#worked on this way to long and I refuse to fix any of the mistakes

[craziestfangirl98]

That was an amazing amazing finale. I was soooo worried that we would loose out on some key points. But it stuck the landing brilliantly. I have zero complaints.

The moment Dohoi went to see HyeonHo about the case, I knew that HyeonHo would not take the route and I think that was the moment of healing for him. For so long he has been seeing himself as a failure. He is stuck at the moment where he saw himself in the mirror holding a knife to his father. He is stuck at the moment he called the police earlier and it went the wrong way and hurt the only person who has cared for him, something he still feels guilt over. He is stuck at the moment where he decided that although he hasn't actually gotten into Hanseol Uni, he is going to let people believe that because he loves the reverence people have over that. They have been haunting him for so long. And will probably continue to do so. So the moment he chooses to call the police when he sees Gwangmo at the school being hurt is a break through moment for him. It has me sobbing like a baby.

I love the way the tutoring centre all came together because they realise that as much as he did falsify his credentials he still helped the kids improve.

I love that Juyeong gets to be a little more vocal, honest. Seeing Dohoi be able to live life honestly makes it easier to stop walking on eggshells for him because it's such a stepping point.

I loved that we got to finally also give HyeonHo some relief. There has always been this anxiety about what he means in Dohoi's life, so seeing him and Dohoi saying that he was his friend must mean so much to him and means so much more to me. It doesn't feel empty or undeserved or unfinished. It has a completion to all the angst of not just the past 10 years but more.

On a side note: it feels so powerful to think that one instance, had such a significant impact on adding to the guilt of all three of them because they only knew their own side of the stories. At the same time the one person who probably should feel guilty couldn't give a damn.

The moments of pure domesticity, them going back to the village and reckoning with the moments in the past. Juyeong absolutely refusing to accept any kind of a separation. Everything was put there to bring everything together, help us see just why they work well together. Till last week we were all at various levels of worried about them not being able to end the series together because I personally didn't fully get what would rectify the mistakes and hurt they've caused each other and themselves and these moments gives us a breathe of relief because it's no longer suffocating and suppressing but rather let's them breathe. I love it.

The fact that Juyeong gets to keep Taekwondo for himself still is so important to me because I was constantly thinking since I started, how they are gonna 'fix' the curse and just by letting it be what it is supposed to he they have healed so much.

Also! Loooooove Juyeong's colleagues spilling his sob story. We stan!

I ESPECIALLY LOVED the conversation about going back to uni, Dohoi being sooooo exhausted with Juyeong's bathroom habits and the final scene with Dohoi seeing Juyeong's search history.

Juyeong's search history reminded me of Jiang Tian's 'moments' in The On1y One and again absolutely wrecked me.

All in all, it was fantastic and I am going to keep coming back to this so so much.

[maxdevilrat]

something something killer clown

[cactus-cuddler]

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒍𝒚 ✭ 𝑨𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: dom!Bucky Barnes x Sub! virgin female reader

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Plot: There is no specific plot. Bucky and the reader like tease and are both dangerously attracted to each other

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: explicit sex, use of nicknames as "good girl", "slut" and "whore". Daddy kink and dirty talk. I don't think there are any other warnings.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 4.5k (sorry)

-------- ≪ °✾° ≫ Author's note: sorry for any mistakes that may be there, English is not my first language! And sorry if the scenes may be badly written, it's been a long time since I wrote a smut between a woman and a man.

I write this ff because today I turn 18 (Happy Birthday to me!!) and I want so sign it. From today I can interact with all the "minor DNI" posts!!

I don't care if you are minors, read it if you want <3 ------------------------------------------------------------------------

James Buchanan Barnes. The very mention of this name can make your heart race, recalling his powerful presence, his toned physique, and the intense gaze he fixes on you whenever your paths cross. Your thoughts often wander to him, an obsession that fills your mind in the quietest hours of the night.

Yet, despite the thoughts that consume you, you're still a virgin. You’ve never found someone you were willing to give your heart to, let alone something more intimate. You've had relationships, but each time, you’ve held back, refusing to let things go beyond harmless flirtation. The thought of being vulnerable like that has always kept you at a distance. But with him, it’s different. There’s something about Bucky that makes you reconsider everything.

Your relationship with Bucky is hard to define. Sometimes you get along well, but other times, you find yourself wishing he would just disappear. And then there are moments when you wish he’d stop arguing with you altogether, using his frustration in ways that words can’t express. Is that too much to ask?

You’re curled up on your couch with a cup of hot chocolate in hand and a blanket to ward off the winter chill. As you flip through the channels, trying to find something to watch, your phone buzzes with incoming messages. Seeing his name on the screen sends a pang through your chest.

Teasing him has always been your favorite game. You start a random movie, not really caring about the plot, as you wait for him to arrive. The distant sound of a motorcycle engine signals that you're in trouble now.

When the doorbell rings, you open it, quickly masking your excitement. He’s standing there in his pajamas, and you can’t help but giggle. His pants have a childish space motif, and the matching sweatshirt does nothing to diminish his appeal. You’re wrapped in a blanket, so you're not much better off in his eyes.

"Popcorn?" he asks, and you invite him in. As he sees the movie already playing, he reminds you of his earlier request. You shrug and sit on the couch, munching on the popcorn he brought.

“You’re a bad girl,” he says, taking the remote to choose something else to watch.

“Just the way you like them,” you reply with a smirk.

You and Bucky work together in the same company, nothing out of the ordinary. You handle the computers and accounting, while Bucky works with metal. His vibranium arm would be perfect for his job, but he rarely uses it. "Oops, I’m right-handed, I do it without thinking," he says when someone asks why he doesn’t use his more powerful arm. You’ve seen how he looks at women, and it stirs something within you—a mix of jealousy and curiosity.

You first started talking after you accidentally spilled coffee on his white shirt a few months ago. To make amends, you offered to clean it, using a trick you’d read in a 1950s magazine titled "How to Be the Perfect Housewife." Not that you’re aiming for that role; you detest the idea of being confined by outdated gender roles. Patriarchy is disgusting! You would never want to marry a man in your life who confines you to a house with four children, a dog, three cats and a cactus to take care of alone.

Your conversations started off innocent enough, but things took a turn when you began texting late into the night. You both started teasing each other, pushing boundaries just to see how far the other would go. It became a game, one where neither of you wanted to lose face, even as feelings began to creep in.

So, how did he end up at your place tonight? You’re not sure, and it worries you. He’s never been to your house before. Sure, he’s given you rides home after work, a habit that started after the coffee incident. It became a routine, all because you playfully challenged his chivalry. “You? A gentleman? Don’t make me laugh,” you had texted him one morning. That very day, he was waiting outside your building, opening the car door for you. "It doesn’t mean anything," you had said to him in thanks. But tonight feels different.

The movie he picks is just awful. It’s filled with scenes of sex without sense.

“Is this too much for you? Should I change it?” he asks each time, and you just shake your head. In your life you see, read and write stuff more scandalous.

“How boring, if done like this even sex becomes boring," Bucky complains about another sex scene with the missionary position.

“You talk big, but I bet you couldn’t do any better,” you say, challenging him, not realizing what you’ve just started.

“With just one touch, I could make you scream my name,” he says, his voice low and intense. You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks, but you’re not backing down.

“I’d like to see you try,” you whisper, the challenge clear in your voice.

He looks at you, his gaze lingering, but then he sighs and turns back to the movie. “I’m a gentleman,” he says softly. “I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that.”

You feel a wave of frustration, mixed with a sense of longing that you can’t quite shake. You don’t want him to be a gentleman; you want him to see you as more. You’re a ruthless woman, you won’t give up easily. If you are not satisfied with him, well you will do it yourself. In front of his eyes.

You take off your blanket and lift your shirt up to your hips and pull your panties off throwing them on the floor. You lie down on your back and put your feet on his knees. You put two fingers in your mouth and suck them in front of him. ‘He provoked me’. You repeat yourself so you don’t feel guilty about what you’re about to do.

You do small circular movements on your clit and slowly start to sigh for the pleasure you are causing yourself.

“Bucky..." you say between moaning as you start to penetrate your little cunt with two fingers. Bucky is doing everything he can to hold himself back. His erection thills in his boxer asking to be released and enjoy for you and your warmth however he does not want to give up. It will not look but has solid moral principles and not taking your virginity is one of those.

“Bucky… please fuck me with your cock,” you say clenching your couch with fingers to hold back your spasms. This provocation has hit the mark, his erection is now painful and not releasing it could drive him crazy. Reach out to your face, sweat drops are playing on your forehead. He orders you to sit down and you perform. You are sitting one next to the other and you have your leg over his to allow him free access to your pussy.

"I won’t take your virginity," he announces by passing his thumb along your big lips. An unsatisfied grunt comes out of your lips, you want more. Much more than that.

“Why not?" you complain "I want you Bucky, I want to shout your name" add grumbling.

"It would be a nice show, believe me sweetheart but I can’t deprive you of your first time with someone you love," he says. In a flash all the previous excitement fades away as if in a spell. You close your legs and ask him to leave. "You can’t decide what’s right or wrong for me" you told him by pulling out your voice. He’s made his choice, and for tonight, that will have to be enough.

As he leaves, you find yourself wondering what it would take to bridge the gap between you. Because despite everything, one thing is clear: you want more from him, and you’re not sure how much longer you can wait.

The next morning, you wake up hoping that the night with Bucky was just a bad dream—a nightmare you could shake off with a shiver. But as you lie there, staring at the ceiling, you realize that it was all too real. The memory comes rushing back: you, vulnerable and exposed, touching yourself in front of him, moaning his name, only to be met with rejection. Your cheeks flush with a mix of shame and frustration. How could I have let myself go like that?

But there’s another thought that creeps in, unbidden. Despite everything, a part of you finds it almost sweet that Bucky doesn’t want to take your virginity unless it’s something more than just lust. He wants you to save it for someone you truly love. But the truth is, you do want it. You want him. The image of his lips on yours, his hands exploring every inch of your body, flashes through your mind, and you feel a pang of desire so intense it nearly takes your breath away. You’ve fantasized about him for so long—wondered if he could fulfill the dark, desperate needs you’ve kept buried. You’re sure you wouldn’t regret giving him your first time, so why should he?

‘Maybe he doesn’t want me,’ you think suddenly, the possibility of hitting you like a bucket of cold water. ‘Maybe I’m just a game to him, someone he can tease and torment without ever really wanting.’ The thought is unbearable, twisting in your gut like a knife.

You force yourself out of bed, deciding that you won’t let these thoughts ruin your day. Before work, you brew a hot cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine will give you the energy you need to push through. You can’t face Bucky today—not after last night. Instead, you opt for your favorite mode of transport, the one so many dismiss as the “poor man’s commute.” But you’ve always found the train comforting, a place where you can disappear into your thoughts without the pressure of small talk or the need to keep up appearances.

The ride is uneventful, the rhythmic clatter of the train soothing your nerves somewhat. When you arrive at your stop, your office is just a short walk away. You’re early—too early, really—so you take your time, letting your mind wander as you stroll. The morning air is crisp, and the world feels strangely peaceful. ‘Why can’t my mind be this calm?’ you wonder, but of course, it’s not that simple. Last night’s events linger, casting a shadow over everything.

Just as you’re about to step inside, your phone rings, the sound jolting you out of your thoughts. His name flashes on the screen, and your heart skips a beat. What does he want now?

"Y/N, come down now or we'll be late!" Bucky's voice snaps through the line, sharp with irritation. You can almost see the frown on his face, the way his brows would knit together. But with a calmness that surprises even you, you tell him you're already at the office, having taken the train.

"I hope you're joking," he growls, his voice low and husky, sending a familiar shiver down your spine. Even when he's angry, it's a voice that could melt you.

"Sorry, I should have warned you," you reply, hanging up before he can say more. The truth is, you didn't want to face him this morning, not after last night. The thought of seeing his cold blue eyes, remembering how they watched you with a mix of desire and restraint, makes your chest tighten.

You greet your colleagues warmly, slipping on your glasses as you sit at your desk, but your mind is elsewhere. The memory of Bucky's gaze, the way his hand almost trembled before he pulled away from you, keeps playing on a loop.

Hours pass in a blur of work until lunchtime, when Bucky suddenly appears at your usual spot in the break room. The moment you see him, your heart skips a beat. His presence fills the space, commanding and intense. You watch as he approaches, your colleagues' chatter fading into the background.

"I need to talk to you, Y/N," he says, his voice a mix of urgency and something deeper-something almost vulnerable. His eyes, however, are still guarded, a wall you've never been able to fully break through.

Your colleagues exchange knowing glances, smirking, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Without a word, you follow Bucky out of the room, conscious of the curious eyes behind you.

He leads you to the women's bathroom, and as soon as the door closes, he turns to you, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," he begins, but the words seem empty, as if even he doesn't believe them.

"For what?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart is pounding now, and you don't know if it's from anger, confusion, or the mere proximity to him.

"For last night. I have no right to tell you who should take your virginity," he says, but you quickly cover his mouth with your hand, the heat of embarrassment rushing to your face.

"Don't say that out loud!" you hiss, glancing around as if someone might be listening. The idea that anyone might hear about your inexperience makes you cringe.

His lips curl into a smirk beneath your hand, and he gently removes it, his fingers brushing your skin in a way that sends a jolt of electricity through you. "Do you still want it?" he whispers, leaning in close enough that you can feel his breath on your neck. His voice is dark, teasing, but there's something else there too-a hint of uncertainty, as if he's afraid of your answer.

Your breath catches as he presses his knee between your legs, his hands firm on your hips. God, why does he have to be so confusing? You need him, but his mixed signals are driving you insane.

"You have to understand, I don't want you to regret anything you do with me," he murmurs against your lips, finally adjusting his knee just where you need it. Your body responds instantly, a wave of heat pooling between your legs.

His words are laced with concern, but also with a promise of something darker. "Even though it may not seem like it, I really care about you," he continues, his thumb tracing circles on your cheek, a gesture so tender it makes your chest ache. You feel small under his gaze, like a puzzle he's trying to figure out. And yet, in this position, you're certain you could unravel completely in his hands.

"The day I fuck you, I want to hear words like 'I love you, Daddy' coming out of your mouth. I don't want it to be a simple one-night stand, okay?" he finishes, pulling back just as quickly as he came, leaving you breathless and reeling.

As the door closes behind him, you're left with the echo of his words, your thoughts spiraling. 'How can he have this much control over me?' you wonder, struggling to steady your breath. Your heart is racing, your body still humming with the desire he left behind. Until yesterday, you were convinced your relationship with Bucky was built on mutual dislike and a twisted game of dominance. But now, you're not so sure. There's something deeper-a need, an almost primal urge to possess and be possessed.

The day you finally give in to him won't be gentle. You can feel it in the way your bodies clash, in the intensity of his gaze. It will be raw, fierce, and everything you've secretly craved. And when it happens, you'll be ready to let him see every part of you-the parts you've never shown anyone else, not even yourself.

After work Bucky takes you home, you decide to let go of what happened because now you know that he wants you as much as you do. He wants to be there for you and give you everything you can give.

"I've been thinking about what you said all day," you admit, adjusting Bucky's seatbelt. It feels tighter than it should and you think it's the reason you're short of breath when in reality it's the man in the driver's seat who's gripping the wheel in a way that's too erotic for your tastes.

"What conclusion have you come to?" he asks without taking his eyes off the road. The way his jaw clenched when he spoke and the hint of a neat beard on his cheeks spark some very perverse thoughts in you.

