

Spencer looked away from her and out of the open doors to where someone was standing just a few feet back. 

Spencer’s eyes landed on the stranger only it wasn’t a stranger. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew exactly who this person was standing on the BAU floor. 

He remembered the way JJ had read him your letter and how you’d told him your heart knows his heart. 

Well his heart knew yours too. And he knew the heart beating a few feet away from him was yours. 

“Y/N?” He croaked, slowly stepping out of the elevator but not too close to you. 

“Spencer?” You smiled at him, the kind that reached all the way to your eyes. 

Neither of you noticed JJ slipping quietly away, wanting to give you some privacy. 

“What are you doing here?” His brows were furrowed and he was rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“You’re friend JJ wrote to me. She told me everything that happened to you. And she made me realise that ten years is too long to wait for a first meeting.” Your voice was like honey to Spencer’s ears. 

Your prose was beautiful, but hearing the words from your lips as you stood in front of him in all your ethereal glory was more than any letter could convey. 

“I…I am actually speechless.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. 

“You? Speechless?” You giggled and Spencer felt the sound all the way to his heart. 

“You’ll come to learn I am much more of a wordsmith on paper. In person I am incredibly awkward and often trip over my words. I ramble when I’m nervous or clam up entirely, no in between. I spout facts and statistics rather than have a meaningful conversation. I am much more comfortable writing my words down on paper than speaking them out loud.” He let the words spill out of his mouth, proving his point entirely. 

“I’ve waited ten years to hear your voice. Please never stop talking.” You smiled so brightly at him he felt like he was floating. 

You were here in front of him, not just hidden between pages of letters. You were real, tangible; within his reach. 

And suddenly the last thing Spencer wanted to do was talk. 

He took a few tentative steps towards you and cautiously raised a hand to your cheek. You sighed in content when he cupped your face and nuzzled against his palm. 

“I could talk to you about anything and everything all day long, my love.” He smiled, inching his face closer to yours. “But at this moment in time I have one slightly more pressing desire to do with my mouth rather than speak.” 

“Oh yeah?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. 

The warmth of your body and your smile encompassed him. As he looked into your eyes, finally looked into your eyes, every bad thing that had ever happened to him slipped away. 

“Love starts as a feeling, but to continue is a choice. And I find myself choosing you, more and more every day.” He quoted Justin Wetch’s Bending the Universe. 

“Spence?” 

“Yes Y/N?” 

“As sweet as that is, I thought there were more pressing desires to use your mouth for?” 

“If you insist.” He smiled and quickly closed the small space between you.

When his lips finally met yours it felt like all the pieces of the universe were falling into place. 

For ten long years you’d communicated in the pages of letters, constructing replies to what felt like one sided conversations that were confined to only live on paper. 

As the kiss deepened every single one of those words seemed to float in the air around you, spiralling like a tornado made of a decade worth of missives. 

He swore he could hear each and every word whispered to him in the voice he’d longed to hear all these years as he kissed you like you were the most important being on the face of the earth. 

And when he pulled back and mumbled I love you against your lips, it was the easiest reply you’d ever given. 

[thriftedtchotchkes]

love like you

pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader

summary: mike helps you through a rough patch by reminding you of the many, many reasons he loves you

warnings: established relationship, angst, comfort, mentions of depression, anxiety & panic attacks, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts

word count: 2.1k

"Why do you love me?"

You ask the question so quietly, Mike almost misses it over the movie playing in the background. At first, he's not sure how to respond—or at the very least, where to begin.

You've never asked him that before, and he'd never given it much thought if he's being totally honest. He assumed you hadn't, either. It's just something he feels.

It's something he's always felt, gradually building since the day you led his sister back to him after she'd wandered off in the supermarket. He took one look at you, your kind eyes and patient smile, and asked you on a date without a second thought. That's what it's like to love you—instinctual.

He glances away from the TV and looks down at you curiously. Your head is nestled on his lap, eyes already locked on his and filled with apprehension he can't even begin to understand. There are a thousand and one reasons to love you; don't you realize that? He'd tell you every one if you asked.

He loves you because you're always there, through the late-night shifts and nightmares, helping him parent a child you shouldn't have to be responsible for at such a young age. You confiscate his controller every time he tries to smash it in a fit of rage, beating whatever boss he'd been fighting for hours like a champ. He thinks you're so fucking cool.

And you understand him like no one else ever has, so attentive and always willing to try. You kiss away his fears, strip him bare, unmask him. Allow him to seek shelter inside you, ride him to a mind-numbing release when his darkest thoughts threaten to consume him.

You hold him when he wants to give up, when the weight of the world is too much and persevering is too hard. The familiar, soothing tone of your voice reminds him to breathe, to tune out the little things and remember that there's still good to be found in life.

It's everything you do and everything you are. That's why he loves you.

But before he can say anything at all, your face screws up and your bottom lip begins to tremble. His chest immediately tightens.

"Woah, hey. It's okay," he murmurs, keeping you grounded in the present despite his rising panic. "You're okay."

You're prone to spiraling, but after years together, he knows the best way to mitigate it is to stay calm. Regardless of the raging storm in your head, you're safe with him, warm and dry at home on your couch.

He caresses your cheek, then trails up to scrub at the crinkle in your forehead. "What's going on up there?"

"Nothing. It's—really, it's nothing. I'm sorry, I don't know why I asked you that," you shake your head, averting your gaze elsewhere. But after a moment, your eyes snap back to his, and there's so much pain there, he can almost feel it.

"No, it's...it's everything. My brain won't shut up, and it's mean and loud, and I just—," you pause, clenching your jaw in frustration. "I just don't get it. Of everyone you could've been with, why me? I can't understand why you chose me."

The question feels like a slap in the face. Like he had so many choices and only picked you based on some predetermined criteria of what someone should want in a partner. He didn't just pull your name out of a bowl, either. You chose each other.

He wracks his brain to figure out what he could've said or done to make you believe otherwise, but then remembers this isn't about him. He tries again to explain all of the reasons he wanted to before, to tell you that the unrelenting thoughts ping-ponging in your head are wrong, but you continue on, unraveling before his eyes.

"I'm a shitty person. I'm selfish and useless, and all I do is make everyone around me unhappy. There's always a crisis, I'm always sad. And I always make everything about me," you tell him, getting angrier by the second. "Ugly, worthless, selfish, selfish. I’m a fucking burden. You know, I—I just keep waiting for you to figure it out and leave. To get sick of this...of me."

He listens helplessly as you tear yourself apart, the ache in his chest intensifying the worse your verbal barrage becomes. He knows he can't just reassure away your insecurities or magically heal your trauma, no matter how badly he wants to. But he also can't let this go on any longer.

"Stop," he says softly, cutting you off. Hearing the full extent of your criticism is agonizing, and if it's hurting him this much, he hates to think what you must be feeling. "None of that is true. I think...I hope, deep down, you know that."

The broken look you give him tells him you don't, or maybe that you can't, at least not right now. You open your mouth to retort, but he shakes his head and hauls you up into his arms. He holds you close as you start to tremble, guiding you to rest your cheek on his shoulder.