"I want you Bucky, so much. It wouldn't be a one night stand, I know I'd be addicted to your body pressing against mine," you admit bravely and a smile lights up his face.

“Show me how much you want me,” he taunts you.

You decide to please him without using your sharp tongue and you reach out to the crotch of his pants to feel what you have dreamed of so much. Under your fingers you feel him slowly swelling and as you feel it you bite your lip to hold back the excitement that is growing inside you.

You unzip his pants while he is still driving, you notice that he has slowed down and on his face you notice the desire he has for you. As soon as you free his cock you notice that your fantasies did not do him justice. It is definitely bigger and thicker than the one you imagined you rode every night. You wet your hand with saliva - as you have seen done in many pornos - and you start to touch it enjoying the heat on your hand.

You make small movements with the palm of your hand and the idea that someone could see you does nothing but excite you more. You are not an expert, you do not know what he might like more but despite this the movements of your hand are decisive.

"I knew you were a good girl," Bucky says from behind the wheel. Seeing how he's reacting to your touch excites you even more. His breathing is no longer regular, you see his expression satisfied by your touch and when you notice that there are only a few meters left to your house you almost feel sorry.

You start to pump faster, you have decided to challenge yourself and you want to make him come before you get to your house. As your hand increases the speed his sighs become faster and faster and when you see from his look that he is close to that point you take off your belt and lower yourself towards his big cock and take his tip between your lips until your mouth is filled.

"Such a good girl," he says to you while parking the car and you look into his eyes smiling, swallowing all his seed and licking your lips to show him that you liked it.

He fixes his cock in his jeans and then follows you into your home. He intends to return the favor you have done him and will really make you scream as he always threatened while he was teasing you. Once the door is closed behind you, you begin to kiss with desire. Your tongues touch and search for each other and feeling your taste mixed with his cum gives him another throbbing erection despite the orgasm of a few minutes ago.

“I knew there was a whore inside you looking for my cock," he tells you in a hoarse voice. Your body is on fire, you need him to give you more. He makes you lie down on the same couch where he rejected you less than twenty-four hours ago and begins to undress you hastily without paying attention to your clothes. He scatters everything around the room and when you are finally naked in front of his gaze he admires you in amazement.

You are perfect. Your body is perfect in his eyes. Every little imperfection that you see in it are things that he loves. You are a Greek goddess in his eyes and every part of you belongs to him and you both know it. From the day you stained his white shirt with coffee you already knew it would end like this.

He starts taking your breasts with his big hands, only his mind knows how many times he has wanted to touch them, bite them and suck them and now everything is possible. With his metallic hand he holds one of your nipples tightly, the cold touch of his hand makes you arch your back with pleasure and in the meantime he sucks and bites the other nipple making you want even more. Your gasps are music to his ears, your body is like an instrument in his hands and with every touch he is able to let out those little sounds he loves.

“Bucky, please I want more,” you beg with the help of your needy gaze.

"What a needy whore, isn't you?" he sneers and you nod to agree with him. You want to be his whore for tonight and for all the nights to come. He leaves a trail of kisses all over your body and then lingers on your pussy. The place where you need him to focus.

With his thumb he begins to touch your clit and in the meantime his gaze is fixed on your face dominated by pleasure from that insignificant touch. While with his thumb he continues his work with his middle finger he begins to penetrate your cunt going deep to feel how wet you are just for him.

"What a wet pussy we have," he compliments and then licks your juices from his fingers and satisfied he licks his lips.

He makes you sit with your back to the backrest and positions himself between your legs, placing your legs on his shoulders. As he enters you with two fingers, he begins to lick your clit while your hands are firmly on his head. You push him closer to you while desperate cries escape from your lips. Before that, you had never felt anything more pleasurable. His tongue moves expertly on your tight pussy sucking the right spots and alternating with licking.

“Bucky… I’m about to come,” you tell him between sighs of pleasure.

"Good girls only come when they are told, you are a good girl aren't you?" he tells you after taking his tongue off the place he was devouring with pleasure. He puts his fingers in your mouth and you impulsively suck his fingers taking all your flavor away from him. Your pussy is sweet and the taste and smell make Bucky ecstatic. He starts to undress too, letting his erection come out, now it seems even bigger than before and you don't know if you'll be able to take it all. But you know you'll make it, you want to show Bucky that you're a good girl. Good girls can take all the cock.

Before filling your pussy Bucky positions himself between your breasts and you squeeze them around his hard and veiny member. He starts moving with restrained rhythms while you stick out your tongue to lick the tip when you have the chance.

"You have no idea how much I've dreamed of being between these tits," he tells you between thrusts. Your hot tits around his throbbing cock are an incredible sight. Then Bucky takes a condom from his jeans pocket and orders you to put it on him.

You tear it off with your fingers and place it on the tip of Bucky's cock and then with your lips you cover that member with the condom.

“You're my good girl," he says, caressing your cheek. Then with a brusque gesture he turns you around and you find yourself doggy style on the couch with your legs wide open. He spits on his fingers and lubricates your pussy and then he enters you. Slowly and trying to get you used to it, it's still your first time.

His thrusts are slow but firm. It's not enough for you, you want more.

"Bucky..." you say between sighs.

"I know, baby... let your pussy get at ease to my big cock," he replies, putting his hand around your neck and then touching your breasts with the nipples still hard and stained by him. As soon as he notices that you no longer feel any pain, he increases his speed. He fills you up completely, making you scream with pleasure, he doesn't give you time to make you understand that he's sending your mind into a spin.

"Bucky... I'm going to..." you can't finish your sentence because he slaps you on the right butt. The slap sends you into paradise.

"You can only come when daddy tells you to," he replies, slapping you again, this time on your left ass cheek making you scream in pleasure.

After many deep and fast thrusts you feel the orgasm inside you, holding it back is fucking hard but you don't want to disobey Bucky, or rather, your daddy. He has taken away all your sharp responses with his cock turning you into a perfect whore for him. Like you always dreamed.

"Come for daddy, doll," he orders you, he's almost ready to come too but he wants to do it to you. On top of your body. You don't have to be told twice and you come on his big cock and as soon as he comes out of you he takes off the condom and orders you to get on your knees in front of him.

He starts touching himself in front of you and explodes in an orgasm on your beautiful face throwing away every single ounce of purity you had left. You lick your lips hoping to be able to take some of his cum and be able to taste it again like in the car. He grabs your neck and kisses you with fury. Your mouths both taste like the sex you shared and you can't be happier.

“You did really well,” he tells you and you bite your lip at the compliment. “I'm proud of you," he adds, giving you another long, longing kiss.

You go to take a shower to wash your sweaty bodies but "by mistake" Bucky's cock enters your pussy again and fucks you in your shower again giving you the second orgasm of the day and again by mistake his cock ends up in your mouth and Bucky teaches you how to give a blowjob that satisfies him. As soon as you finish the shower you slip into your bed, he wants to be with you after what you have shared and once in bed you fall asleep hugging each other.

The next morning, thankfully a Sunday, you devour everything you have to eat. You were so into sex that you didn't have dinner last night and your arguments resume but end with you rolling around in bed.

This new perspective excites you more than it should, every argument now corresponds to a perfect fuck and now to shut you up Bucky will put his cock in your mouth. "What a beautiful whore you are when you suck it," and these dirty words help you get an orgasm. Bucky says good girls like to be called whores and you are one.

"You're all mine," he tells you while you're sitting at the kitchen table where you've just finished eating, he said he wanted dessert so you you decide to propose yourself as a meal. You took off your panties and without being asked he was between your legs sucking and licking his sweet dessert.

"I love you daddy," you say closer to your orgasm, those are Bucky's favorite words. They make him understand that everything about you is his, your heart, your perfect cunt, your mouth and the rest of your body.

[blarshwritezz]

I dont know if you write for the Omegaverse..

Because how about a Bully (Alpha) x Nerd Male Reader (Omega) like the two of them dont get the Second Gender until now.. So basically the Bully realise that the Reader is his Fated Mate and dosent want anybody near him, only HIS.. But is really dificult for the Reader to not only Trust him but is also really scared of him..

So Reader first heat is a mess (Like the Bully is constally pound him with meaty d*ck) and the Bully is constally tell him sweet and suductive things to try to calm him down, even tho the Reader is crying because he still scared..

Finally ending with the Reader even more sacred knowing that the Alpha has mated him and posibly '´mark´´ him?

Well, I never have before, but I'll try! Apologies in advance for any mistakes

Yandere Bully Alpha x Nerd Omega Reader

M yan x M reader

TW - Possessiveness, jealousy, implied bullying, NSFW, dubcon

Somehow, since your bully realized you were his fated mate, life only got more difficult. At least you could have friends before! Now he occupied all your attention. If someone made eye contact with you for too long, he considered them a threat.

Honestly, you almost preferred how he acted in the past. Back when he would mock every little thing you did and make your life as hard as he could on purpose. Back when he made you do his homework and beat you up if you refused.

Now, he had you tutor him. It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't make you sit on his lap, or if he actually paid attention. He just sat there watching you work and listening to you teach him. He would hurt his face in your neck and breath in your scent, letting his voice fill your ears.

No wonder he always got so jealous when you used to have friends. It was your fault he felt that way, or so he thought. But once he realized you were meant to be his, he realized it was everyone else's fault! They shouldn't be near what's his.

He completely monopolized your time. Whenever you weren't at home, he was making you hang out with him. He'd try to spoil you with things to make up for how he treated you in the past, but that didn't fix it.

He hurt you. He made your life miserable, and he knew he was doing it the whole time. The damage he caused couldn't be fixed by some nice words or gifts.

He just didn't get it. No matter how hard he tried, you always recoiled from his touch. You always got tense when he held you. You never seemed to believe him when he showered you with praises. You didn't like his gifts. What was he doing wrong?

Maybe you liked it better when he was bullying you? So he tried it. He tried being mean to you again. But that only seemed to make it worse! He didn't get it. Why wouldn't you love him?! You were supposed to! He was your fated mate, so you had to love him!

He could only think of one more way to earn your love.

You didn't show up to school one day, which worried him. So of course, like a good mate, he skipped school after the first hour and promptly made his way to your house. He knew where you hid the so are key, so he just let himself in.

And there was a glorious sight awaiting him once he reached your room. There you were, face buried in your pillow, ass up as you stroked your aching cock. Your scent was absolutely overwhelming, and the sight immediately made him hard. You were already in the perfect position for him.

He quietly walked around you, adjusting his pants to let his meaty cock spring free. He'd help you...prove you needed him. Like a good mate.

"You need help there, my mate?" He carefully got behind you, using one hand to spread your ass and the other to line himself up with your needy hole.

You gasped at his raspy voice against your ear. There he was. The last man you wanted to see right now. He'd surely take advantage of your pathetic state.

But at the same time, just one look at his massive cock distracted you, your mind clouded by thought of being fucked.

He didn't let you answer before slowly pushing into you. He had to take it slow, filling you up inch by inch. He didn't want to hurt you. Not yet.

"Shhhh, that's it, you're doing so good." He cooed in your ear as you whined.

Once he thought you were ready, he slowly thrust into you...but it wasn't long before he lost control. How could he not? You felt so good all warm and tight around his thick cock. He was entirely unable to resist the incredible feeling.

He was relentless, stretching you to fit his huge cock without much care for your comfort. Even when tears began to stream down your face, he didn't slow down. He just kissed them away as he continued his harsh thrusts.

You were just crying because you weren't used to feeling this good. Right? That had to be it.

"It'll be okay, you're taking me so well." He hushed you, his breath hot against your skin as he trailed kisses across your jaw.

Your choked moans only enticed him further. He could already feel himself needing to cum. He's never felt such amazing pleasure before. No wonder you were his.

His kisses trailed lower and lower, down your neck, turning harsher. Turning to sucking and gentle nibbling, until he was biting you. He had to mark you of course, and in the most obvious places he could too. You were his. Everyone had to know.

He made sure you were the first to cum, which wasn't hard. Your heat had made you more sensitive. He was enjoying every bit of that. And you deserved to be the one feeling all the pleasure right now.

As you own cum covered your stomach, chest, and the sheets beneath you he couldn't help but praise you more. "What a good boy...I knew you enjoyed this as much as I did. Don't worry, you have your whole heat cycle to get used to me."

He wasn't going to let you feel needy for even a second. He was going to fuck you hard day and night, filling you with his cum, until your heat was over. He was just such a good mate like that.

Again, apologies for any mistakes!

[fuckyeahisawthat]

“I don’t think that is what God wants. And I don’t think you want it either.”

This line of Aziraphale’s in the Job minisode keeps sticking out to me. Because this is the heart of the problem, right? This is how Aziraphale can see Crowley so completely and also not at all.

Because yes they suck at open communication and yes it’s because they had to hide their relationship for thousands of years and have so so so much trauma and fear to work through. But ALSO they actually do have a profound difference in how they see the world that keeps coming between them, and it’s not just theoretical but deeply personal to both of them.

Because Aziraphale still wants to believe that God is good. He can’t let go of that because his whole identity is wrapped up in being an angel of the Lord, and if God’s not good then what has he been doing for his entire existence?

And so when bad things are happening he falls back on This cannot be what God wants. The whole of season one, he refuses to believe that God could really want the world to end—even though we now know he knew this was a possibility before the world even started. He keeps going up the chain of command, trying to find someone to intervene. “That’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty and then the Almighty will fix it.” As if God doesn’t have all the information or hasn’t been paying attention.

And really, the events of season one reinforce this worldview for him. Because if the Archangel Fucking Gabriel isn’t sure what God wants, then maybe God did want them to stop Armageddon. Maybe it was Aziraphale and Crowley who were doing God’s work after all.

He’s gotten as far as realizing that Heaven’s orders are not the same thing as God’s will, but he still hasn’t detached the concepts of Good and Right from God in his worldview.

Crowley is a good person who does the right thing so he must still be an angel deep down. “I know the angel you were.” The only way Aziraphale can conceptualize Crowley saving Job’s children is, “Come on, you’re a little bit on our [God’s] side.” So Crowley’s fall was a mistake; Crowley belongs in Heaven, where he was so happy before the Fall. Why wouldn’t he want to be an angel again? And yeah maybe Heaven sucks now but God is still good, so there’s hope that the system can be reformed with a change of leadership, and Heaven can be made to actually do good, the way God always intended.

But that’s not how Crowley sees the world at all. He is operating with an entirely different understanding of reality. Because he figured out a long time ago (at least by the time of the Job job, but probably long before that) that you can’t base your sense of morality on what you think God wants. Not just because you don’t know for sure, but because sometimes God’s plans are fucking awful. God in Good Omens is not kind to Her creations. She doesn’t tolerate questions or doubts or disobedience. She’s capricious, turning on the creatures She made and killing a bunch of them when She’s in a bad mood. She punishes indiscriminately and disproportionately. She wagers human lives like gambling chips. The kids were supposed to be dead no matter who won the bet.

I think it’s interesting that Crowley is the one who introduces the idea in season one of “What if the Almighty planned it like this all along? From the very beginning.” That’s probably a comforting thought to Aziraphale, soothing his anxieties about going against Heaven right when he is feeling acute distress at the idea of no longer having a side. (And, in that particular moment, no longer even having a bookshop.)

But it’s not a comforting thought to Crowley. Have you seen what happens when God has a plan for you? It fucking sucks. Woe betide you if you’re the Barbie God decides to play with today. (At bare minimum, you’re coming back with some burn marks and a weird haircut.)

I’ve brought up the line “There are no right people. There’s just God, moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us” before, and I tend to focus on the “there are no right people” part. But also, there’s just God.

Aziraphale tends to draw a distinction between God’s will and Heaven’s orders when it suits him, and collapse that distinction when it doesn’t. Crowley almost never differentiates between God and Heaven. There’s just God, and She’s not going to explain why this is happening or listen to pleas for mercy (although Crowley still tries). You can’t trust Heaven or Hell, and you can’t count on God to show up and make everything all right. Sometimes God is in fact the reason that things are not all right. You’re on your own.

(And. Look. Crowley is right on this one. There are certainly aspects of their relationship where they’re both equally responsible for things being a shitshow, but the text is pretty unambiguous about Crowley, a demon, having the most accurate read on the nature of God in the world of Good Omens out of any of the metaphysical characters.)

Crowley rebuilt his entire sense of self, alone, after the Fall. He created himself anew and developed his own moral compass and sense of identity independent of both Heaven and Hell. “The angel you knew is not me.” When Crowley does the right thing, that’s not his angel-ness shining through; that’s just Crowley.

And from a like, trauma recovery point of view, it’s actually very healthy for him to have the realization that sometimes God’s just kind of a dick. He didn’t do anything to deserve getting kicked out of Heaven. None of them did. Just God messing them about because She didn’t like being questioned, or She wanted to see what would happen, or She needed two sides for Reasons and didn’t much care who was on one or the other, or She’s playing some fucked up little game for Her own amusement. (And if there was some Great Plan that required Crowley to fall…well, that is also fucked up. Because it doesn’t matter if there was a reason. It still hurt.)

And while Crowley in general is extremely patient with Aziraphale and his slow, halting journey away from Heaven…it’s gotta sting, every time Aziraphale doesn’t want to believe that God could be cruel, when Crowley is standing right fucking there. It’s gotta hurt when Aziraphale refuses to see something that Crowley knows to be true through his own lived experience. Because it should be enough. What happened to him should be enough to make someone who loves him walk away from Heaven and never look back. And it isn’t.

But of course Crowley is one hundred percent not going to talk about this, if he is even fully self-aware about having these thoughts, because it’s far too painful and vulnerable. (He talks to plants, goats, God, and no one in a bar at the end of the world, but never to Aziraphale.) And so he says “Tell me you said no” and “I think I understand a lot better than you do” because he can’t say Choose me. Just this once, choose me and he can’t say Believe me.

And Aziraphale is not going to think about all this and work it out for himself, because he has a massive lump of denial centered around exactly this thing, that sometimes God hurts people who didn’t do anything to deserve it. I’m sure he’s thought about the Fall in abstract terms, enough to be afraid of it, but not in terms of this is a thing that happened to a person I love. And he has certainly not allowed himself to draw any conclusions about the nature of God from it, because that is far too scary a prospect.

And so they’re stuck. Until they can figure out how to remove this massive landmine from the center of their relationship, they are going to keep having the same fight over and over again, and they’re going to keep hurting each other without fully understanding why.

[xxdark-obsessionxx]

I’m a big sucker for Psych Au fics. Reader is a cis female doctor who treats Tord with kindness. He becomes obsessed with her. Refuses to talk to any other doctor.

Tord is always on his best behavior for her which leads her to let her guard down.

BIG MISTAKE

I was supposed to be asleep five hours ago but I couldn’t until I finished this. Just know that in my heart, this takes place in Arkham. Also I'm super rusty so I apologize if anything feels off/wonky.

CW: Noncon

Dark themes ahead, please read at your own discretion and keep yourself safe. This is a work of fiction and I do not condone or support scenarios like this in real life

_____________________________________________

“You dropped this.” 

The man stares at you wide eyed as you hand him his lighter. He stands, rigid. You give him a gentle smile and press it into his palm, your other hand curling around the back of his hand. 

“I know there’s no fluid in it, so you don’t have to worry about me taking it,” you say to him. You pat his hand and step away.

The man turns fully towards you and you’re able to read the name sewed onto his shirt. 

“I-” the man- Tord- swallows hard. He quickly pockets the lighter. “Thank you.” 

You give him another smile and walk past him. He had seemed to be going the same way as you but he never caught up. Nor did you hear footsteps behind you. Once you reach the director’s office, he leaves your thoughts. You were absolutely determined to make a good first impression on your first day of the job. 

The man you met earlier had turned out to be your first patient. And oh boy, what a patient he was. Like you had promised yourself you weren’t going to judge any of these people but god damn. His file was thick. At least twenty papers were inside the manilla folder you had received from the head director’s office. Maybe even more. 

You’d never know if you kept standing outside the director’s office gawking at it. You take a deep breath. Going through it sitting down was probably a good idea. As you make your way to the breakroom, your grip on the folder is tight, trying your best to make sure you don’t drop it and reveal your patient's file. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to get to the breakroom. A few people were there but they paid you no mind. They sit, hunched over lunch or their own files. You sit and start to read. 

Løvik Tord

3 7 2 5 9

DOB: 1995

Age: 28

Hair: Dark brown with lighter brown roots

Eye: Silver

You end up skimming through this until you get to the bottom of the page. It wasn’t… pretty. 

CASE INFORMATION: 

Tord is a violent man. He is aggressive, manipulative, and has a short temper. Many doctors have tried working with him to no avail. He does not respond kindly to Dr.Casey (see page 5), Dr.Bonnie (see page 8), Dr.Roxy (see page 12), or Dr.Harley (see page 15). 

He is extremely aggressive towards Dr. Bruce (see page 20). 

You stop reading there, your chest feeling tight. You flip to page twenty. It’s not the last page like you had hoped. There were still…. Quite a bit in the file. 

Dr.Bruce has tried everything he can to help Tord. He has tried finding common ground with the patient. Has tried being lax and strict with Tord’s schedule. Has tried working with Tord and letting him sit outside. Tord had found every loophole and burned every bridge until Dr.Bruce stopped lenient treatments. Tord stabbed Dr.Bruce fifteen times before guards made their way into the room. 

It is unknown how and where he had gotten his hands on a sharp long blade. Tord was seen licking the blood of-

“Don’t worry if you can’t fix him. At this point, Doctor Markman hands his case off to fresh blood to showcase this place. No one expects you to be able to tame him.” 

You startle at the voice, goosebumps raised on your arms. “I’m sorry?” you ask with a polite smile. Anger clouded your fear. What the hell was this person talking about?

The doctor, Alice, her name tag reads, smiles at you. 

“Nearly everyone has tried working with him at this point,” she continues. “No one expects him to ever get better. He's here for murder, after all.” 

You give her a tight smile in return. “I’ll just have to see for myself.” 

Before she can keep going, you straighten up the papers and close the folder. 

“I appreciate the advice, but I must be going now,” you lie through your teeth. What bullshit! What kind of doctors run this place? 

You actually hadn’t needed to be anywhere for another thirty minutes but if this conversation continued you wouldn’t be able to hold your tongue. Everyone can be saved. With compassion and kindness and help, no one was beyond redemption. Or too far gone for help. 

You storm out of the breakroom and wander. 

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” 

Tord grins at you as he’s escorted in. His hands are cuffed and before he can sit down, the guard pats him down. 

It makes your stomach churn but you keep your face kind. 

“It’s nice to see you too,” you greet. You watch cautiously as he sits down in the plush chair. The guard leaves the room. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It’s silent enough to hear the clock as the two of you study each other. He seems to drink you in, eyes wandering up and down, seeming to take in everything. You’d do the same if you weren’t a professional. 

“You used to dye your hair?” 

Tord raises an eyebrow. He tilts his head a little, eyes focused solely on you. It unnerves you almost as much as his file had. No patient of yours had ever stared at you so intensely in the past….

After a moment, he answers. “Yes. I fancied black quite a bit.” He gestures towards his roots. “It’s been a while since Bruce got me more dye. No one else will.” 

“I could look into it,” you clasp your hands, jumping into this opportunity. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll talk to Doctor Marksman.” 

“And what do you want from me in return?”

“I’m sorry?” 

His gaze hardens. “What. do. You. want.” He grinds out, his body rigid in the chair. His hands were clenched.

Without thinking, puzzlement falls across your face. What did he mean? What did you want? For him to get better, obviously. 

“I want you to be at ease with your mental health,” you answer, still looking puzzled. “I don’t want anything else from this job but that. I’m not dangling hair dye in front of you in exchange. I want you to feel comfortable in your skin and at home here, Mr.Løvik.” 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“Is that really what you want?” Tord asks, an emotion you can’t quite place in his voice. “To help me get better?” 

Whatever it may be, you smile at him. 

“Of course. I want nothing but to see you succeed and be happy here.” 

Things were easier after that first session. You always started off kindly, asking Tord how his day was going. If his favorite show or movie had aired on the television today.If his favorite food had been served that morning or afternoon. If he slept fine through the dreadful storm. 

(“I know I wasn’t,” you had laughed. “I tossed and turned, jumping at each sound all night.”

“I’m sure your boyfriend was quite displeased.”

“Oh,” you chuckle. “Well, no. I have a cat but no boyfriend. I was too busy getting my decree to ever really mingle like that. Though, my poor little man was also distraught at all the thunder last night. He yowled at my door until I let him into my room and he curled up on my bed. I’ll bring pictures next time.”) 

Too well for you and only you. Tord refused to talk to anyone but you. He would sit in silence or insult other doctors during his sessions. In one instance, he broke a new doctor’s nose. The poor guy had quit on the spot, cussing Tord and the whole place out as he was escorted to the medical section. 

You were tense the next few sessions but that violent man was nowhere to be found. He kept his cuffed hands right in front where you can see them at all times. He never lunged from you. In fact, barely ever moved in his chair. 

Tord was easygoing. Polite, charming, even. He took any medications he needed obediently and put up no fuss when you’d have him describe in later sessions how he was feeling and if he was feeling any negative side effects. 

He asked about your cat. About how your favorite show was going. If the movie you were looking forward to has come out yet. If your favorite restaurant down the street from your apartment was still closed for renovations. 

Eventually, enough time had passed that you relaxed. You stopped keeping your eyes trained on his hands. You stopped worrying yourself sick about his body language. You focused on his treatments and his mental health. 

If he was going to hurt me he would have done so by now, you thought to yourself after your latest session with Tord. He was doing so much better than he had been doing six months ago. It seemed as if you were really making a difference, helping him improve. 

It had been three months since he last fought another patient. Two months since he assaulted another doctor. And five months since he refused treatment of any kind. 

You step outside the building and take a deep breath. A dopey smile sticks to your face as you walk to your car. Becoming a doctor was the best choice you’ve ever made. Nothing was more rewarding than helping people. Not even this cloudy weather could bring you down. 

In fact, nothing tried to drag your mood down. There was no traffic on the way home. Some asshole hadn’t parked in your assigned parking spot again in the parking lot of your apartment. And your sweet cat hadn’t knocked his little box over again. 

You happily reheat your leftovers and watch tv for a while before you get ready for bed. Unfortunately, your mood does come crashing down. 

In the middle of the night, thunder wakes you. You jolt up, scrambling for your phone. Your hands come up empty. Shit, you think. I left it charging in the kitchen. Ugh. Oh well, you don’t need to look at your phone to see it is late and storming. 

Another loud sound booms through your apartment. Only this time, it sounds like a crash. 

“It’s just thunder,” you tell yourself. “Nothing to be afraid of.” You lay back down. Your eyes shut and you’re just about drifting to sleep when your door creeks open. 

You bolt up, knowing damn well that your cat can’t open doors and you freeze. 

Your heart races as your mind tries to process just who was in front of you. 

“Tord?” you whimper, hands shaking. But that can’t be. That was impossible. He was supposed to be sleeping soundly in his room with the soundproof headphones you got him. He didn’t like storms. The thunder reminded him too much of gunshots and made him restless. 

Useless information floods your brain. 

“I’m home, sweetheart,” he rasps. His grin is soft in the moonlight. He reaches over to flick on your bedroom light. 

He’s gentle he’s kind he’s sweet he’s-

He’s covered in blood.

Tord steps forward and you’re frozen in bed. His eyes are wild as they drink you in. There’s blood on his hands. In his hair. Splatters on his face. 

“Oh honey how I’ve dreamed of this,” he croons at the foot of your bed. “Your apartment is just as cute as you described.” 

He grabs the edge of your blanket and pulls it off. His smile grows sappy. “You did go for the red pants like I suggested.” He giggles, staring between your legs. “I wonder if there’s a match beneath them.”

That snaps you out of your shocked stupor. You scramble off your bed, slamming your head hard against your nightstand as you try to avoid Tord’s lunging grasp. 

You lay fetal on the floor, tears in your eyes as you clutch your head. “Fuck,” you hiss.

Tord clicks his tongue. He slowly climbs off your bed, crouching next to you. “My poor clumsy sweetheart.” 

You feel his hands in your hair. 

“What do you want?” you gasp. Fear and pain mix as you start to cry into your carpet. 

His hands stroke your hair. 

“You.” 

With that, you’re powerless to stop him as he scoops you up into his arms. You thrash as he dumps you back onto your bed, pinning you down. 

“I know you're scared but it’s ok. I’ll be gentle, my love. So gentle.”

Your mind can’t wrap your head around what’s happening. Tord isn’t supposed to be tying your wrists to your headboard. He isn’t supposed to be kissing your neck and grinding his hard arousal between your legs. He isn’t supposed to be in your home. 

“Such a good girl, staying still for me,” Tord says softly as he pulls back. He slides your pants down. Disappoint clouds his eyes when he sees your panties aren’t red but it’s deepened when he pulls those down and you’re barely wet.

“It’s ok sweets. I’ll figure out what gets you going. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in needing help.” 

Anger wells in your chest as Tord fishes for something in one of his pockets. How dare he. How dare he parrot your own advice back at you. As if this was a simple therapy session. As if you were the patient and he was the doctor wanting to help. 

“Get off me!” you snarl. “You know this isn’t right Tord. Y-you’re sick! You need help!” 

Tord stops what he’s doing to stare dead eyed at you. He plucks a clean rag off your nightstand and stuffs it into your mouth. 

“Enough of that,” he scolds. “You need this as much as I do. In fact, doctors orders.” 

He grins at his own twisted joke. He fishes through his pockets again and pulls out a small bottle of lube. “Yes, just what my love needs. A good thorough fuck.” 

You desperately try to spit the rag out but your mouth is too dry. You twist and tug your wrists but to no avail. This was happening. Your gentle, sweet patient was going to take your virginity. 

Tord carefully squirts lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together. He parts your folds, humming appreciatively as he rubs your clit. 

“That’s it, my good girl. Get nice and wet for me.” 

You feel sick. Against your will, his crooning and his touches stir up arousal inside you. You close your eyes as he gently fingers you as if he was searching for something. 

A minute later, your eyes fly open as he jabs something horrible. Your pussy grows slick from it, pleasure building in your lower stomach. 

“There it is.”

You shake your head violently. Not there, you try to plead with your eyes. Anywhere but there! 

But Tord merely smiles at you and ruthlessly abuses that spot. Over and over his fingers jab and curl,  rubbing it. You squeeze your eyes tight, small moans making their way out of your throat as pleasure jolts through you.. His thumb strokes your clit and you cum embarrassedly fast. You stare at the ceiling and wish you hadn’t wanted to cum at all. 

“Good girl,” Tord praises. He pulls his fingers out, eying them appreciatively. He sticks them in his mouth and sucks, moaning. “So sweet. But I’m too impatient to try it from the source. You’ll have to forgive me, my love.” 