"There's nothing shitty about you, alright? You're the least selfish person I've ever met. Kinda wish you were so you'd stop prioritizing us over yourself all the time," he murmurs into your hair. "And you're fucking gorgeous. I don't want to hear you say any of that ever again."

He tilts his head to meet your eyes. "Got it?"

You shake your head, turning to hide your face in the crook of his neck. He sighs. He just can't fathom how you could possibly look at yourself and not see what he and Abby do. But then again, he might understand more than he'd like to admit.

Everything you've told him tonight feels jarringly familiar. The self-hatred, the unending criticism—he wallows in those thoughts all the time and knows better than anyone that they'll eat you alive if you bottle them up for too long.

He hates that you have to suffer through this just because brain chemistry is indiscriminately cruel. It's unfair. He, at the very least, deserves it.

Except, that's not actually true, is it? And if your roles were reversed, you'd remind him as many times as it takes for him to believe it. You'd tell him that he's perfect exactly the way he is. That he's a good parent, brother, and partner, and regardless of all of the shit life has thrown his way, he's still a good person that isn't defined by his lowest moments.

So, he'll do the same for you.

He shifts you on his lap so you're face-to-face, your legs bracketing his thighs, and cups your cheeks to keep your attention on him. He's not letting you hide anymore. He needs you to hear what he has to say and trust that he'd never lie to you.

"You're not worthless or useless or anything else your brain is telling you right now. Okay? You're perfect," he says quietly, stroking your cheek. "I've always thought you were perfect, from the moment I met you."

Doubt clouds your expression. "I don't believe you."

"Why would I lie to you?"

"B-because that's what you're supposed to say when you're trying to make someone feel better," you reply shakily.

Ouch. He hadn’t expected that answer. It stings that you'd think so little of him, especially after all this time. He feels like he’s grasping at straws now, but everything he wants to say is just a variation of how highly he sees you. It’s all equally true, but if you can’t accept that, then what else can he do?

"Then, tell me what you need to hear right now. Tell me how to help you through this, because I love you so fucking much, and I will do anything," he pleads, his frustration bleeding through despite how hard he tries to suppress it.

It’s starting to affect you. You’re shaking like a leaf, and he can tell you want to run away, but instead of letting you go, he wraps his arms around you as carefully as he can to keep you from leaving. He doesn't want to force you to face this. He just needs you to stop hurting yourself. Your face crumples, and he feels his own do the same.

"I don't know. Probably nothing," you tell him, voice cracking. "Look, we don't have to talk about it anymore. I'm sorry for bringing it up in the first place. Can we just go back to watching the movie? I’ll rewind it—“

But Mike doesn't want to let this go. Even if he should, even though you're asking—he's determined to make sure you go to bed tonight knowing how loved you are. His next words come out harsher than he wants them to, but he’s getting desperate. He’s only human.

"Fine. You want the truth? Being with you is hard. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done, and sometimes, it hurts like hell," he starts. Your expression morphs from sad to devastated, and he feels terrible for upsetting you, but he has to say this for both of your sakes.

"But that's what makes it worth it. I've never felt this way about anyone, probably never will again. Not because it's easy; because it's you. Sure, no one's perfect, but you're about as close as it gets. You're it for me.”

He truly believes that. Maybe you do, too. The tension in your body is beginning to bleed away, and you slowly sag against him, tucking yourself into his chest. He catches a glimpse of your face as you melt into him, and for the first time tonight, you look hopeful. Nuzzling into your hair, he continues.

"I can't imagine a life without you anymore. It's like you're part of me now, maybe even the best parts, and I fill in the gaps in between. We just…figured it out at some point. Together.” He’s starting to ramble, but he’s too invested to stop. Judging by the fact that you haven’t interrupted him or tried to intervene, it doesn’t seem like you want him to, either.

“Even the small shit other couples fight about. Like the dishes—you hate doing those because digging the silverware out of the sink grosses you out, so I do it. And you fold the laundry because I always burn myself taking the clothes out of the dryer. We talk shit out. We try."

He squeezes you a little tighter. “Maybe those seem like shitty reasons to love someone, but they’re real. Just as real as what I told you before," he says softly, pausing to kiss the top of your head. "You're beautiful. You're kind and passionate, and I’m just the lucky guy that gets to be with you. I’ll be here as long as you want me.”

When he finally finishes, he’s all but gasping for air. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, and he’s breathing so heavily, he feels like he just ran a marathon. But it’s worth it to see the look on your face as you peer up at him, cautious but peaceful.

“How could I not want you?” you whisper, splaying your hand across his chest, just below his collarbone. You're feeling his heartbeat.

"I've been asking you that all damn night," he chuckles. Cradling your head in his palm, he swipes away a few stray tears that fall with the next flutter of your lashes. "So, did I answer your question or should I keep going? Because seriously, I can keep going—"

You snort, effectively cutting him off, then give him a wry smile. The relief he feels is palpable.

“You know, I really don’t deserve you," you murmur as you lean up to kiss the underside of his jaw. When your lips linger, he ducks down to press his against yours, kissing you deeply and pouring in everything left unsaid.

"Sure, you do," he says kindly, but with finality. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, you're both starting to look as tired as you feel. But more than that, he's grateful; to have you in his life and to be able to comfort you when you need it most. You taught him that. "And I think we both deserve some sleepytime tea and a really soft blanket...if Abby didn't already steal it off our bed."

Your face lights up, and it's as if he solved all of the world's problems with that one simple offering. It's the same look you give him when he tells you he loves you. The corners of your eyes crinkle as you say it back.

"I love you, too."

thanks for reading!

divider by @saradika-graphics

a/n: this was a homework assignment from my therapist 💀 oops

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hi there!! I’ve been following you for a long time and love your work with Donna 🥰 if it’s alright I would like to request something! G!PDonna happens upon Fem!reader’s diary and glances through it. Discovering there are both wholesome and lewd entries of the Doll maker, but she’s too intimidated and shy of Donna to make a move?? And it catches Donna of guard so much because reader hardly interacts with her?? But she also experiments and teases reader trying to make her confess?? Ahhhh 🙈

Yesss!!!! Thank you for your words!!! And for your requests!!!! Your support always make my day!!! I hope you like ir and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Dear diary

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, Donna's POV, Donna being Donna

Word count: 7,623

Summary: What is she writing on that book?...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

Another day.

The mere fact of the passage of time always seemed somewhat confusing to me. If I had to think about how much time has passed, how many times I have seen the sun rise and set, I couldn't do it, I simply couldn't.

Mother Miranda was merciful to me, she saved me, but I can't help but think what would have happened if she hadn't, what I would have become.

Like every morning, darkness envelops me ironically in my bedroom, as if everything around me reminded me where I am and why I am there.

None of that mattered enough to me to let my demons take control of my actions. I've been through that and now I only have to continue living, continue being part of the village, dominate it with my siblings.

Envy was never among my sins, no matter how suspicious I felt about the attitude of my sister Alcina, always surrounded by servants, always adored by them unconditionally.

No, I refuse to think that my decision to have a maid came because I looked with desire at my sister's situation. She lived in a castle and I lived in my lonely darkness.