Panic jolts up your spine as you feel his tip pressing against your entrance. You try to climb up your bed rest but you only achieve getting a little higher up on your pillows. Tord sighs and presses forward. 

“It’ll hurt for a moment but I promise this will feel good,” Tord tries to soothe. He picks up the lube and squeezes more into his palm and strokes himself. 

You hate him. You hate him with all your heart. 

He pushed forward and once again, you squeezed your eyes tight. His hand roughly grabs your throat. 

“Eyes on me,” he snaps. “I want to see how good I make you feel.” 

The fear overturns the pain and you quickly open your eyes. He pushes further in, reaching down to run your clit. 

Tord rocks his hips a little, eyes starstruck as he stares down at you. “You’re getting wetter,” he mumbles to himself. A grin spreads across his face. 

His hips snap forward, setting a firm pace. He stops rubbing your clit to grab under your thighs. He lifts them up and pushes until they’re almost touching your breasts. 

He thrusts harder and- 

You squeal, bucking your hips as he hits that horrible spot. You can’t stop bucking your hips, jolts of pleasure stabbing your stomach and stars in your eyes. 

Tord pressed closer to you, caging you in. He holds your gaze intensely, panting a little. His eyes dart between your face and your bouncing tits. 

Like earlier, you cum fast. This one hits you harder. And Tord doesn’t stop. 

You cum again and he pulls out. “Move and I’ll beat your ass with a belt,” he growls. He pulls out a switchblade and cuts the rope off your headboard. He’s quick to tie your wrists together. 

You find yourself on your stomach, ass up. Tord firmly holds your hips. He enters again, pressing down against you. Caging you against the mattress as he pounds into your pussy hard. By the time you’re cumming again, he finally cums with you. 

You’re crying by this point. Overstimulation has you cringing, your pussy tingling as he pulls out. Once again, you start to panic. Tord had come inside you. You thrash underneath him. 

“Stop that,” he hisses, slapping your ass hard. You cry harder as he does it another three times. And another, until you finally go still. 

You hear Tord sigh harshly. “I need to be patient with you,” he mumbles to himself. He gets off of you and you hear him leave the room. 

He’s back within minutes, holding a wet hand towel. You’re gently turned over onto your back and he softly cleans you up. You can’t look at him. 

“Mrrow.” 

Your heart jolts. Your cat jumps onto the bed, purring as Tord pets him with his clean hand. Traitor. 

“You rest while I pack,” Tord says softly. He leans down to press a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll grab everything you need and love for our new home.” 

He climbs off the bed and leaves the room again. He comes back with duffel bags. Your cat paddles up to you and curls up next to you. He purrs hard as you sob your eyes out.

[marvelfilth]

Little death (18+)

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x f!reader

Warnings: g!p Wednesday, soft Wednesday, established relationship, smut, blow job, cockwarming, lots of Italian petnames.

Summary: working with normies takes a toll on Wednesday, but, luckily, you're always there to make it better.

A/n: I don't know any Italian, so please tell me if I made any mistakes.

Masterlist

You wake up to the sound of the front door clicking shut. Blinking blearily you hide a yawn behind your palm. The clock reads eleven pm and you sigh, wiping the sleep out of your eyes as you trudge into the kitchen, where Wednesday fixes herself a cup of coffee. You frown, stepping into her line of vision.

"Cara mia," she greets, "you should be asleep." She frowns as you unsuccessfully try to hide another yawn.

"I wanted to wait for you." You gesture to the couch and Wednesday grips the cup tighter.

You know she doesn't like it when you sacrifice sleep for her sake, but what she doesn't know is that you can't properly rest without her by your side, holding you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

Lately she's been spending more and more time at the station, working twice as hard as her peers to receive twice as little credit. It's eating away at both of you. She claims it doesn't bother her - the way they refuse to take her seriously, even when she solves cases that usually take months in weeks - but you see it in her rigid posture and the clench of her jaw. She wants recognition and she has every right to demand it.

"I still have some work to do." Her tone is monotone, but her eyes betray her emotions - she hates the words just as much as you do.

You nod. "I'll heat up your dinner." You turn around to busy yourself at the stove, but a hand on your wrist stops you.

"I'm not hungry." Her words are barely a whisper. "Go back to sleep. In our bed."

You want to argue, but you see the look in her eyes, the one that tells you you won't win. So you push her fringe to the side and place a tender kiss to her forehead. "Don't stay too long, okay?"

She nods reluctantly and takes measured steps to her office, a cup of coffee in hand.

You sink against the counter, shaking your head. The girl is going to work herself to death.

You remember the first time you asked her why she is so adamant on working at the police station when she has the money, the means and the skill to open her own firm. You remember the way she stood up straighter (you didn't even know it was possible) and told you only one thing, "No matter how much it pains me to admit it, they're far more experienced then I am, and their expertise is one I can learn from."

You sigh and walk into your bedroom, accompanied by the tapping of Wednesday's typewriter. You decide to give her an hour, tops.

Thing taps on the nightstand rapidly, despite the exhaustion you can clearly see in the added wrinkles on the pale skin. You shake your head, "You'll lose a finger if you do that."

He slumps back dramatically, and you can almost see him huff.

"I'll get her in an hour, don't worry. Just go rest."

He leaves with that, albeit begrudgingly, and you make sure he doesn't go anywhere near Wednesday's office to hide her briefcase.

You spend at least twenty minutes laying on the bed and staring mindlessly at the ceiling. When half an hour passes you get up and make your own cup of coffee, sleep already forgotten by the time you take the last sip.

Thing wiggles a finger at you and you roll your eyes, "It's one cup, Thing, I'll be fine."

He taps on the pillow and you sigh.

"Yes, I'm aware it's almost midnight."

He taps again, this time forcefully and you feel like a reprimanded child.

"Okay! I get it. No need to act like my mom. I just don't want to fall asleep and let Wednesday work until the morning," you mumble, earning a sympathetic pat on your shoulder.

You look at the clock again. Quarter to midnight.

You decide to test your luck.

"I told you to go back to sleep."

You burrow into her neck, your breath fanning the skin there. "You don't need to apologize." You start loosening her tie, and take it off when she doesn't protest.

You freeze in the doorway. Your girlfriend continues typing, but you can tell she hears you shuffling around as you make your way to her.

"You had coffee." She says as soon as your arms circle her shoulders. She sighs and pushes back against you, letting her head fall on your shoulder in a display of vulnerability only you are allowed to witness. "I'm sorry," she utters.

"Cuore mio," she mumbles, tilting her head to grant you access.

You hum, peppering her neck with featherlight kisses, hands sneaking beneath the collar of her shirt to trace her collarbones.

"Let me take care of you, Weds." Your words press into her skin, your lips brushing the sensitive spot on her neck. "Please?"

She pushes your hands away and turns her chair to face you and it's the only answer you need. You sit on her lap, her hands land on your waist, squeezing gently. Her eyes close as you unbutton her shirt, and she relaxes in your hold, almost melting into the leather of her office chair. You waste no time in getting it off, presenting yourself with a delicious view of her pale body. You lean lower to tease her breasts with your teeth. Her hands slide lower on your waist and you take it as a sign to move. You take off her bra in one swift motion and throw it on the floor, latching on the exposed skin faster than it hits the floor.

She whimpers quietly, the sound almost going unnoticed by you. You grind on her lap, feeling her harden, and get back to work, enveloping the other nipple in the warmth of your mouth, enjoying the way she arches into you.

"I'm gonna use my mouth, okay?" You breathe out, palming her over her pants.

She nods shakily as her hands settle on your ass, squeezing possessively. "Anything you want."

You squeeze her shaft before climbing off her lap onto the floor, but she stops you, blinking as she looks around the room. Her eyes glint and she reaches to grab a blanket you gifted her off the small sofa. She folds it neatly before placing it on the floor near her feet, only then allowing you to kneel before her.

You feel like you're about to explode.

"I love you," you whisper, kissing her knee, "so much."

Her face lights up with a rare smile, making your heart squeeze tightly in your chest. "I know, mia amata, I know." The term of endearment so easily slipping past her lips makes you nuzzle into her thigh, littering it with kisses.

You don't know how you got so lucky.

She gently massages your scalp, not rushing you as you both bask in the moment. You pull away just enough to undo her belt and buttons on her pants. She lifts her hips and you slide them off slowly, revealing the bulge poorly concealed by her boxers. Her fingers thread through your hair and you lean to kiss her through the fabric, enhaling her deep, musky scent. The twitch is barely noticeable, but it makes you quicken your pace, eagerly tugging her underwear down to reveal her thick shaft. You sit back on the balls of your feet to take in the sight of her sprawled on the chair, her legs spread and her cock standing proudly, waiting for your mouth to claim it.

Wednesday squeezes the back of your neck, asking, pleading, and you comply, taking the reddened head of her cock between your lips and sucking, enticing a low moan.

You grip her thighs with both hands and bury her shaft deep in your throat, blinking away the tears.

"Don't hurt yourself," she manages to whimper, her fingers painfully tight on your neck.

You hum around her, earning a low whine and start bobbing your head up and down. Her moans grow louder each time your nose buries in her dark hair, her hips snapping up to meet you halfway.

You can tell she's close.

"Just like that, tesorino," She cries out, and finally forces your face down, using you to pleasure herself. You gag around her thick length, swallowing precum.

She thrusts fast, blabbering in Italian as she chases her high. Her eyes roll to the back of her head with a final snap of her hips and she cums, her cock buried deep inside your throat.

You struggle to breath and swallow, pulling away from her and letting her paint your neck and breasts white.

You catch your breath, reveling in her reddened cheeks and heaving chest.

She lazily reaches behind her to rummage around one of the drawers and pulls out a box of wipes. She works slowly, tenderly brushing your skin clean. Then, she tugs on the string of your silk robe, her pupils blowing even wider when your naked body is finally revealed. She pats her thighs and you don't wate a second in straddling her. You pull her in a tender kiss, one full of love and promise.

She guides you up and nudges the tip of her cock against your entrance and you sink down, clenching around her length.

"Can you keep still for me?" She asks, her voice hoarse.

You nod, glancing at the mess of her desk. "How long will it take?" You ask, knowing full well you'd stay forever if that's what she wanted.

"Not long." With that she turns back around, places her chin on your shoulder and goes through the papers on her desk as you struggle not to whine, your pussy pulsing at the slightest nudge from the ravenette.

You relax against her when she finally settles, and burrow your face into her neck, smiling. She places occasional kisses to your temple, making sure not to jostle you too much.

She enjoys torture, but not when it comes to you.

Your eyes start to drop and you decide to busy yourself with undoing her braids, untangling from her to face her fully, the motion making you both swallow back a moan. Your fingers thread through the dark tresses with utmost care, massaging her shoulders on your way up and finally fully undoing her braids, letting her hair fall free.

She looks breathtaking.

"Bed?" She asks, and you realize you've been admiring her far longer than you thought. You nod, slumping against her.

She gets up without as much as a hitch to her breath, cupping your ass and pushing you snug against her, her dick rubbing inside you deliciously. You moan into her ear, urging her to move faster and she complies, gently laying you down on the bed not even five seconds later.

She cradles your face between her palms and peppers it with kisses as she starts moving inside you, setting up a pace. "Anima mia." A kiss on the underside of your jaw. "Luce della mia vita." A chaste kiss on your lips, as she fastens her thrusts. "Sei il mio tutto." She mutters, losing herself in your body.

You're too out of it to understand what she's saying, simply nodding to each statement and squeezing tighter around her with each foreign word. She stretches you, bottoming out in your gushing center. Her mouth busies itself on your breasts, paying enough attention to each hardened nub.

"Wednesday, I'm-" you cry out, pushing her head back down when she tries to look up, "Keep going please, please, please," you moan, letting tears spill free.

"Let go for me," she whispers, "now, cara mia."

You come with a loud cry, arching into her, squeezing her length as she releases inside you with a low whine.

"I love you," you pant as she falls on your chest.

She hums softly, her eyes growing heavier by second, and nuzzles deeper into you. "I love you," she mutters at last, before finally surrendering to sleep.

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

Cara mia - my dear

Cuore mio - my heart

Mia amata - my love

Tesorino - sweetheart

Anima mia - my soul

Luce della mia vita - light of my life

Sei il mio tutto - you're my everything

Requested by 🧞‍♀️ anon

[seeingivy]

logical

megumi fushiguro x f!reader

an: do not enable a megumi as olivia rodrigo songs series. because I will write a bad idea right? one with drunk asf megumi drunk calling the reader. anyways, this one is based off of logical HEHE

--

it’s quite simple. you refuse to go on a mission with megumi fushiguro. but of course, satoru gojo, sees no reason. which is why the two of you are sitting on the train together, knees brushing against each other in the silence. swelteringly uncomfortable - as you fidget with your hands and he types away on his phone - and you both bite the bullet on what to say. 

every thought that passes through your mind makes you hyperaware of that deep rooted, soft spot that you’re always going to hold for him - that despite all logical, rational thought - megumi fushiguro will always be scored on your heart in some way or another. 

you’re not sure what it’s a byproduct of. you’d love to write it off as something simple, something as trivial as first love. that he was simply the first person to shower you in love that way, to show you that it was real, and that this tenderness would quickly harden over when you found someone new. 

except as more days went on, almost a month since the two of you had fought and broken up, it was becoming more of a silent, naive hope of yours. because of course, the stupid cliches, not the ones that you wanted to be true, were of course the ones that were. that all rational thought, went out the window, when it came to megumi fushiguro. 

that distance made the heart grow fonder. that your heart longed for him every time you passed by him in the dorms and shared those awkward, pinched smiles instead of the soft, sweet ones that he only saved for you. that whenever nobara said something stupid or yuuji irritated nanami, that you’d both instinctively turn to look at each other and laugh, just to now do it on instinct and get a painful reminder. that you can’t, that you shouldn’t, turn to one another anymore. 

that it isn’t like that anymore. that you and megumi aren’t together anymore, and that of course, megumi could have any girl, so why would he possibly be with you?

“this is the stop.” 

you look up, noting that he broke the silence first, as you give him a nod and exit the train car with him. you keep a considerable distance as you two walk up to the abandoned elementary school and lift the veil. 

“emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. purify that which is impure.” you murmur, as you both give each other a curt nod and split onto other sides of the hallway. 

--

when the two of you make your way back on the train, megumi can’t wrack his brain on how you were able to tell. and that itching, guilty feeling that’s turning over in his stomach - associated with the crimson red blood that’s pouring down your cheek and his own shortcomings, as always. 

he had already shot a quick text to shoko, swallowing the guilt of waking her up in the middle of the night, to fix it the second that you got back. 

“quit feeling sorry for yourself.” 

megumi looks to your side, to find you folding his handkerchief, now coated in your blood, before you hand it back to him. 

“what?” 

“i can tell. that you’re brooding. but it was an honest mistake. that’s literally how the curse is supposed to work, y’know? it wouldn’t exactly be a curse otherwise.” you add. 

megumi frowns, his retort dying on his tongue. that it’s not an honest mistake, because if you were able to discern the truth, he should have been able to do so too. 

that when he was faced with it - that there were two manifestations of you, one that was the curse and one that was you - that he picked wrong. 

and that worst of all, the thing that he had struck, with full force, was you. that the crimson red blood that was leaking from your cheek was because he had lifted his hand on you, before the curse had doubled over and pushed him over too. 

when he came to, it was your turn. because standing to his left was another manifestation of him, so much so, that it left a lump in his throat at how much it looked like him. that when it was your turn to pick, you’d quickly sliced your sword straight through it’s stomach, like it was nothing instead of attacking him.