Maybe I thought this world of shadows, my little, intimate and quiet world needed a change. Maybe with someone around me I could feel that time was actually passing, that I was not a simple ghostly presence, that I really existed.

That shamefully common delusion in my damaged mind was chasing me for days, that idea of ​​having someone who was not me, who was not my monstrous reflection in the mirror.

Luckily those subtle pleas became verbalized and, after talking about it with my sister, she offered me her most recent acquisition, (Y/N).

A quiet girl, perfect for me, according to Alcina.

Since that girl came to my house, few things changed. My sister was right. She was quiet, shy but helpful. I could spend hours watching the cobwebs in the house disappear under her skillful movements, I could spend an eternity listening to her sweet humming when she thinks I'm not there.

Yes, I may have been obsessed with her at first. She was a beautiful young woman, with a smile that reached even the darkest corner of my room. Her shy and sweet attitude made me feel things I had forgotten, things I only saw as entertainment or a need for my body.

But as much as I wanted to know how her lips felt on mine, how it would feel to have her naked body under mine, I couldn't just do it. I was still a deformed monster, everything had changed since my adoption, too many things.

After fighting my instincts for weeks, I decided to relax. I couldn't scare her, I couldn't exercise that power Alcina had over her maids. I wasn't Alcina, I was a monster and (Y/N)… (Y/N) was an angel.

Although she didn't run away when she saw my face, although my appearance didn't stir her stomach, I spent time putting aside the demons that forced me to act, letting that sudden obsession fade away like a light perfume you get used to after a while, an intoxicating perfume.

“Good morning, my lady,” she said in a soft voice when I went up the elevator, ready to spend a new day.

I nodded with a half smile, with that veiled smile that characterized me. At least she didn't run away when she saw me. That was always a pleasure. It always made me want to widen my smile.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” I whispered in a low tone, one that only she could hear. Maybe my obsession had disappeared, but not my desire to have her near me, my desire to see that kind smile on her face.

The girl cleared her throat and turned around, walking elegantly towards the table, where breakfast was waiting for me as every morning. A magnificent breakfast, one prepared by her.

“I, I hope you slept well,” she said kindly, accommodating me in the chair. Her body was shaking, revealing her inexhaustible shyness, her nervousness. I hoped it was just that, shyness, and not fear, anything but fear.

“Mm,” I murmured, nodding, pouring myself some of that disastrous coffee she always prepared.

Of course, my involuntary grimace of disgust didn’t go unnoticed by her, who suddenly began to tremble more intensely.

“I'm, I'm sorry, my lady, the coffee is…” she said with a broken voice, snatching the cup from my hand. I looked at her inquisitively, frowning.

“It's okay,” I said in a whisper, picking up the small cup again.

Her eyes closed, as they always did when she got nervous.

“I'm sorry, I…” (Y/N) apologized again, her cheeks flushed, intimidated by my presence.

I shouldn't be surprised at all, I was a monster and she was just a little lamb.

“You’ve pressed the coffee,” I stated, glancing at the old coffee maker, checking, once again, that she made the same mistake.

“Yes, I…” she stammered, avoiding looking at me in the eye, avoiding our gazes meeting.

“You mustn't do it, (Y/N). This coffee maker doesn't work that way. If you press the coffee, it becomes clumpy and generates too much bitterness,” I explained with a calm voice, with an expression that didn’t betray how beautiful she seemed to me, how comfortable I felt by her side.

“I'm, I'm, I'm so sorry, Lady Beneviento, it, it, it won't happen again,” she said, lowering her head, clasping her hands in front of her body in a pleading manner.

I smiled and shook my head. The young woman's nervousness could be sensed from miles away. I didn't want to see her nervous, but I was still Donna Beneviento, a crazy and dangerous woman. I couldn't blame her for feeling that way.

“I'm not scolding you,” I said, looking away and taking another sip of the bitter liquid, sighing, desperate to stop causing that feeling of terror in her. “It's just a piece of advice.”

She opened her eyes and raised her gaze to mine, nodding as she swallowed; her trembling diminishing little by little.

“Thank, thank you for the advice,” she said in a broken voice, the words not wanting to leave her lips.

I nodded passively, looking back at that splendid breakfast.

“Calmati, (Y/N)…” -I whispered, blowing the smoke coming out of the cup, controlling the trembling of my own body, my own nerves. “I didn't hire you for your ability to prepare coffee.”

“So… Why did you hire me, my lady?” she asked back.

Well, that was new, that girl didn't usually question me. I couldn't help but feel annoyed about it. I was supposed to be a Lord. I made the questions, not her.

I had to take a moment for my irrational fury to fade away. No, she couldn't suffer my delusions.

“I don't know,” I whispered, shaking my head and hardening my expression. “Why do you think I did it?”

She laughed nervously, looking away again, searching with her erratic eyes for an answer, something to say to my unexpected question, one I used to not to say what I thought of her, that her beauty calmed my darkness.

“I... Don’t...” she murmured, breathing heavily, playing with her hands shiny with nervous sweat.

I laughed, shaking my head, releasing the young woman from that slightly uncomfortable question. I didn't want to see her tremble. I didn't want to see her being afraid of me.

“I've taken up too much of your time, (Y/N). I'm sure you have a lot of things to do,” I said with a calm voice, enjoying the bitter taste of the coffee, of her coffee.

“Yes, my lady,” she nodded in relief, with a wider smile, wanting to get rid of my presence. Once again, I couldn't blame her, I'm a monster. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Prego,” I whispered, looking away, listening to her footsteps slowly moving away, surely looking for something to do, something that would take her away from me.

But I couldn't have a quiet breakfast. Some steps on the wood alerted. My conscience had something to say, or rather, something to make fun of.

“Donna likes the maid,” Angie sang, my doll, the only one who was always by my side, the only one I could trust. Unfortunately, she was part of me. She knew my thoughts, my feelings. I don't know why she was so rebellious, so... Angie.

“Shut up,” I hissed when the puppet climbed onto my lap, enunciating a truth that I was unable to verbalize. “Of course I like her.”

“Why don't you tell her, silly Donna?” the doll asked, ready to annoy me, to not let me enjoy the peace left by the fleeting presence of (Y/N).

“You know why, it's absurd,” I answered, spreading oil on the perfect toasts that she prepared every morning. The coffee was a disaster, but those toasts...

“It's not absurd, you are her owner,” Angie said.

I got nervous, looking around in case she appeared, in case she heard the horrible statement that showed my power over her, the involuntary submission I didn't want her to have.

“I don't want her to think that way about me. I don't want to scare her, Angie,” I explained in a whisper.

The doll tilted her head comically and got off my lap, crossing her arms.

“Coward,” she scolded me, which made me clench my teeth tightly, and start to consider deactivating her, at least for a while.

“Angie…” I muttered, rolling my eye, letting the air out of my lungs with a sigh. No, I couldn't agree with her, even though she definitely was right.

“Stop the nonsense and tell her what you feel,” the puppet said, making grotesque movements with her wooden limbs.

“You know I can't,” I protested, abruptly leaving the coffee cup on the table, causing everything to move dangerously and make an annoying noise.