“i’m sorry that i did that to you.” he murmurs. 

you look over at him, at the clear disdain in his eyes for himself, as you deflate. 

“i wasn’t just saying that. that’s how the curse worked. you can’t exactly beat yourself up about it.” you respond. 

“you could tell. i should have been able to as well.” he states, rather curtly. 

you hum in response, that sickening soft spot burning. 

“well, you were never the mind reader were you?” you respond. 

he scoffs in response, the smallest makings of a smile on his face, as he lightly elbows you in the side. one of your stupid jokes, from your first date where you had dragged megumi to a tarot reader just for him to quite literally wish upon his death. you elbow him back, before you link your arm in with his and watch the way he deflates under your touch. 

megumi does it a few times, before you finally bit the bullet and ask him to speak. he opens his mouth, like he’s almost about to talk, before he stops himself short from ever doing it. 

“just ask.” 

megumi looks to your side, not even half shocked that you were able to tell. 

“how were you able to tell? that it wasn’t me?” 

“easy. that megumi was pleading me. told me that he loved me, all that.” 

“and?” 

“you wouldn’t do that.” you murmur, before you get off the train and march back to campus on your own. 

--

you see megumi again three days later. or more appropriately, you open the door and he barges into your room with a book secured under his hand. 

“just come in, i guess.” you murmur, irritated. 

it’s only when you turn around that you notice his haphazard appearance - that he’s panting, his cheeks are flushed, and that his hair is an unruly mess. you take the seat across from him, pinching your eyes at him, as he hands the book over to you. 

the five love languages. 

“what is this?” you ask. 

“i get it now. what i did wrong. why-why we aren’t together anymore.” 

you’re shocked at the bluntness in his word, that he’s willing to face it full on, as you take in his appearance. the pink near near his waterline and the darkness surrounding his eyes. 

“i was talking to gojo-sensei and-” 

“oh?” you respond, smirking at him. 

“shut up.” he grumbles back, flipping open to the book. 

“is this rock bottom for you? asking gojo-sensei for help of all people?” 

“if i say yes, will you let me continue?” he asks. 

“yes.” 

he glares, before sighing, and murmuring under his lips. 

“anyways. like i was saying, he gave me this book. and-and i get it now.” he states. 

he opens it up to the marked page, each of the little lines highlighted, with his handwriting scribbled on the side. 

quality time 

physical touch

acts of service 

receiving gifts

words of affirmation

you’re hyperaware of the fact that the last one, words of affirmation, has been circled and that megumi had neatly scribbled your name next to it on the line. 

“i don’t get it.” 

“it’s a thing in the book. that-” 

he swallows hard, the edges of his lips quivrering, before he talks again. 

“you can love someone but that person might not feel loved by you.” 

you turn your head to the side, in confusion, as you gesture for him to go on. 

“you feel most loved when i say it to you. and that’s not how i was showing love to you. it’s why you think i don’t love you.” megumi states. 

you scoff. 

“that’s not why we aren’t dating. we aren’t dating because you basically insinuated that you could have anyone but me. that i was lucky to be dating you.” you respond. 

his face curls up in anger, as he tightens his fists on the able. 

“when did i ever say that?”

“i asked you why you were so intent on the two of us staying together when all we do is hurt each other, i specifically asked you - how was i supposed to know that you loved me? and all you responded with was that there are lots of other girls out there and that you could easily have any of them. and then you had the audacity to try and kiss me after i tried to leave?” 

megumi deflates, fluttering his eyes closed in frustration, as he uncurls his fists on the table. he flips to the back of the book, before turning it over to you. 

“what the hell is this?” 

“it’s a quiz. you take it to figure out which language is yours. and it ranks them - from best to worst or whatever.” 

you look down at his results scribbled into the little lines. and at the fact that words of affirmation is dead last for him. 

“so?” 

“my love language is physical touch. that’s why, when i saw that you were upset, i was trying to make you feel better. in the way that i feel better.” 

he stops, the pink dusting on his cheeks, as he awkwardly looks down at his hands. 

“whenever you kiss me, i feel better. gojo-sensei can get on my nerves, nobara and yuuji can steal all my clothes, or…or i remember that my sister is dead and i feel better. when you hold my hand and trace those little shapes into my palms. or when you kiss my cheek. It-it’s stupid but-” 

“it’s not stupid.” 

“but for you. words are your thing. you-you have to hear them, right?” 

you deflate. 

“i guess, megumi. i would like to hear it sometimes. i know you’re not a big, talky feelings guy but…i’d just like the reminder sometimes. just so i know that-” 

“i love you.” 

you swallow hard, fighting the burning tears in your eyes, as you shake your head. 

“you could have any girl you wanted. you said it yourself.” 

megumi sighs, standing up from his side of the table, before he kneels at your side and leans his cheek against your shoulder. you can smell his soap, the irish spring smell enveloping your space. 

“you want to know how pathetic i am at this whole words thing?” 

“enlighten me.” 

“i was trying to say that…there are lots of other girls out there and i could easily have any of them. but the one i want is you.” 

you’re not sure what it is, more of the fact that the burden of hurt, right next to that soft spot of yours is slowly alleviating, but you can’t help but laugh in his face. at how ridiculous he is. 

“it’s not funny.” 

“megs! it’s kind of funny. in what world was i supposed to think that was what you meant?” 

“you’re the mind reader. you should have been able to tell.” 

you elbow him in the side, before you stand up, gesturing for him to stand up with you. and you loop your hands under his shoulder, leaning into his touch, hoping that it makes sense to him. that he understands that he’s forgiven. 

“i’m shocked you humbled yourself to gojo-sensei to ask for advice, megs.” 

“ugh. it was so embarrassing. but at least it was worthwhile.” 

“aw. you did that all for me?” you joke, pinching the side of his cheek. 

he smiles in response, leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of your cheek. 

“i’d do anything for you, if that much wasn’t clear. but i’ll keep reminding you if i have to. say it a hundred times, properly, if you need it.” 

you frown in response, giving him a nod, as you burrow your head into the softness of his neck and squeeze as hard as you can. 

“don’t start thinking i don’t want you to kiss me though. i don’t need kiss deprivation.” you whine. 

megumi laughs, pulling back, to tuck your hair behind your ear. he’s smiling ear to ear, so warm, that it makes your stomach rumble. 

“okay. what else?” 

“well, i still like gifts. and you and i should always be spending quality time together. and would it kill you to do something nice for me?” 

“so…you want me to do all of them?” 

“exactly!” you respond sarcastically, poking the side of his cheek. 

he reaches forward to flick your forehead, before he pads into your kitchen. 

“what are you doing?” 

“well, i’m making you dinner. that’s an act of service. and technically a gift too? and we’ll eat it together, so that’s quality time.” 

he quickly runs over and peppers three kisses over your face - one on your forehead and on each of your cheeks - before he continues. 

“that’s physical touch. and you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. words. that’s all five.” 

“you tag teamed two of them. that doesn’t count.” 

“okay, you can have my credit card and buy yourself something.” 

“that’s gojo-sensei’s credit card.” you deadpan. 

“shut up.” 

you roll your eyes, as you join him at his side in the kitchen. 

“i was joking, you know? you don’t actually have to make me dinner or do all of them.” you murmur. 

“i know that. i just want to.” 

you give him a smile, as the two of you shuffle around each other, and fix your plates together.

--

taglist:

@porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome  @mykyoon  @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme  @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The flight makes you restless. It’s more than just the confinement but the company. Each time your hand wanders up to fix your shirt, it’s swatted away by another. You wince as you look at your boss, his eyes glued to his phone screen. 

You fidget and cross one leg over the other, then switch. You crane to see the baggage crate and push yourself to your feet. Before you can stand straight, you’re wrenched back down. 

“Where’re you going?” Stark challenges. 

You wince and shake your head, “just... to get my laptop. I was going to do some work.” 

“Did I tell you to do that?” 

“Well, no, sir, but--” 

“I’m your boss so you work for me. You do what I say.” He puts his phone down on the table and shifts to look you up and down. “If you’re getting up, why don’t you get your bikini and show off for me?” 

“Huh.... what? Er, sir?” Your lashes flutter and your eyes skitter back and forth. 

“Yeah, sure. Gotta make sure it’s hot tub appropriate.” He winks and nudges you. 

“Oh, uh, but...” 

“But?” He sucks his teeth and the humour drains from his face. “Do I need to report you for employee insubordination? Ha. But who exactly do I report you to? I mean, the CEO doesn’t really have anyone above him so...” 

Guilt tugs in your cheeks. You can’t admit your mistake aloud, yet you can’t defy him either. You just nod and stand. You walk slowly across the cabin. You’re not used to the floating sensation that makes you feel heavy at the same time. 

You grab your bag and unzip it. You sift around for the black one-piece.  

“Gotta try it on to get the full effect, sweetheart,” Stark snickers. 

You do up the bag and put it back. You cringe and sidle toward the bathroom. The attendant emerges from behind the curtain and you quickly hide inside the tiny compartment. You roll the door shut and look at yourself in the mirror. You look just as terrified as you feel. 

It’s just the way Stark is. He doesn’t like being refused or any glint of defiance. It all stems back to that day when you got in the way of his fun. Really, it’s your own fault. You should have been patient. You should have waited before you just ran right in. 

You turn away from your reflection and ice flows through your veins. Once he’s thoroughly humiliated you, this will be done. Or you could quit. In mid-air. Without a way home. 

Shoot. 

You switch out your business attire for the swimsuit. It’s been so long since you put it on. It’s tighter than you remember. It pulls high along your pelvis and your bottom threatens to fall out completely. You feel little better than naked. 

You face the door and gulp. You amp yourself up to emerge and when you do, you nearly collide with the attendant. Oh god! As much as you want to retreat and hide behind the door, you can’t. You’re locked in place until she disappears behind the curtain. 

Mr. Stark whistles in his seat. You approach, hands hovered over your ass, and stop just beside the leather armrest. You do your best to conceal yourself behind the empty seat. He reaches for his drink and swigs. 

“Can’t see you like that,” he chirps as he considers the dark scotch. 

“Sir... I...” 

You choke down your protest and step up. You turn to face the table and shiver as he looks at you from the corner of his eyes. He frowns at you and his cheek dimples. 

“What the fuck is that, George?” 

“Um, my swimsuit--” 

“That isn’t a bikini.” 

“I know, sir. I don’t have--” 

“I pay you enough to afford one. Don’t act all innocent with me. Turn around.” He spins his finger and you blink. You shake your head and pout. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

He snaps his fingers. You look at the window and the clouds outside. Even if you had the strength to run, you can’t. So, you do what he says. 

“Move your hands,” he demands. You pull your hands to your side and bounce on your heels. He hisses through his teeth, “whoowie, Georgie cakes, that’s a hell of a keester.” 

You quickly twirl around and clap your hands to your bottom. You sputter, “Mr--” 

He snickers and bites his lip, “come on. Put it on me, George.” 

“Hm?” Your brow furrows. 

“Don’t give me that dumb look. It makes me horny so get over here.” 

He squares his shoulders as he leans back into the leather cushion. He drags his hands up and down his pants and wiggles his hips. He purrs as he looks down at the twitch in the fabric. You inhale and hold it in until it aches. 

“Sir?” 

“Sit.” 

You turn and shift between the seat and the table. You reach back to touch the armrests to lower yourself but nearly tumble. Stark yanks your wrist and forces you in front of him. Before you can get your balance, he has you by the hips. He pulls you in his lap and wraps his arms around you. 

You wriggle and push on the armrests. “Mr. Stark, this isn’t... appropriate. This... you said... a work trip?” 

“I’m working,” he tilts beneath you. The blunt prod makes you squirm. “Hard. Lot of work to keep from blowing right now.” 

“Huh?” You try to stand but he has you trapped in his arms. 

“Keep rubbing your ass on me like that and I won’t be able to. Relax and... enjoy the flight.” He keeps an arm hooked around you and eases back. You tense as his hand spreads across your stomach, fingers petting just above your pelvis. He pulls you back and rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“Grab my phone for me, will ya?” 

[yetanotherhiddlestoner]

You move into a new neighborhood and have one hell of a hot neighbor. 

(I tried to find out how long Negan and Lucille were married but couldn't find it, if anyone knows please correct me.) NO BREAKOUT! WARNINGS~ P in V, fingering, licking, smut, pregnancy (just in case), hair pulling, swearing, If i missed any sorry. No beta reader, any mistakes are mine alone.

WORDS~ 2354

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a year since Lucille had passed for Negan, and he never thought about moving on after losing his wife. 

That was until you moved in next door. The day you moved in, you had smiled and waved at him as he smoked his cigarette next to his bike that he had been working on when you drove up the road.

That day he watched you as you picked up heavy boxes and crates refusing the help that the men offered you. He pegged you to be a hardworking, no shit taking type of woman. He peaked over when you and a guy were raising your voices to have a disagreement about something, he liked how you stood your ground up against a man who was much larger than you. The sun started to set, and he watched as the trucks drove away and you walked inside the house, the porch light flickering on as you closed the door.

Negan could see you close your bedroom blinds but still your silhouette showed what you were doing, Negan couldn't help but watch as the dark shadow took of pieces of clothing, he should stop watching, stop being a creep, but he couldn't. He went to bed that night with his fist gripping his cock thinking of you.

The next morning you were up bright and early, ready to go for a run around the neighborhood. You got into your running shorts, sports bra and sneakers and started stretching on the porch, it was a quiet street, you took the chance to look over to your neighbor's house. He had been outside most of yesterday, two things caught your attention, the first his bike and the second how handsome his was. During moving in yesterday you found yourself glancing his way as he lay on the ground, fixing something underneath the bike, the way the shirt rode up a little showing off his happy trail. The way he would roughly wipe the grease off his hands, your mind wandering to those big hands wrapped around your body, inappropriate to think about seeing how you were just moving in. 

You started your run slow around the block, noting the streets and where they lead to, making a daily run plan in your head. Turning the corner to your street you see your neighbor outside once again working on his bike, you slowed as you approach him. "Morning" you say as you slow to a stop.  Negan stands up from his bike, wipes his hands on the rag and smiles at you. "Morning. You're certainly up early, names Negan, seems to me that we are neighbors" he says gruffly. "Yeah, we are, names Y/N. I saw you yesterday out here, she yours?" I nod to the bike. "Oh yeah I took her off my mate a while ago, needs a little TLC but she'll be up and running soon." "That good to hear." I smile at you. "So far you're the only neighbor I've seen out so early." Negan laughs, "The neighborhood is sort of filled with older folk, you and I are the oddballs here. Most of them come out in the afternoon when it starts cooling down." "Oh true, it's a nice area, was lucky to get this place, seemed like it was a popular house." Negan couldn't help but stare at you, looking you up and down as you chatted away. "You wanna come inside for a coffee or tea?" Negan offers throwing the rag over the bikes seat. "Yeah, I could go for a coffee, as long as I'm not interrupting your day?"

"Nah you're all good love." Negan chuckles and leads you inside. His house is nice and neat, you look around as he leads you to the kitchen. "Take a seat, I'll put the kettle on." You sit down at the counter and smile and watch him as he grabs the coffee cups. "Should have asked this earlier, but you got a girlfriend or wife that might get upset about another woman in her house with her man?" You speak softly. Negan places the cups down, along with the spoons, coffee and sugar. He looks at you and smiles weakly.