“Fine, fine, whatever you want, silly Donna,” Angie said passively, moving away from me. “By the way, how's your right hand? One night you'll end up making fire…”

I, faced with this shameful comment, abruptly got up from the table, grabbing the puppet and shaking it furiously in my hands, with my cheeks flushed by this very intimate and personal accusation.

“Don’t dare to…” I hissed threateningly, my body shaking with embarrassment.

The doll laughed in my arms, with that sinister laugh that she surely learned from the deepest darkness of my mind.

“Don't touch me with that hand, you sick masturbator,” the puppet protested, making the anger on my face more evident, causing a furious growl from the back of my throat.

“Shut up, damn it,” I hissed, about to deactivate the annoying Angie definitely.

“My lady, I’ve heard a noise, is everything okay?” (Y/N)'s voice stopped me in my action, I froze and lowered the puppet to the floor.

“Yes, everything is fine,” I said in a whisper, with the triumphant Angie cowardly running away from me.

“I, um, do, do you need something?” she asked, approaching me slowly, surely frightened by the trembling of my body. “Are you having a crisis?”

“No,” I answered abruptly, letting myself fall back into the chair, with my senses clouded by nerves, by rage at the accusations of that irreverent part of my conscience.

“Are you sure?” she insisted, approaching cautiously and putting her hand on my shoulder. I looked at her quickly and she pulled it away, frightened. Always the same, I always ended up scaring her. “I'm sorry,” she apologized, moving away again, with terror marking her features.

“Don't you have to clean? Lasciami stare,” I growled abruptly, unpleasantly.

(Y/N) nodded embarrassed, with a pitiful sigh, disappearing from the room, fleeing from my irrational fury, from my uncontrollable demons.

“Wait, I…” I suddenly said, standing up to stop her escape, to apologize for my unfair attitude. I couldn't do it. My voice was too low and my attempt too pathetic. “I didn't want to…”

A pathetic monster, that was me.

I sighed, sitting back down, running a hand over my forehead, burying my head in my hands, gripping my hair tightly, furious for not being able to keep calm, for unintentionally causing fear in the young woman. She could never love me, not the way I am. Maybe I had to stop fooling myself and let her go before I lost control.

“Cazzo…” I muttered, hitting the table with my closed fist, furious, frustrated for not being able to control myself. I couldn't blame Angie, she was me, I was her.

“Hey, hey, Donna, did you see it?” the doll asked, tugging at my dress to get my attention.

I shook my head confused by that question.

“What? The way I scare her again? Great job Angie,” I said, angrily destroying one of the toasts.

“No, silly, silly, the book, the book she was carrying in her hand,” the doll said, climbing onto the table and threatening to destroy my breakfast.

“What book? What are you talking about?” I asked confused, moving the puppet away from the tray and the coffee pot, avoiding causing more problems for (Y/N).

“The book (Y/N) always carries with her, silly,”  Angie explained, letting herself fall on the table, swinging her legs like a little girl, like me when I was a little girl and I wasn't… A monster.

“A book,” I repeated, crossing my arms, nervous about how mysterious that damn puppet always was.

I wonder what I would be like if I had her personality…

“Yes, yes, a secret book, or so it seems,” she whispered, approaching me in an annoying way.

I laughed ironically, disappointed by that absurd conversation.

“I told (Y/N) that she could read whatever books she wanted, I don't know what's so mysterious about that,” I commented, letting the oil soak the lightly toasted bread, concentrating on it and not on my unfair outburst with (Y/N).

“Are you stupid?” Angie asked, annoyed, slapping me and making me furious again.

“You're one step away from me deactivating you and putting you with the others, Angie,” I threatened with a frown, my chest burning with helplessness. I knew I would be incapable of doing it.

“Do it if you want,” she answered haughtily. “But then I won't tell you what I know...”

“What do you know?” I asked curiously, thus blurring the desire I had to make my faithful companion disappear.

“Apologize and I'll tell you,” Angie said, turning her back on me. Damn evil doll.

“Angie…” I hissed nervously.

“Okay, okay… Listen, do you know why I think that book is important?”

“No, I don't know,” I answered through clenched teeth, watching my surroundings. “Speak.”

“The other night I was watching (Y/N) and then…” the puppet began, with a mockingly mysterious tone. “I saw her writing something on it.”

“Really?” I asked, now interested in that information. “What was she writing?”

“No idea, but it seemed like secret things,” the doll said, getting down from the table and saying goodbye with an unpleasant gesture. “You're welcome for the information, silly Donna.”

I remained thoughtful, sighing. As I already knew, that information was not relevant at all. (Y/N) writing in a book, what nonsense, surely it was not important, was it?

The day continued to pass calmly, silently, terribly lonely.

I didn't see (Y/N) until late afternoon, probably still scared, because of me.

Not even working on my dolls could calm my nerves. All I thought about was her, how I scared her, how much she probably wanted to go back to the castle. Of all the monsters in the village, I was the worst, and she was starting to realize it.

I decided to distract myself with an old essay on plants, in the quiet living room, hoping that, by chance, she would appear. Luckily, she did.

“Here’s your tea, my lady,” she said in a whisper, trying not to disturb my concentration, leaving a steaming cup on the desk. I couldn't help but smile.

“You're always so punctual, (Y/N),” I said, glancing at the clock out of the corner of my eye.

It didn't matter where I was, she always found me, made me that tea, looked for me, gave it to me with that smile. I don't know when I started losing my mind…

“Yes, well, I always finish my chores at this time, I’m pleased to serve you, to make you a, a tea” she said in a kind voice, stuttering as usual.

I smiled kindly, but my face relaxed when I looked lower, at (Y/N)'s hands, which were holding the book Angie mentioned. I frowned discreetly, trying to see what was written on the cover.

“What have you been doing? I haven't seen you,” I commented erratically, just to keep her by my side a little longer, just a little longer.

“I've been cleaning the upstairs, my lady,” she explained in an elegant, helpful voice. I wondered if Alcina also found that voice terribly sexy.

“Donna,” I said, looking away. Yes, I hated that charming formality.

“Sorry?” she asked confused, scratching the back of her neck, holding that book tightly in her hand.

“Call me Donna, please,” I said with an indifferent tone, pretending to read the pages of that essay “Unless it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, no, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, Donna,” (Y/N) said, with a calm face, with a shy smile that I returned. “I… I have to, I have to go prepare dinner.”

“Why are you such in a hurry?” I asked confused by that new attempt to escape. This time I hadn't done anything to scare her, besides, I had to know what was written in that damn book. “I'm sure you're exhausted.”

“We, well, the truth is that the dust fluff that was upstairs has made it a little difficult for me… I even had to fight against it,” she said with a broken voice, embarrassed, laughing shyly.

I looked at her with a frown at that tender attempt at joking.

“I’m sorry, I was trying to…” she apologized seconds later. I laughed softly, shaking my head.

“Joking, I know, that’s fine,” I said between laughs, with a casual pose, turning a little to have a better view of that book. “I like you’re funny.”

“I’d like to be too,” she said jokingly, shaking her head, her smile widening as well as the blush on her cheeks.

There was a brief moment when our gazes met, when our smiles greeted each other, but that quickly faded. I had probably imagined it.

“Don’t worry about dinner, go take a bath first,” I murmured, quickly returning to my book, not letting the light of her smile reveal my feelings.

Another erratic mood swing, my life was a nightmare.

“Oh, I…” the maid stammered, playing with the book in her hands, lowering her head in an elegant bow. “Yes, of course, thank you… Donna.”

I nodded disinterestedly as she walked away again, but not before leaving that mysterious book hidden under one of the cushions of the old sofa. Surely she didn't think I was discreetly watching her. Angie was definitely right.

When (Y/N) went upstairs to take a bath, as I suggested, I stood up slowly, my gaze fixed on the sofa, always alert in case she came down again. She didn't, Angie wasn't around either, it was my chance.

I lifted the cushion and found that precious book. Oh, no, it wasn't a book, on the cover worn by the passage of time there was only one word: Diary.

“Interessante…”  I murmured, flipping through the pages at random, sitting on the couch, always watching the door, adrenaline running through my veins as I did something I shouldn't. It was funny, really.

Dear diary:

This morning I stole a cookie from Mom and she caught me. She grounded me from seeing my friends, that's unfair, I want to play with them, especially with Katia, she's my best friend, and the one who gave me the idea of ​​stealing the cookies. Maybe if I pray to the Black Gods my mother will be nice to me…

“Oh, wow, you were mischievous, huh?” I commented amused, reading that childish writing, (Y/N)'s private thoughts. Laughing, I turned more pages of that small book, watching how time passed through her writing as well.

One of the dates caught my attention, it was the date she arrived at the estate. Looking around, checking that (Y/N) wasn't there, I dove back into her thoughts.

Dear Diary:

Today was my first day at the Beneviento estate. I was scared, because I had heard terrible things about Lady Beneviento. My lady told me that I would have to go there and stay with her. I was really scared. They said she was crazy, that she was very dangerous and that I could experience my worst fears. But none of that seemed true. Lady Donna is a shy and mysterious woman, but she is kind, she hasn't hurt me.

I wonder if that beautiful woman in the portrait is her, I wonder why in the village they say she is a monster.

“You weren't wrong...” I sighed, turning the pages with a melancholic air. Once again, as always, I couldn't blame her.

The entries in that diary traveled through the pages, my eye scanned them with curiosity. Nothing particularly interesting, nothing until the day came when she accidentally saw my face, a horrible day that just remembering it makes me shiver.

Dear Diary:

Lady Donna had a terrible nervous breakdown. She screamed that someone was after her, that they wanted to hurt her. I tried to help her, I really tried. To see such an imposing woman suffer like that made me feel sorry about her.

Thanks to my help, Lady Donna recovered from her fears, from her trembling. I don't know why, but I felt terribly bad seeing her in that state. But the most curious thing of all is that finally that black veil disappeared, and I was able to see her face. She is... How can I explain it, maybe the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life? I don't know, dear diary, I don't know why she covered herself

She is beautiful, that scar doesn't hide her beauty. I can't stop thinking about her...

“Beautiful?”  I said with a frown, my heart racing at those words, at that opinion so impossible for me. No, she should be wrong.

But the one who was wrong, without a doubt, was me. One by one I turned the pages of that old diary and, more and more frequently, the beauty she saw in me appeared in them. It seemed that I occupied her mind, her world, that she couldn't stop thinking about me.

Maybe my madness had made me imagine that those words were true, that when (Y/N) said she trembled when she saw me it was because she felt something, anything for me, and not out of fear.

I had a hard time believing it, I really had.

Dear Diary:

I keep thinking about Donna. All day, all night, even when she's not here, her figure appears in front of me like a dream, a wonderful one. I know it's crazy, I know I shouldn't feel this way. She's a Lord, she's powerful, dangerous. If she finds out I'm attracted to her, I don't know what the consequences might be. I'm afraid I'll feel more things than I already do, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop smiling when I see her appear in the morning.

“Are you attracted to me?” I repeated incredulously, reading that entry over and over again, uncovering my maid’s deepest feelings, uncovering a truth hidden as well as a bat in the dark.

I shook my head, blinking in confusion, searching for an excuse, something to tell me that what was in that book was just an illusion.

Dear Diary:

I did something horrible today.

I was cleaning the basement, as usual, and the sound of running water caught my attention. I knew it was her, it couldn't be anyone else, Donna was taking a shower and I, absorbed in my sick attraction, approached the source of the sound.

There she was, her body exposed, her pale skin letting me look at it through a crack. She is perfect. I have no other word to describe her. Her figure, her waist, her breasts, her... Well, everything, everything was perfect. That torrid vision of my lady has destabilized me even more.

I can't stop imagining her naked body against mine. I can't stop thinking about how her perfect penis would feel inside of me. I’m very excited and wanting to make me enjoy myself. But she is still my mistress, I cannot feel those things for her, I’m still intimidated by her presence, by her beauty…

Help me, Black Gods, I’m going crazy, I think I’m falling in love.

“Mamma mia,” I sighed, blushing, slamming the book shut, nervous about the words I had just read, with a sinister smile on my face.

I should have felt ashamed of having been spied on, but quite the opposite. My body had read those words and reacted accordingly. I ignored it, as I always did, focusing on that last sentence, on that confession she never dared to make, on the confession about her feeling the same as me. She loved me.

“Well, well…” a shrill voice murmured, startling me. I don't know when Angie appeared perched on my shoulder, reading those obscene and intriguing words next to me.

“Angie!” I shouted, scared and furious. No, not her… “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” she mocked, fleeing from my hands which were trying to reach her. “Perfect penis, huh?”

“Shut up,” I growled, blushing again. “You're always thinking about…”

“That's what you're thinking, silly Donna. Don't blame me for having to put up with your dirty mind,” the doll defended herself.

Unfortunately, I couldn't say anything against that attack. My own lascivious thoughts gave me away again. I simply crossed my arms with a sigh.

“So she… She has feelings for me,”-I murmured, running my hand through my hair, across my sweaty forehead, confused, disoriented, wondering when I would wake up from that dream.

“It seems so,” Angie said, dropping onto the couch.

“Why hasn't she told me?” I asked myself, reading (Y/N)'s praises of me over and over again, the desire she had to kiss my lips, to have my hands grabbing her waist.

“Why haven't you told her?” Angie asked back. I have to admit that sometimes she is too caustic, or am I?

“You know, because… Because she is my maid and I… Well, I’m her mistress…. She could confuse my intentions and… I could scare her,” I explained with a sad voice, running my hands through those private pages, through (Y/N)'s thoughts I read without permission.

“Maybe she thinks the same way,” the puppet commented, swinging her legs again.

“What do you mean?” I asked curiously.

“Oh, please, you know, you've read it…” Angie murmured, also watching her surroundings. “You intimidate her, Donna, when she's around you she's a shaking mess. She probably thinks you'd never have feelings for her.”

“But, but (Y/N) has never, I mean, never… Interacted with me beyond her duties, she's never shown that interest she claims to have on me,” I said, pointing at the book.

Angie growled and climbed up my body, hitting my head in an annoying way.

“Knock, knock, is anyone there?” she asked mockingly. I pushed her away with an angry slap. “Wake up, Donna.”