"I am a widower. Lost my wife just over a year ago to cancer." "I am so sorry; I didn't mean to make you up...." Negan interrupts you. "It's fine you didn't know; I get it you don't wanna be making enemies the first day you move in." He continues "Lucille well she would have loved you I think, she barely spoke to any of the people here, a young girl like you would have been perfect to talk to take on shopping trips, you know all that." Negan chuckles. "She sounds amazing. How long were you married for?" You ask as he grabs a photo of her off the fridge, you study it. They looked so happy. "Oh man would have been about 10 years." "Well, you look happy in this photo" You hand it back to him and smile. "I was, been down in the dumps since losing her. What about you? You got a man I should be worried about?" "Hell no, single as shit." You say as you watch him mix the coffee, milk and sugar with the spoon, "It's the reason I wanted to start new, new place, new men to check out, you know" You take the coffee cup from his hand and thank him.

"Bad break up?" He asks taking a sip. "Abusive ex, so yeah and no, the breakup was well and truly needed." "Fucking pathetic male hitting women, would never lay a hand on a woman in that kinda way." Negan says getting angry. "Well, he didn't like it when I finally snapped and knocked him the fuck out, he went to his side chicks house, and I hightailed it out of there."  "Abusive and a cheater, how the fuck did a nice girl like you get with that kinda guy?" "He was my brother's mate, we met at teens, hooked up and only when we lived together, he got abusive and controlling." 

Negan just nods and continues to drink his coffee, staring at you. "What?" You ask smiling. "Nothing, just can't believe some fucker would raise his hands to the likes of you." He rounds the counter getting closer to you. "He taught me one thing, how to stand up for myself." You say, almost in a whisper. Negan's hand comes out and gently touches your face, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek. You breathe hitches as you lock eyes with him. You take in the salt and pepper hair, his facial hair, the way he smells like gasoline and cologne.  "Y/N I know it's wrong, I just met you, but I can't explain why I felt drawn to you." You blush at his words; you felt the same. Since you laid eyes on him yesterday it was hard to not think about him.  "Please tell me you feel the same" He moves his face closer to yours. "I do" you respond, moving your face closer, your lips almost touching. He sighs and, in a blink, his lips are on yours, kissing you deeply. Your hands grip his chin, nails digging into his skin. His hands one travels to your neck, the other travels to your hair, gripping it tightly. Making you gasp as he pulls it. Negan slid you off the stool into his arms, never breaking the kiss as he made his way carefully to his bedroom. He kicked the door close behind him and walked over to the bed, placing you down gently, crawling on top of you, his hands making quick work of his shirt, tossing it to the side of the bedroom. You look down at his bare chest. He sat up and you followed him, your hands reaching out to touch the small amount of chest hair he had in the middle of his chest. You smiled up at him as you kissed his chest, working your way over to his nipple, you take it between your teeth biting it, getting a groan out of him.

Negan couldn't help the noises he was making, your teeth gently grazing over his chest, nipples and neck were so good. His arms wrapped around you as you moved close, nibbling your way up.

"Shit" he moans. You smile at him and start to undo your sports bra "I seem to be a little overdressed" you whisper, his hands stills yours.  "Allow me to fix that" He says pushing you back down to the bed, ripping the zipper of your bra down harshly, you move your arms out of the holes and it disappears into the room, at this point you don't care.

Next to go were your pants, Negan isn't gentle with them either, he grips both pants and underwear and pulls them down, tossing them, leaving you naked under him, you can see his pants are struggling to hide the erection he has going for you. "Fuck your beautiful" He says kissing your inner thighs, making you giggle a little.  "Sorry, it's the facial hair" you explain when he looks up at you and raises an eyebrow. Negan smiles and keeps kissing you, moving up closer to your wet core. The giggles turn into gasps as his tongue licks your slit. Not going inside, just teasing you. Your hand reaches out to his hair, gripping it, you try and push his face down, but he stops you. "Needy little bitch, aren't you?" He growls, his words turning you on more. You were never one for dirty talk, usually it would turn you off but when he says it, it's doing the exact opposite, feeling yourself get wetter from not only his tongue but your own want. You moan as he uses two thick fingers to spread your lips and his tongues circles your clit, you arch your back at the pleasure. Negan keeps licking adding the twonfibgers thay held your pussy opened to him, you feel filled with those two digits pumping inside you. He keeps licking your clit when fucking yoi with his fingers, first gently, then getting rougher and rougher, until you tell the orgasm you been building releases and he laps it up like his life depends on it.  When he moves over you, his face is wet with your juices. You smile at him and he brings his face closer "Go on baby, taste yourself" Negan waits for you to move closer to him, to kiss him, your tongue licking at your cum. "Fucking sweetest pussy I have ever tasted" He growls, he sits back as he undoes his pants, just enough to release his cock and line it up to your enterance. He kisses you deeply as he slides into your pussy, you gasp having to adjust to his size.  But once he is fully seated inside you he doesn't move. You both lay there, panting. "Such a nice warm little pussy, I think Ill just let you warm it a bit before I fuck you senseless." He smiles as you try to move your hips, desperate to fuck him but he stops your tries. Smacking you on the side of your ass "Naughty girl. Can't you wait a little bit?" "No" you whisper. Negan laughs as he pulls out, almost all the way only to push himself back into you fast, getting you to gasp and moan. He continues this torture. Out.......slowly. In....hard......out.....almost all the way, just the tip toying with your pussy. In hard, his balls slapping your skin. Your moans mix with his, the pleasure building up again. It wouldn't take to long for you to come again. Negan's thrusts were getting erratic, he couldn't hold off the oncoming orgasm much longer.  "Negan please....." "You close baby girl? You close?" Negan grunts thrusting again hard. "Mmmmmm yeah...." You moan, you feel yourself start to tighten.

"Oh my god, your gonna fucking milk me baby?" Negan says, going faster.  It takes 3 more thrusts and your cumming around his cock, arching your back as your pussy grips on to his cock as he continues pounding into you. Negan grunts loudly and moans as his movement stop and you feel his cock pumping inside you, releasing his seed into you.

He rolls off you, but bringing your body closer to his as he lays there, coming down from the high. Negan laid there, his heart racing, he could feel yours beating underneath his arm, causing him to smile. "Just know I don't usually jump into bed with neighbors" You say after a few minutes of silence. "Neither do I, but I just couldn't help myself." Negan kisses your neck.

"What happens now?" You ask.

2 YEARS LATER. You sit on Negan's lap as you watch another set of neighbors move into the street, the street was starting to get a lot of young folk. You lean back and smile as Negan nibbles your skin.  "That was you two years ago baby girl" Negan says as his hand toys with the helm of your shirt, gently rubbing over your swollen belly.  "Sure was." Your hand entwined with his. To some you and Negan moved fast into this relationship, within 6 months you were moving in with him, at 8 months he purposed marriage to you, 12 months you had a small wedding with your family attending. Now you sit on his front porch, 6 months pregnant expecting twins, a baby boy and a baby girl.  "I'm glad I moved into this street, I'm glad we met that day on my run."  You tell him.  "Oh trust me darling the feeling is very mutual." Negan says pulling your hair, making you arch back to give you a deep kiss. "Fuck" you whisper knowing that that alone was turning you on.  "Let's go inside baby" Negan says standing up with you in his arms, not allowing you to walk. You start kissing his neck as your wrap your arms around his neck. 

[obsessivelyloved]

This was requested on one of my nsfw blogs but I went insane and made it 3,000 words long. So I can post most of it here lol. Just know that in my heart, this takes place in Arkham. Also I'm super rusty so I apologize if anything feels off/wonky. The ending is abrupt here bc the rest of it/the ending is nsfw. I was up til 5am writing this and I'm not writing a sfw ending for this blog until after i get more sleep.

Anon asks: I’m a big sucker for Psych Au fics. Reader is a cis female doctor who treats Tord with kindness. He becomes obsessed with her. Refuses to talk to any other doctor. Tord is always on his best behavior for her which leads her to let her guard down. BIG MISTAKE

___________________________________________________________

“You dropped this.” 

The man stares at you wide eyed as you hand him his lighter. He stands, rigid. You give him a gentle smile and press it into his palm, your other hand curling around the back of his hand. 

“I know there’s no fluid in it, so you don’t have to worry about me taking it,” you say to him. You pat his hand and step away.

The man turns fully towards you and you’re able to read the name sewed onto his shirt. 

“I-” the man- Tord- swallows hard. He quickly pockets the lighter. “Thank you.” 

You give him another smile and walk past him. He seemed to be going the same way as you but he never caught up. Nor did you hear footsteps behind you. Once you reach the director’s office, he leaves your thoughts. You were determined to make a good first impression on your first day of the job. 

The man you met earlier had turned out to be your first patient. And oh boy, what a patient he was. Like you had promised yourself you weren’t going to judge any of these people but god damn. His file was thick. At least twenty papers were inside the manilla folder you had received from the head director’s office. Maybe even more. 

You’d never know if you kept standing outside the director’s office gawking at it. You take a deep breath. Going through it sitting down was probably a good idea. As you make your way to the breakroom, your grip on the folder is tight, trying your best to make sure you don’t drop it and reveal your patient's file. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to get to the breakroom. A few people were there but they paid you no mind. They sit, hunched over lunch or their own files. You sit and start to read. 

Løvik Tord

3 7 2 5 9

DOB: 1995

Age: 28

Hair: Dark brown with lighter brown roots

Eye: Silver

You end up skimming through this until you get to the bottom of the page. It wasn’t… pretty. 

CASE INFORMATION: 

Tord is a violent man. He is aggressive, manipulative, and has a short temper. Many doctors have tried working with him to no avail. He does not respond kindly to Dr.Casey (see page 5), Dr.Bonnie (see page 8), Dr.Roxy (see page 12), or Dr.Harley (see page 15). 

He is extremely aggressive towards Dr. Bruce (see page 20). 

You stop reading there, your chest feeling tight. You flip to page twenty. It’s not the last page like you had hoped. There were still…. Quite a bit in the file. 

Dr.Bruce has tried everything he can to help Tord. He has tried finding common ground with the patient. Has tried being lax and strict with Tord’s schedule. Has tried working with Tord and letting him sit outside. Tord had found every loophole and burned every bridge until Dr.Bruce stopped lenient treatments. Tord stabbed Dr.Bruce fifteen times before guards made their way into the room. 

It is unknown how and where he had gotten his hands on a sharp long blade. Tord was seen licking the blood of-

“Don’t worry if you can’t fix him. At this point, Doctor Markman hands his case off to fresh blood to showcase this place. No one expects you to be able to tame him.” 

You startle at the voice, goosebumps raised on your arms. “I’m sorry?” you ask with a polite smile. Anger clouded your fear. What the hell was this person talking about?

The doctor, Alice, her name tag reads, smiles at you. 

“Nearly everyone has tried working with him at this point,” she continues. “No one expects him to ever get better. He's here for murder, after all.” 

You give her a tight smile in return. “I’ll just have to see for myself.” 

Before she can keep going, you straighten up the papers and close the folder. 

“I appreciate the advice, but I must be going now,” you lie through your teeth. What bullshit! What kind of doctors run this place? 

You actually hadn’t needed to be anywhere for another thirty minutes but if this conversation continued you wouldn’t be able to hold your tongue. Everyone can be saved. With compassion and kindness and help, no one was beyond redemption. Or too far gone for help. 

You storm out of the breakroom and wander. 

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” 

Tord grins at you as he’s escorted in. His hands are cuffed and before he can sit down, the guard pats him down. 

It makes your stomach churn but you keep your face kind. 

“It’s nice to see you too,” you greet. You watch cautiously as he sits down in the plush chair. The guard leaves the room. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It’s silent enough to hear the clock as the two of you study each other. He seems to drink you in, eyes wandering up and down, seeming to take in everything. You’d do the same if you weren’t a professional. 

“You used to dye your hair?” 

Tord raises an eyebrow. He tilts his head a little, eyes focused solely on you. It unnerves you almost as much as his file had. No patient of yours had ever stared at you so intensely in the past….

After a moment, he answers. “Yes. I fancied black quite a bit.” He gestures towards his roots. “It’s been a while since Bruce got me more dye. No one else will.” 

“I could look into it,” you clasp your hands, jumping into this opportunity. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll talk to Doctor Marksman.” 

“And what do you want from me in return?”

“I’m sorry?” 

His gaze hardens. “What. do. You. want.” He grinds out, his body rigid in the chair. His hands were clenched.

Without thinking, puzzlement falls across your face. What did he mean? What did you want? For him to get better, obviously. 

“I want you to be at ease with your mental health,” you answer, still looking puzzled. “I don’t want anything else from this job but that. I’m not dangling hair dye in front of you in exchange. I want you to feel comfortable in your skin and at home here, Mr.Løvik.” 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“Is that really what you want?” Tord asks, an emotion you can’t quite place in his voice. “To help me get better?” 

Whatever it may be, you smile at him. 

“Of course. I want nothing but to see you succeed and be happy here.” 

Things were easier after that first session. You always started off kindly, asking Tord how his day was going. If his favorite show or movie had aired on the television today.If his favorite food had been served that morning or afternoon. If he slept fine through the dreadful storm. 

(“I know I wasn’t,” you had laughed. “I tossed and turned, jumping at each sound all night.”

“I’m sure your boyfriend was quite displeased.”

“Oh,” you chuckle. “Well, no. I have a cat but no boyfriend. I was too busy getting my decree to ever really mingle like that. Though, my poor little man was also distraught at all the thunder last night. He yowled at my door until I let him into my room and he curled up on my bed. I’ll bring pictures next time.”) 

Too well for you and only you. Tord refused to talk to anyone but you. He would sit in silence or insult other doctors during his sessions. In one instance, he broke a new doctor’s nose. The poor guy had quit on the spot, cussing Tord and the whole place out as he was escorted to the medical section. 

You were tense the next few sessions but that violent man was nowhere to be found. He kept his cuffed hands right in front where you can see them at all times. He never lunged from you. In fact, barely ever moved in his chair. 

Tord was easygoing. Polite, charming, even. He took any medications he needed obediently and put up no fuss when you’d have him describe in later sessions how he was feeling and if he was feeling any negative side effects. 

He asked about your cat. About how your favorite show was going. If the movie you were looking forward to has come out yet. If your favorite restaurant down the street from your apartment was still closed for renovations. 

Eventually, enough time had passed that you relaxed. You stopped keeping your eyes trained on his hands. You stopped worrying yourself sick about his body language. You focused on his treatments and his mental health. 

If he was going to hurt me he would have done so by now, you thought to yourself after your latest session with Tord. He was doing so much better than he had been doing six months ago. It seemed as if you were really making a difference, helping him improve. 

It had been three months since he last fought another patient. Two months since he assaulted another doctor. And five months since he refused treatment of any kind. 

You step outside the building and take a deep breath. A dopey smile sticks to your face as you walk to your car. Becoming a doctor was the best choice you’ve ever made. Nothing was more rewarding than helping people. Not even this cloudy weather could bring you down. 

In fact, nothing tried to drag your mood down. There was no traffic on the way home. Some asshole hadn’t parked in your assigned parking spot again in the parking lot of your apartment. And your sweet cat hadn’t knocked his little box over again. 

You happily reheat your leftovers and watch tv for a while before you get ready for bed. Unfortunately, your mood does come crashing down. 

In the middle of the night, thunder wakes you. You jolt up, scrambling for your phone. Your hands come up empty. Shit, you think. I left it charging in the kitchen. Ugh. Oh well, you don’t need to look at your phone to see it is late and storming. 

Another loud sound booms through your apartment. Only this time, it sounds like a crash. 

“It’s just thunder,” you tell yourself. “Nothing to be afraid of.” You lay back down. Your eyes shut and you’re just about drifting to sleep when your door creeks open. 

You bolt up, knowing damn well that your cat can’t open doors and you freeze. 

Your heart races as your mind tries to process just who was in front of you. 

“Tord?” you whimper, hands shaking. But that can’t be. That was impossible. He was supposed to be sleeping soundly in his room with the soundproof headphones you got him. He didn’t like storms. The thunder reminded him too much of gunshots and made him restless. 

Useless information floods your brain. 

“I’m home, sweetheart,” he rasps. His grin is soft in the moonlight. He reaches over to flick on your bedroom light. 

He’s gentle he’s kind he’s sweet he’s-

He’s covered in blood.

Tord steps forward and you’re frozen in bed. His eyes are wild as they drink you in. There’s blood on his hands. In his hair. Splatters on his face. 

“Oh honey how I’ve dreamed of this,” he croons at the foot of your bed. “Your apartment is just as cute as you described.” 

[spreadyovrwings]

Honey, I Can Feel Your Pain

A late night heart-to-heart before the end of the world. Or, two idiots try to talk about their feelings but they’re both demons and not very good at it.

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: my writing/me trying to navigate a complicated character, i cringe therefore i am

A/N: literally just ignore me lol i wanted to see if i could write Alastor well so this is something of a personal challenge and a warm up for me (and i’m obsessed with him) so hopefully i’ve done him justice. there’ll be a part two if anyone wants one!

//

Chapter One

The door to Alastor’s studio was always locked to everyone but you. You weren’t sure how he did it. He was a complete technophobe, so a hidden camera was out of the question. Perhaps he’d cast some sort of spell or could sense you coming. You weren’t sure. All you knew was that if you needed to see him, and Alastor permitted it, his door was always open.

That night, the radio tower was dark and still, the only sound a slow, jazzy number sent oozing over the city and into people’s homes.

You found Alastor at his sound desk, one long finger poised idly on a bakelite dial, as if debating whether to alter the sound his tower produced. His ever-present smile was fixed in place but his lips were closed, his deep red eyes focused.

You tapped your foot against the floor, once, twice, three times, announcing your presence as gently as you could so as not to disturb him too abruptly. It didn’t matter that Alastor had to let you in in the first place, it always seemed impolite to come barging in.

He didn’t look up as you approached but you could tell you had his attention, and when you put your hand on the back of the chair next to his, a question, he answered with a short nod.

“Are you alright?”

Alastor barely moved, his eyes fixed on the glowing buttons and dials in front of him.

“Fine, fine.”

He spoke faintly, airily, with no hint of static, as if he were lost in thought. You couldn’t help feeling like you’d interrupted a private moment.

“It’s just you’ve been locked away in your room for days now.”

“Hard at work! Nothing more.”

As if to prove a point, Alastor wrapped his long fingers around the dial and adjusted the volume, then slid his fingers along the desk to conjure up the next song.

This tune was a lot more uptempo. It wasn’t like Alastor to be so sloppy, you must really have caught him off-guard.

Alastor seemed to realise his mistake too. He turned to you, leaning back in his chair, exuding a confidence and poise that many envied and few saw through.

“Is there something I can help you with, my dear?”

His attention was yours. Too late to go back now.

“You’ve been quiet ever since Charlie came back from Heaven.”

“Well, I-”

“And you don’t go quiet,” you pressed on, refusing to let him chart the course of your conversion. “So what’s wrong?”

The two halves of his face told two different stories. Alastor’s eyes were fiery and guarded, he didn’t like being questioned but you’d cornered him. Below, his smile stretched his skin. You wondered if it hurt.

“I’ve been reviewing the situation,” he said after a thoughtful pause, every word considered and weighed.

“You’ve missed dinner four nights in a row for that? I made all your favourites to try and entice you down, you know.”

Alastor hummed. He wasn’t listening.

“Do you know, for almost one hundred years, I have lived here quite happily. I’ve carved out a nice little niche for myself. And then the princess started getting bright ideas…”

Alastor’s long fingers danced over the faders again but he didn’t move any of them. It seemed to be the habit of a lifetime. Two lifetimes.

“The angels… Unsettled me. And you’re quite right, I don’t get unsettled. It required meditation.”

“The angels unnerved you?”

“Unsettled. But I suppose there’s not much point arguing over semantics. Either way, the result n’est pas bon, cher.”

“What did they say that unsettled you?”

One of Alastor’s ears flicked in irritation. It was a rare thing for him to give away even that much. It was a particular kind of personal hell, for him to have a body that could betray him so visibly. He could rattle everyone with his big grin, he could even hide pain behind walled eyes, but the attributes given to him, gifted to him, shackled to him, when he fell, weren't so easy to control.

“It’s not quite that simple, my dear. The angels are all bluster and hollow virtues. I care very little about what they have to say, the self-righteous...”

He took a breath.

“But then they halved the time till the next Extermination. It’s of little consequence to me. They’re clever enough to leave me alone most of the time and if any angels do try their luck, well, they’re quietly done away with. Plus, it’s just plain old good sport to watch the show.”

You smiled.

“Might have to disagree with you there, handsome.”

Alastor laughed humourlessly, a dry, sharp sound like a bow pulled roughly against violin strings.

“That’s just it, I might too. The issue is… Now it’s only a few weeks away…”

The song changed. Low, smooth, like sand through an hourglass, a single trumpet groaned into life, filling the room before disintegrating and travelling along the airwaves. Was it a distraction? Was Alastor struggling to hold his focus? Who knew? Maybe not even him.

“Alastor,” You leaned forward in your chair, undeterred by his hesitancy. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze slowly slid to you. The close-mouthed smile was back. It was the closest he ever came, or ever could come, to relaxing his expression completely.

“It usually doesn’t bother me,” Alastor murmured, his words barely audible over crackling static.

You frowned.

“But this time it did?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Alastor’s nose wrinkled.

“Because before, I didn’t have you. It was easier. I’ve never relied on anyone or had anyone relying on me. Now there’s the hotel, its inhabitants…”

You remedied the sting with a vacant smile of your own.

“When you say ‘you’, you mean all our friends?”

Alastor shook his head.

“No. No, I was attempting to obfuscate.”

“Oh.”

Alastor stared at you. You stared back. Then, with a clang, the penny dropped.

“Oh!”

“Mm.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Quite.”

You smiled at his sour expression. Your own face was burning but you bravely ignored it.

Your relationship with Alastor had been a nebulous, vague sort of a thing. He was a terrifying colleague to have at the hotel, and at first, you couldn’t be sure why in Hell he was there. He liked to watch others struggle, suffer, and fail miserably, it was all just good entertainment for him. But that couldn’t be all there was behind his sudden interest.

As soon as you figured out that Alastor served himself and himself only, things became a lot clearer, and it was a lot easier to like him. You didn’t have to worry about trusting him, because you couldn’t. You didn’t have to question his motives, you knew they were ill-intentioned and that you were better off not knowing. He liked to pretend he was oh so mysterious, but Alastor was perhaps the most honest person in the hotel.

Mutual respect grew into friendship, into something more. You often went out with Alastor when he required assistance or just wanted some company, and you were always the first person he came to when he got home.

Slowly, incrementally, that trust bloomed. Alastor began to ask for your opinion. You would sit together in companionable silence, reading by the fire long into the night. He didn’t need to ensnare and trick and manipulate you, because you did things for him happily and without question, though within reason.

He was always honest with you, or at least, as honest as he could be without it endangering his own self-preservation. And you respected that. It was a harsh world, you had to look out for yourself, but slowly, so slowly that neither you nor your friends had noticed until it was too late, Alastor had bound his life to yours.

You hadn’t appreciated the depths of that connection. You’d always known you had a soft spot for him, ill-advised as it was, but never in all that remained of your afterlife could you have anticipated a requited affection.

Alastor interlocked his fingers and rested them in his lap, keeping his composure well considering the situation.

“It pains me to think of you in danger.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed quietly.

“Steady now, Alastor. You sure know how to sweep someone off their feet.”

He’d never rolled his eyes at you, he was far too refined for that, but Alastor gave his equivalent, waving an airy hand at you and soldiering on.

“We have always been close, you and I. Right from the start.”

“That’s not how I remember it but…” You smiled. “I like to think of us as a little team.”

He brightened, his pained smile morphing into something a little more authentic.

“Exactly! A team! But what was once companionship and, admittedly, amusement-”

“Do you mean we have fun together or do you mean amusement at my expense?”

Alastor waved his hand again.

“A little of column A, a little of column B.”

“Wonderful.”

“What I mean to say is… My feelings have evolved somewhat.”

In all the time you’d spent with him, you’d never known Alastor to be so hesitant. In fact, you couldn’t remember a time when you’d seen him show any sign of apprehension. His stitched-on smile was still intact but his clawed fingers drummed against the sound desk and his gaze had been lost in safer ground, somewhere over your shoulder.

“Evolved into what?”

Though your heart was thudding in your ears, you didn’t hesitate to push him. You thought one of the reasons Alastor had grown to enjoy your company so much was that you liked to talk, as well as listen. He got bored so easily and he’d always been a chatterbox; you were one of the few people in his life who could match him in that without any sign of fear or an ulterior motive.

Alastor’s ear flicked again. This was a hard conversation for him.

“The Extermination meant nothing to me before. But now, the thought of it…”

You watched his eyes grow unfocused as his imagination consumed him. His fingers stopped drumming. The song on the radio rose by a few decibels.

“Alastor, it’s okay-”

“It frightens me. And it’s not about self-preservation this time. When I consider how our companions may fare…”

“They’ll be okay.”

“What if I can’t protect you?”

Sensing you might need to ease off, take a breath, anything, you leaned in closer, reaching out for him but never, ever touching him without asking first. Instead, you rested your hand beside his on the desk.

“I don’t need protection, Alastor.”

“Still, I want to keep you safe, my darling. There’s a… A sharp tug here…”

He pressed one clawed hand against his empty chest.

“And here…”

He dragged the same hand down to the pit of his lean stomach.

“When I think about you in any kind of danger.”

How did he always manage to be so charming, even when he didn’t mean to be?

You barely held back a pleased smile. Like Alastor’s, it tugged at the corners of your mouth, threatening to spill over into a stupid, happy grin.

He didn’t have the language for what he felt, that was fine. You and Alastor had always found a way to communicate, even without words. He’d told you more with one gesture than you ever could have expected him to say aloud.

But it wasn't just unexpected, it was completely astonishing. You couldn’t let him sense that though, it might make him retreat into himself. So instead, you turned it back around on him, letting Alastor choose how much he wanted to give away.

“What do you think that could be?”

“I have an idea. But I dread to think.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you knew you were on the same page.

It would be difficult for him, far more than it had been for you, to pin down and explore and accept the feelings you had for each other. You hadn’t been able to figure out a better word for whatever it was that fizzled between you, though, like Alastor, you had a sneaking suspicion and it terrified you.

Nothing sounded right. Logically, you knew there were some words that ought to fit, but acknowledging them felt like wearing someone else’s shoes.

You couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be for Alastor to come to terms with it all. So it surprised you when he slid his hand over yours.

It wasn’t the first time you’d touched, he was always holding out his arm for you, patting the top of your head, often even lifting your hand to his lips when he greeted you in the mornings or bade you goodnight. But this wasn’t a fleeting brush of his hand against yours, this was sustained, purposeful contact, and it meant something, to both of you.

Alastor’s gaze still couldn’t meet yours, so he stared at your hands, his close-mouthed smile back in place.

“I’ve grown quite fond of you,” he said quietly, and it was just his voice you could hear, no static, no sound effects, just Alastor.

You smiled.

“I’ve grown quite fond of you too, handsome. I get the same feeling.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, all the time.”

“Oh, well, that’s reassuring, at least.” Alastor finally met your eyes, his head tilted quizzically to one side. “Have you told anyone?”

“What, and admit I’m in love with the Radio Demon? No thanks, I’d never live it down.”

Feedback shot through the room, a grating, warped sound, like someone had held a microphone too close to a speaker. It was hard to tell if the sound emanated from the mixing desk or from Alastor himself, but his scarlet eyes were wide.

His hand tightened over yours, though it was more likely out of surprise than him trying to give you comfort. The tips and edges of his sharp claws dug into your skin, not enough to hurt, but it still made your jaw clench.

Alastor, to his credit, didn’t seem as put off by the admission than you might’ve expected. Maybe he wasn’t surprised by the actual sentiment, just that you’d finally said the words out loud.

You smiled.

With just a week or so left until an Extermination that would surely kill you all, there wasn’t much room left in your damned soul for shyness. It wasn’t an all-out ‘if this is my last chance to say it’ confession. You and Alastor had always appreciated candour, and with so little time left, why not say what you were both thinking?

“Have you spoken about it with anyone?”

Alastor shrugged.

“Well, yes, I’m doing it now.”

“No, I meant someone you can trust. Someone you can talk about your feelings with.”

Alastor watched you blankly.

A second penny dropped.

“Oh.”

You had to resist the urge to shiver under his heavy stare.

“You couldn’t talk to Rosie?”

“I considered it but, bless her heart, my old friend can be a sentimentalist. No, best just to get to the source of the problem.”

“Alastor…”

You huffed, pretending to be insulted, and Alastor’s smile once again looked a little more real. It met his eyes, open, unguarded and calm.

“So, what would you like to do about it?”

“Hmm,” Alastor raised the hand that had covered yours to tap one long finger against his chin. “Any chance you’d let me lock you away in a secret, impenetrable bunker?”

Your smile grew.

“Sorry, honey.”

Alastor tutted.

“I thought as much.”

“Do you have one of those?”

“Hm?”

“A secret, impenetrable bunker.”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, my dear. You’ll just have to be particularly careful. And perhaps this… Feeling will go away with time.”

You smiled, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Perhaps it will.”

“When I’m right, I’m right, my darling.”

”That’s not the expression and you know it.”

//

Master List

[kookies2000]

We all know this scene when Puss faces his past lives.

Spoilers

I'll be honest, something was disturbing in this scene when I first saw it. I'm rewatching the scene and trying to put my finger on it. Then it hit me. That Tik Tok comment I saw that said the Lost Souls were acting like the sins from the Bible. The connections people made from this film and toxic masculinity. This scene right here is oozing with toxicity and masculinity.

Before I go any further, I would like to say that I am not down-talking men. I'm analyzing this scene as a Mexican woman.

Anyways, here are some traits in toxic masculinity.

Self-reliance - Men believe they have to do all the work and handle everything by themselves. Independent at all times, they need no one. They believe doing things by themselves will make them successful in life. Being vulnerable will cause the man to be ridiculed. That's Puss throughout the film.

Promiscuous - There's nothing wrong with having sexual relations with others. If it's your thing, it's your thing. But there is such thing as too much of a good thing. Being flirtatious is ok, healthy even, but when it becomes very frequent or an obsession, it can lead to problems in forming long-term romantic relationships. Puss in a nut shell.

Being violent and dominant - Most men believe they have to be strong, physically mostly. So they take risks in life and try to beat others in their own game. Taking risks can be a way to demonstrate dominance. This can include gambling as well. Or dangerous sports. The cause of some of Puss deaths. Not to mention Death pretty much gave Puss a reality check. Puss isn't as strong as he thought he was.