“You're taking too many liberties,” I whispered threateningly, receiving a mocking laugh as an answer, as expected. “Stop laughing at me, and help me.”

“Help yourself, silly Donna. What you have to do is make the first move, tease her, you know, bring out that seductive side of you,” the doll explained.

I shook my head laughing tiredly.

“I don't have that side,” I said amused, reading the words of that diary again.

“Well, if you want her to react, you have to do it yourself,” Angie demanded.

You have to do it yourself

It seemed crazy, but deep down, I knew that, Angie, that talking conscience was right. The question was simple, how?

The sound of the stairs put me on alert and, nervous, I put the diary away, getting up from the sofa and maintaining a concealed pose that would surely be ridiculous.

“Donna?” the maid asked when she saw me moving in place, with a fake smile, too close to the secret hiding place.

“Ciao, (Y/N), I was, I was waiting for you,” I said with a slightly more confident voice, clumsily trying to be seductive, something that, of course, didn't work.

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked, moving her wet hair, with a sparkle in her eyes that I hadn't noticed until that moment.

“Yes, sure, I, I like waiting for you,” I said awkwardly, closing my eye in embarrassment and clearing my throat. “I mean, I'm, I'm hungry.”

“Oh, I…” (Y/N) sighed, with a disappointment in her voice that I was now able to notice. “I'm sorry, I spent too much time in the bathtub,” she apologized with a strange blush on her cheeks.

No, I really didn't want to think about what she was doing, what she was thinking about. I regretted having read her diary.

“Don’t, don't apologize, a hot bath can be restorative, don't you think?” I said in a lower voice, gaining confidence from nowhere, following Angie's erratic advice.

Slowly, I approached her, who smiled nervously, unable to look me in the face.

“Yes, of course,” she said in a small voice, with the same tone she used when she was nervous, when she was near me. The perfume she emanated was much more intense.

“I would never forgive myself if such a beautiful skin was damaged by overwork,” I whispered shamelessly, approaching her ear, running the back of my hand over the exposed skin of her arms. Her breathing became agitated, her body didn’t reject my touch, she simply trembled more intensely.

“Donna, I…” she sighed, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin bristling at my touch. “I'm going to make dinner right away,” she said abruptly, cowardly fleeing from my proximity.

I laughed incredulously, as Angie's shameless strategy had worked.

 I had managed to get her gaze focused on me, my skin to brush against hers, a bit of those secret feelings to be reflected on her face.

It wasn't such a bad idea, after all. I'd have to keep trying.

Day after day my closeness to (Y/N) increased considerably. It didn't matter where she was, dusting, washing dishes... My presence always haunted her. My whispers filled her ears with soft words, words she didn't understand, highlighting her beauty, the grace of her existence, what she meant to me.

Approaching her from behind to guide her hands while she cooked, showing her how to prepare coffee properly, placing strands of her hair behind her ear… They were experimental strategies to make her nervous, to take away the fear she had of me, the authoritarian and intimidating figure she saw in me.

But my efforts, my provocations, my constant teasing had no effect beyond her erratic trembling, the sweat running down her forehead or the blush on her cheeks accompanied by a nervous laugh.

I began to get frustrated again, to secretly read again the pages of her diary that revealed her nerves were at their highest limit and that approach, that subtle touch of my skin, of my words in her ears, only increased the fierceness of her feelings, and her desire.

“Do you know how to do a manicure?” I asked one cloudy afternoon, a boring afternoon in which I interrupted (Y/N) in her free time reading or writing, the diary peeking out subtly from a boring book on Romanian flora and fauna.

“Oh, Donna, yes, of course, I was used to doing it for Lady Dimitrescu,” -she explained, hiding the diary under the sofa in an awkward manner, with an innocent smile that hid her not so innocent thoughts.

Hearing my sister's name filled me with jealousy, but I soon learned to control it. I didn't want to scare her. I didn't want her to see that I really was a monster, that I wanted her just for me.

“To work on my dolls destroys my nails, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to...” I said, looking at my hands with disinterest, walking towards the sofa. She suddenly stood up, making a ridiculous bow and escaping from my presence. “Where are you going?”

“Sit, sit down, I'll be right back,” she said nervously, running upstairs, surely to get the stuff for that manicure I asked her for.

With a delicacy that was hard to believe, she worked on my nails, fixing the mess that the work in the workshop caused. Her warm hands studied mine and her gaze finally had an excuse not to be fixed on mine. She seemed concentrated, but she couldn't help the sweat on her forehead giving her away.

“You have beautiful hands,” she said quietly, playing with my fingers, with a tender smile, as if that moment relaxed her, as if she was starting to feel comfortable with my presence.

Time to act.

I smiled the same way, letting her fingers caress me, letting her take advantage of that moment to touch the skin she so longed to feel, or so she said in her diary.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” I whispered, nodding kindly, searching with my free hand for hers, indiscreetly playing with interlacing our fingers. “Yours aren't bad either.”

“That's not true,” she sighed, searching in a case for the nail polish I asked for, black like the darkness that always surrounded me. “I've spent a lot of time cleaning.”

“Nonsense, they're soft…” I said disinterestedly, playing with her hand, caressing the rough surface due to her hard work. She gasped in surprise, pretending to cough, pretending that her skin wasn't suffering from shivers.

“You're very kind, my lady,” she said nervously, uncapping the nail polish and moving her hand away from my caresses.

“My lady?” I said amused, tilting my head inquisitively. She smiled, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

“Donna,” she corrected, with a shy smile, with the red of her cheeks contrasting harmoniously with her skin.

“That's better,” I said, satisfied, dragging out the words and making myself more comfortable in front of her, relaxing my body on the sofa.

“Don't, don't move,” she asked me in an almost imperceptible voice, as if she didn't want to give orders to me. Maybe my strategy hadn't worked as well as I thought.

“I won't,” I whispered with a reassuring smile, while (Y/N) brought the small brush to my hand. She couldn't stop shaking.

Abruptly, I grabbed her wrist firmly before she started with her task.

“You're shaking, (Y/N),” I said with a bit of cockiness, with a dangerous look, with a dark glint that was surely piercing her soul.

“I'm, I'm sorry, it's just that...” she murmured, breathing deeply to try to calm down, something she didn't manage to do.

“I want you to paint my nails, not my hand,” I joked, without letting the young woman's wrist go. (Y/N) was beginning to thrash around, looking with her eyes for a place to escape.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” she apologized again, when I finally let her wrist go. I was beginning to feel sorry for her, but the truth was that I was very tired of waiting, very tired of that submissive attitude.

She was mine, but I didn't want her to see it that way, I wanted her to feel comfortable.

“You're nervous, why?” I asked in a soft, unexpectedly seductive tone.

She shook her head, opening her mouth to speak, but regretting it immediately.

“I, I don't know.”

Liar...

“Relax,” I whispered, getting a little closer, feeling that my prey was cornered, that she couldn't, that she didn't want to escape.

It may have been a lack of manners, of subtlety, but my love, my desire, my desire to make her mine overcame me without wanting to after whole days of teasing, of getting closer, of having her so close, of trying to bring her heart closer to mine.

My hand wandered curiously over her bare leg, caressing her skin with a relaxing rhythm, totally different from her breathing, which quickened in a moment.

“Does this relax you?” I asked, without taking my hand off her leg, off her addictive skin.

(Y/N) didn’t know how to react, what to say to my shameless touch. She had been nervous for days too, I know, I read it.

“N, no,” she murmured, shaking her head, looking at me with bright, confused, disoriented eyes. Despite her refusal, I didn’t stop, studying her gaze with a serious expression. “But, but… I don’t want to relax.”

My mouth sketched a smile. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to say anything, to revel in that small victory, no, her skin was my main point of attention, my hand passing under her dress, conquering that desired terrain.

Her breathing guided my movements, my gaze focused on hers, hers focused on my hand, on that bottle of nail polish that I gently snatched from her, with an intense, serious but kind look, as kind as a monster like me could be.

“Donna…” she sighed, swallowing and moving at my upward touch, when my hand was already brushing the wet fabric of her underwear. I couldn't help but smile. The situation was as exciting for her as it was for me.

“What, tesoro?” I asked, speaking to her trembling ear, caressing her lustful crotch, already wet with my soft touch. “Do you want to tell me something?”

“I… I… Ah…” (Y/N) couldn't speak clearly, my fingers ran over her folds through that annoying fabric, making her voice betray her with a moan of surprise while her other hand grabbed the fabric of the sofa as if she wanted to tear it off.

“Shh, relax…” I said again in her ear, softly kissing her earlobe while my soft caresses intensified at the point of greatest pleasure, at that point almost made her jump. “Tell me, how long do you plan to keep hiding it from me?”

(Y/N) moved nervously, opening her eyes wide, but without rejecting my touch, without letting my fingers leave the wet patch of her underwear.

“Donna, I…” she murmured, alternating gasps with moans when my impudence exceeded my own limits, moving the fabric aside, sinking into her wetness, running through her folds, playing with her clit. “I, I don't know what… Oh…”

“Oh, yes, yes you do, honey…” I whispered amused, leaning towards her, playing with my fingers at her eager entrance, causing a subtle but perceptible movement of her hips.

“I, I really don't know what...” she stammered, confused by the pleasure, by feeling my fingers playing with her most private area, just playing.

I just wanted to hear her confess, to give me permission to take what was already mine. Just a few words from her...

“You should be more careful with how you hide your personal stuff,” I murmured amused, releasing her from my touch and taking the diary out.”

Her face turned red, almost black red, her eyes confusedly searching for a place to escape, and she tried, oh yes, she tried.

Without saying anything, breathing nervously, she tried to get up from the sofa, frustrated by my hand pushing her chest, by my body climbing hers.

“My, my diary...” she stammered nervously as I dropped the book on the floor and my hands traveled to the edges of her dislocated underwear, pulling it down to her ankles.

She was paralyzed, but I didn't give it any importance.

I just wanted to know, I wanted to know if what she said was true and if I could take her without feeling guilty.

“Tell me what you said was true,” I whispered in a nervous voice, caressing her legs, scratching her skin with my nails, closing my eye to listen to the sounds of her body, her nervous breathing, her embarrassed sobbing. “Tell me you feel the same way I feel about you…”

“Donna, I…” she stammered, grabbing my wrists so they would stop desecrating her body, so she could look directly at me, with a sigh that revealed a sudden air of confidence. “Yes, it was true.”

“Do you love me?” I asked, with a serious look, leaving lust aside, focusing on a feeling that, until the last week, I thought was impossible.

“I love you,” she said in a low voice, looking away, with a tear running down her cheek.

I wiped it with one hand, taking the opportunity to caress her cheek, to cup her face in my hands before looking at her, studying the shine in her eyes, a sincere shine.

I smiled, I smiled pleased by her words, but I didn't know how to respond as I was expected to do.

I simply leaned towards her, positioning her legs on either side of my waist and placing my lips on hers, kissing the softness that her mouth was, the beauty that (Y/N) was, being able to feel my own fantasies, losing myself in the sweet embrace of our lips.

I didn't want to do it, but I moved away, studying her reaction, proving once again that there was no lie in her words, in her actions.

I sighed, closed my eye to kiss her again, this time more passionately, a kiss she returned with the same reaction, melting us into a bonfire of passion, of caresses, of almost desperate kisses, eager to receive what they had been waiting for so long.

“Take me, Donna, please,” she asked when my lips allowed her to speak, when her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling my body to hers, making me crash against it, my erection caressing her wet center through my skirt.

“I thought you were more romantic,” I murmured, ignoring my romanticism, the desire to love innocently.

The lustful desire was much stronger. She laughed, freed from the anguish, from the fear of rejection or a reprimand.

“If you really love me, we will have enough time to be romantic,” she said in a whisper that was more of a warning, the fear that the feelings I didn’t know how to express were false.

“I promise you, (Y/N),” I whispered as I released my erection from the skirt, causing her eyes to dance down, her head to lean back, waiting for the moment we had both dreamed of.

Her body moved nervously as the tip entered slowly, stretching her “until then” incorrupt body, something my dark mind had not stopped to think about.

But I wasn’t going to stop because of that.

“I'm sorry,” I said in a soft tone when I saw her grimace of pain. “I'll go slower.”

I kept my word, moving slowly, not letting myself be carried away by the overwhelming sensations of her body hugging mine tightly, almost desperately. Her wetness, her excitement allowed me to move my hips, to run my shaft along her walls, to let them embrace me in an incredible way, impossible just a few weeks ago.

There was no room for apologies or stopping anymore. The pleasure was intense, her wetness bathed my flesh asking for more, asking me to move faster.

The timid moans came out of her mouth, her legs kept me inside of her while her hands scratched my back, searching for my breasts, those she said she liked that much.

Damn diary, it gave me the advantage, I knew what she was going to do, what she was going to touch, or what she was going to kiss before she did it.

I continued moving in a comfortable rhythm, letting out with my moans a small part of the pleasure I felt inside of her body. I wanted to adore her, worship her, make her mine even though she already was. My hips demanded more, hers struggled not to arch, not to release shamefully.

“Donna, it's, it's amazing,”  she murmured in a confused way, letting herself be carried away by the pleasure of my thrusts, by the sensations caused by her walls stretching around me.

I nodded trying to maintain my composure, not to be carried away by my throbbing erection, which was already demanding its own release.

“You, your body, is, amazing… You are amazing, (Y/N)…” I murmured, unintentionally increasing the pace, kissing her lips, forgetting about the movement of my hips, letting everything flow as fate wanted, and so it did.

Her back arched held by my hands, her body moved nervously around my shaft, squeezing it, forcing me to release myself along with her orgasm, to fill her with my heat, with my seed, so there would no longer be any doubt. She was mine, and she would always be.

Exhausted, heated, we looked at each other, catching our breath, letting our release mix in silence, our hands traveling over our skin, over our clothes that still held some modesty in that carnal act.

“(Y/N),” I sighed, lifting her chin so she could look at me. “I'm sorry about reading your diary.”

She shook her head, closing her eyes, joining her hand with mine, holding it tightly with hers.

“If you hadn't done that, I wouldn't have been able to say how much I love you…”

[scarabesque-returns]

My Very Dear Wife:

...

I know I have but few claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me, perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, nor that, when my last breath escapes me on the battle-field, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless, how foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears, every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot, I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.

But, O Sarah, if the dead can come back to this earth, and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you in the garish day, and the darkest night amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours always, always, and, if the soft breeze fans your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air cools your throbbing temples, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah, do not mourn me dear; think I am gone, and wait for me, for we shall meet again.

As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care, and your development of their characters. Tell my two mothers, I call God's blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.

- Sullivan

Excerpt from the last letter of Major Sullivan Ballou to his wife, before his death at the Battle of First Manassas July 14, 1861

[maxwellatoms]

What kind of video games do you like to play Mr. Atoms?

So many! Assuming there's time. These days there's generally not, so I've been bingeing Vampire Survivors in half-hour doses.

Above is a gif from Noita, my top game of the pandemic. It's an old-school "Metroidvania", but every pixel is simulated and you're a witch who can manipulate her spells (and thereby the world) in a seemingly infinite number of ways. Here, I've built magical "buzzsaws" around myself, which blinded me to the shadow amoeba. In Noita, almost every death is due to hubris, and I think I love that pendulum swing. If you're lucky and skilled, you can become a walking whirlwind of destruction, but you're always your own worst enemy. Bonus: You can turn your vomit into rats.

I'm currently on a break in the midst of my Baldur's Gate 3 run, with a party consisting of my BG2 character's daughter, Karlatch, Lazelle, and Shadowheart. Ladies' Night!

I'm also playing a bit of Shadows of Doubt. I'm not sure it'll hold up long-term, but it's got a lot of potential.

I don't really limit myself by genre or platform, but I'd say that I primarily play indie PC games. The games in my Steam library that I keep going back to again and again?

Cities: Skylines: A chill City Building Simulator. Lots of fun mods.

Darkest Dungeon: This thing is a classic strategy game IMO.

Death Road to Canada: A light, fast Project Zomboid. Dogs with guns!

Dwarf Fortress: For me, it's the ultimate fantasy sim. I love it so much. Looking forward to Adventure Mode finally appearing on Steam.

Project Zomboid: The ultimate lonely 2D zombie apocalypse survival game. Or non-survival game, I suppose.

Total War: Warhammer: For when I'm in a strategy-y mood. Like a lot of people, I'm a bit soured on the modern DLC scene, so I'm still waiting on #3 even though I'm a Chaos stan.

Not on Steam? I do play some Star Citizen from time to time. I backed it a decade ago. I used to joke that it was the game I was going to retire into, but more and more that's looking less and less like a joke. Still, it's made some good progress in the last couple of years and I'm hopeful that repair and engineering turn out to be fun.

The game I'm looking forward to most would be the next Elder Scrolls. I know it's still a ways off. Ever since my Nereverine landed in Morrowind with the intention of becoming a just and righteous cleric and instead found herself an unwitting villain and colonizer, I fell in love with the Elder Scrolls and it's deep, gray lore. It is (for me) a great way to really get into a character's head. Roleplaying... go figure.

Since Morrowind (and a backtrack into Daggerfall), I only allow myself one canon playthrough. My rule is to "let it ride", so that aside from death, if I screw up or if something unexpected happens I don't save-scum. All of my characters are related, either by quest or bloodline. I already know that my next character will be Aventus Aretino (the kid you catch summoning the Dark Brotherhood). My Skyrim character (above) had adopted him and then left him in the hands of a vampire, so I should be covered even if there's a big time jump. Now I just have to wait six more years for the game. And then maybe two for mods. God I'm so old.

I need to spend more time with Dave the Diver.

Anything current I'm missing out on?

[nightvortaex]

A modern Davron au that attacked my brain:

Aeron finds a note in a library book saying:

“If you like this book, let’s talk” Davos

There’s a phone number written next to it. Aeron hesitates whether he should reach out to the unknown person, but he ends up liking the book so much that he really wishes to share his thoughts about it with someone, so he writes a message:

“Hello Davos, I’ve found your note in the book. Let’s talk.”

First they only talk about the book, but soon they start to have conversations about other things, and it gets to the point that they stay up all night talking on the phone and text each other daily, always asking about the other’s day, and basically just discuss everything with each other. They decide they should meet (both of them are dying to meet the other). They agree to meet at a library cafe (bookworms who love a good coffee). Aeron is the first to arrive (don’t know why in my brain he would be on time or even a little bit too early) and he’s so nervous he’s fidgeting with his bracelet. He gets a message from Davos saying; he’s sorry that he’s late, a few minutes and he’ll be there (because I think Davos would be late a little bit but only a few minutes, he’s very eager to meet Aeron as well and feels bad for being late). Aeron tried to imagine so many times how Davos would look, and when he sees him at the entrance of the library cafe Aeron realises he looks nothing like how he used to imagine him. He thought he would have the look of a 'very typical bookworm’ instead, he looks like the complete opposite: dark, messy hair, silver rings on almost every finger, clothes all shades of grey and black, black boots, and a headphone around his neck.

“He looked like the darkest night sky, only the rings and those loving eyes shone like stars.” (my brain said that’s how Aeron would describe him later in his diary when he writes about him).

Davos looks more like a typical troublemaker than a bookworm, and Aeron would have assumed he’s probably a bully if he hadn’t already known from their conversations that he has a soft side and he’s a cutie inside actually). So Aeron kind of starts to panic internally: “Omg, he’s so handsome. I wasn’t prepared for this.” He already liked him as a person a lot, and now seeing how damn good-looking he is, he is becoming concerned that, oh no, he can totally fall for him (he has already been falling for him but he's not willing to acknowledge it because falling someone you never met and only talked to through messages and phone calls is dumb according to him).

Meanwhile, Davos is absolutely mesmerised by Aeron from the first second he looks at him. He has been kind of falling for him through their text messages and phone calls (because Aeron has such a sweet, tender voice and the way he can talk so passionately about everything he loves)

“His voice, a beautiful siren song which I would follow to the depths of any ocean.” (Davos would write something like this in his diary, poor boy was already getting addicted to him).

Now he knows Aeron not only has the sweetest voice ever (+ the sweetest person ever based on their conversations) but also insanely gorgeous. He stops in front of Aeron and he’s totally unable to take his eyes off him. He loves how Aeron’s hair is shimmering in the sunlight, how his cheeks seem slightly pink and how he is fidgeting with his bracelet nervously. Poor Davos is completely doomed from this moment, that’s the love of his life. They greet each other and sit down at one of the tables. Both of them order a coffee (Davos would drink an ice coffee, but Aeron would choose something more fancy). They start to talk, and Aeron’s nervousness quickly disappears because talking to Davos is just so natural and easy like breathing as always. Without noticing, they spend several hours in the library cafe talking about whatever comes to their mind. Davos is looking at him like nothing else in the world exists other than Aeron, like he’s the Sun (a radiating beauty) and the planet of his being only orbits around him. While Aeron, from time to time, locks eyes with Davos, and he feels like he’s being pulled by a strong gravitational force making him fall deeper and deeper, in his dark clothing Davos is like a supermassive black hole that is about to devour the whole existence of Aeron.