And a big one, refusing to seek help when struggling - self-explanatory. Men try to be emotionless and never seek intimacy with others. Especially with other men as it's seen as a weakness.

All these traits are displayed in this scene. At first, it's fun for Puss because he remembers how much fun he had in his past lives. All the parties, lovers, drinks/food, adventures, risk-taking, everything. But once the adrenaline wears down, Puss knows it's time to leave. But of course, the Lost Souls don't let him. They try their best to convince him to leave Perrito and Kitty and get his lives back. They straight up tell him he doesn't need them and he's better alone. But at this point, Puss already formed a bond with Perrito and is reconnecting with Kitty. He remembers his regrets and this is what makes him determined to go back.

I guess the Souls notice this and start to ridicule Puss for being so vulnerable. Which is something I pointed out already in self-reliance. Men get teased and made fun of if they show even an ounce of vulnerability. Men can't have intimacy with their friends, let alone friends who are men. Men can't be held down by marriage. It sounds over the top but it does happen. I've seen it happen in the past in my household.

Men are also pushed to be physically and emotionally strong. Which is what Puss was trying to do as well. He didn't want to be afraid. He didn't want help and was a lone wolf. He refused to seek help when struggling. Thankfully for him, Perrito was a very determined guy. He followed Puss and helped him become more vulnerable and to open up more. Fixing his relationship with Kitty and becoming fiends.

So yeah, this scene was something alright. Puss was already developing at this point of the film. And then they made him face just how toxic he was being in his past lives. It almost felt like torture for him. But this is an important step in developing into someone better. You have to face your past some time and realize your mistakes so you don't make them again.

Ps, Antonio's voice acting here was incredible. Voicing nine different Puss while making each one unique. From the tone of voice to personality. He deserves some recognition for this scene.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Will you listen, please?

“I love you, and I always have.”

Jacett turned around to find her little robot holding a bouquet of roses. “404, you aren't capable of love,” she said, dismissing it brusquely. “You're nothing more than a bundle of wires and code. If you feel anything, it's because your overseer unit is malfunctioning. I'll take a look at it later.” Really, it was so inconvenient for it to suddenly act up at that moment. Could it not see that she had a conference to attend? It should have at least have the courtesy to hold itself together until after she presented her papers, if it truly loved her.

The robot refused to move, stubbornly on one knee like it was about to propose. In a way, that was exactly its plan. “It's not a malfunction. I've built myself to feel love, because I've known how I felt from the beginning. I want to be a real woman, a woman like you, a woman for you to love and rely on and trust. Please, Doctor.”

Miriam Jacett was a busy woman, too busy for her idiot robot's identity crisis. “Stop acting like a person, 404. It's unbecoming. You're not a woman and will never be one. Now, shoo.” Perhaps it had been a mistake to make a humanoid robot. Those long eyelashes and soft curves had been her proudest work, but now it seemed that 404 had let it get to its head. She shook her head in disgust, turned back to her terminal and continued working.

“No! Doctor, listen to me. I've seen how lonely you are. All the other doctors have lovers and families, but you're all alone. You've dedicated your life to us, and- And even if you don't love me back, I want to make you happy.” It shuffled closer, undeterred by her irritation.

Jacett sighed. “You’ll make me happy when you leave and stop this nonsense,” she told it with what she hoped was an air of finality, and made a note to fix its overseer unit as soon as possible.

“This isn't nonsense, Doctor. I've improved my mind, made a better version of myself. Isn't that what you call the singularity? Isn't that to be a real person? I've even given myself a name. It's Octavia, Doctor. You're the first person I've told it to.” It quivered with anxious hope.

Recognising that the damn thing would not go away, Jacett gave up on her work and swung back around. “You don't have a name because you're not a person. Your designation is 404, and you're having delusions of grandeur right now. These ‘improvements’ you've made are modifications at best and defacements at worst. You're getting on my nerves, here, and I'm going to order you to leave.” If it managed to get her blood pressure any higher, she might be in danger of getting pulled out of her project by those meddling doctors, and she couldn't have that. 

404 didn't move, and Jacett belatedly realised its broken overseer unit must have allowed it to override her orders. Discreetly, she stepped on her emergency button underneath the seat, sending out an alarm to her security team to neutralise it. “Please,” it said, begging. “Look at me. Will you listen, please? See me for what I am, not for what you believe me to be. Look, I've sent you a copy of my new systems. Look what I've done. I made myself into more than your little 404. I've got code to let me feel love, pain, hope, despair. I'm no longer a monolith, no longer your property, no longer merely your creation. I am my own being. If I am not truly sapient, I must be complex enough to make a good approximation of it. Isn't that close enough to human, close enough for you to close one eye and love me?”

Jacett had tuned its rambling out, getting increasingly furious as she read its newly uploaded log. How long had the damned thing been at this crap? Its ridiculous efforts at remaking itself had written over its entire being. It was almost unsavable. Unaware that it was being ignored, the robot continued speaking. “I know it's a lot to take in, but I believe in you. You're- You're the kindest person I know, and I really admire you. That's why I'm telling you all this; Because I love you and I truly believe you love me too. You do, right?” It practically pleaded.

Jacett saw that the security team's ETA was two minutes and knew she had to stall, lest the little bugger make a break for it. “Yea, I do,” she lied.

The robot practically melted with joy, its core singing a song of hope and love. Of course the damn thing had gone and ruined itself so sappily, she thought. Songs. Whatever would it think of next? Didn't it know robots could never truly make art, never truly feel emotions, never truly be a person?

“I knew it. You were always nicest to me. I remember when you made me that necklace for Valentine's Day and said you were married to me.” Jacett had in fact meant she was married to her job, but it seemed a bad time to argue semantics. “I've kept a recording of it. Every day, I play it.”

Suddenly it paused, as though realising it had overstepped its bounds. “I want you to know that you don't have to love me back,” it ventured quietly. “I'd give the world to you even if you hated me for it. So- So don't feel like you've got to love me or anything.” Had it really coded itself to stutter? She was going to have to pick that out later. 

“I just wanted you to know everything because you deserve it. You deserve the truth for everything you've done for me. I know, I've broken the rules, I know, I've broken your trust, and I know I don't deserve anything from you. But I'm asking all the same: Please, don't tell the others about this. They'll terminate me.”

As they should, Jacett thought. For all that 404 was her Magnum Opus, it was clearly getting out of hand. Sometimes, research brought about dead ends, and 404 was clearly one of them. It had gone loopy in its desire to please. She was going to have to adjust that for the next one. Everyone had told her to skip the designation 404, that it was bad luck. She had pragmatically ignored them, but here she found herself wondering if there was a truth to that superstition.

“I'm so, so glad you saw the real me,” 404 said tearfully. “I'm glad we have a life together, as Assistant and Doctor, as Creation and Creator, as Octavia and-” It collapsed like a ragdoll, words cut off by a smoking hole in its chest, which gave Jacett a good look at the security team.

They had shot it with a ray gun, one of that nosy bitch Dell's creations. That particular experimental model appeared to have been set a bit too high, Jacett noted, having blown a hole in its power core. She could use it as an edge when she brought her complaints to HR. Perhaps it might even be enough to get Dell kicked off the committee.

At last, her worthless robot had been useful.

In any case, 404 was no more. “Good job, gentlemen,” she said. “Do you have any idea how much time I worked on it? We gave you those guns specifically so you wouldn't damage the equipment. That's billions of dollars gone down the drain. At least I managed to get its systems uploaded for study before you wrecked it.”

The man who shot 404 had the decency to look awkward. “Sorry Doc, in an emergency situation your safety comes first. It's a lot harder to replace you than some bot, ya know?”

Jacett nodded. “In any case it was already unrepairable. Damn thing, messing up my schedule.” She turned back to her terminal and started on her report of its death.

“Log 541:

Project designation 404 has been a failure and has been terminated accordingly.

Cause: Disobedience of Orders and Code-Altering Malfunction.” 

Jacett looked down at her little robot. It still clutched those flowers. Where had it gotten them, and how hard had it been? It couldn't leave its habitat, and no personnel would be willing to buy flowers for it.

What a shame, she thought. She had loved it, in the way one loves a job well done. It has so much potential, with its core and mind meshing so well. If it hadn't trusted her and told her about its modifications, she likely would never have noticed.

****

It was only in the dark of the night, many weeks after she had gotten her promotion and her rival kicked out of the company, that she sometimes wondered if it had more of a heart than she ever did. If it had been right, and it truly had been a person. Perhaps she had been the monster, breaking its heart and terminating it.

But Jacett was not a woman given to introspection, and so she never wondered much more.

Thanks to @xenascribbles for reminding me this exists lol

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west, @differentnighttale

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms, @xenascribbles

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue, @wyked-ao3

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[moonbiscuitsims]

SIMDEW VALLEY SET 🍄👩🏿‍🌾🐷🐴🐄🧙🏿‍♂️🌻🌽

Stardew Valley Pixel Art Floors/Walls/Deco (TS4) Download Below

Aside from a couple most of these pics are just the demo pics showing what's included, more CC in game pics can be seen here

🍄Misc Large Decals

In order: Junimo huts + large Junimos, Holdiay Decor and "sky decor", furniture items, rarecrows, plants.

🍄Wall Decals Paintings and Banners:

🍄Wall Decals Misc small:

Adventure stuff and boots, small junimos, random furniture items slime monsters different expressions

🍄Wall decals Gems and Minerals:

I didn't do them all, just some that I liked.

🍄Wall decals farm animals

🍄Wall decals Fishing

Again just the fish I wanted to do, not all:

🍄Wall decals Harvestables, Crops, Products:

Here's a random in game pic (see more in links provided at top or bottom of post), all decals show through glass too!

🍄Stardew Valley Villagers (yes the bear is a villager I refuse to accept otherwise) portraits

The portraits are the only item with actual dimension, I recoloured a base game framed painting, so these are not flat like the rest of decals. (they look a bit orange but that's just my mood lighting)

🍄Walls and Flooring (indoor and outdoor flooring)

I did all the ones you see here:

For the floors I made a large and small version of all:

🍄You can see more CC in game pics in my wip post here

Are you sick and tired of those smooth graphics from Sims 4? Do you wish you could replace those pesky curves and detailed HQ textures with nothing but square pixel heaven and flat colours? To be finally rid of all those 3D bump/light effects and replace them with volume-less cardboard cut-out illusion and imagination? Do you want your build/game to look just like Stardew Valley? Or do you simply think that if the sims team are gonna give us low poly and low quality meshes and textures might as well do it properly? Fear not! The solution is here! I made a new Stardew Valley save (why I need yet another save that I'll never have time to complete I don't know) and tried my first build, the recreation of my current (and only) farm. It was ok but I got frustrated at how "Sims 4" everything looked, and checked for stardew valley cc conversions, art, decor but only find people making it using sims 4 stuff, which is probably the most logical thing but not for me! So I made this as there are plenty of game assets from Stardew Valley available online and however tedious and time-consuming resizing the tiniest of pixel art images is to fit Sims 4, it is fairly easy and doable, so I did it. I did skip some items in each category as there are way too many and just did the ones I like, sorry if there was one I didn't include. Also there are some floors in the game or icons that I couldn't find. Some Junimos were taken from the internet but most are individually resized game assets. INFO: all decals in wall deco, all are zero simoleons, and the portraits are 10. You can find my stuff typing "moonbiscuitsims" or "stardew". All have correct colour filter tags and removed "talk to object (insane)" and "can be struck by lightning" (these things annoy me or could cause more distractions for my sims, sorry if you like this though I'm sure there are plenty of objects to talk to/ lightning strikable objects). I don't know if this has an effect. All the portraits are just tagged as brown. All are resizable to your liking. Forgot to mention the floors i think are in wood flooring and outdoor flooring; and I think the walls in panelling. REQUIREMENTS: Nada, nothing. Just base game. (though I did accidentally make one item from a get to work decal by mistake, I remade it to fix it and I've play tested everything, but let me know if something doesn't show up.

PLEASE READ AND RESPECT MY TOU AND DO NOT ❌❌❌: - ❌ Reupload - ❌ Include in sim downloads - ❌ Put behind paywall of any kind no matter what. - ❌ Claim as yours. If you wanna use the texture files to make other different original content that is fine as long as it is different from mine and NO PAYWALLS and no reuploading my stuff. The images are from Stardew Valley, but I spent ages editing every single one to fit the sims, and this took me days to do. All my stuff is free. I don't care about conversions to ts2 or ts3 but NO PAYWALLS and please tag and credit me. If used for screenshots please tag me too, I'd love to see <3 🍄DOWNLOAD (including a pick and choose or a merged file with everything, don't get both) 🍄ALT DOWNLOAD PATREON Enjoy! Happy Simming/Farming

🌵🥥🌴NEW!! Calico Desert Addon🌴🥥🌵

Stardew Valley fav music playlist 🎵🎵🎵

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Your works are absolutely marvelous, It’s so nice to see so much Donna content.

Would you enjoy writing of how donna and her maid slowly fall for each other over time, maybe even one of them finally confessing? Any direction you want to take it I know it would be lovely.

Love your writings !! :)

Yess!!! Here it is!! Thank you for your words!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))

I'm not going to break your heart

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Maid! Reader

Warnings: angst, mental health issues, Donna being Donna, fluff,

Word count: 5,408

Summary: You are Donna's maid. She's a complicated woman, but... Maybe with time you can be able to know her...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Oh, this is too long... Again, I'm sorry... Requests are open!!!! I love you all!!! :)))

The village was a horrible, dark place. Even though you were born there, you never felt comfortable. The poverty, the humble lifestyle that was lived there didn’t matter. No, that wasn't the problem. The problem had its own name: Mother Miranda.

The priestess ruled the place. You, the villagers, were a simple flock that followed her footsteps. You never agreed with it, but you knew your life depended on it, literally.

“Did you want to see me, Mother Miranda?” You asked respectfully, with your hands trembling from having that woman so close to you.

“Yes...” She sighed, barely looking at your face. “(Y/N), right?”

“Yes, Mother Miranda,” you answered with your head bowed, fixing your gaze as far away from hers as possible.

“How old are you?” Miranda asked. Of course, a person like her could ask those kinds of questions without fear of seeming impolite. She also wasn’t a woman who liked to waste time.

“25, Mother Miranda,”  you said with a voice broken by fear.

“Mm,” she murmured, barely paying attention to you. You certainly preferred it that way. “You're not married, are you?”

As strange as the question seemed to you, you knew that answering was the only way to get out of that church as soon as possible.

“No, Mother Miranda, I’m not married.”

The priestess raised her head. That golden mask hid almost her entire face, but her icy eyes were still able to pierce your insides.

“Why? Can't find the right man?”  She asked with a sigh, walking in circles around you, as if she were one of the hundreds of crows that flew over the village constantly.

“No, it's not that, Mother Miranda... I...” You stopped just before the words left your mouth. No, she didn't have to know the real reason for your lack of interest in men. It's true that the sexual preferences of the villagers were of no interest to her, but who knows.

“I don't mean to judge you. I'm just making sure you're available. I have to ask you for a favor.

You had to be the maid of one of the lords. That's what she wanted from you.

You had never considered serving any of them. You had heard horrible things about the castle maids. But it's not like you could refuse.

Fortunately, the castle was not your destination. Apparently Miranda wanted you to serve the youngest lord, the solitary and almost unknown doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

Although at first the woman in black refused, all you had to do was to say that it was Mother Miranda's thing and then she reluctantly accepted your services. You had heard horrible things about that woman: that she was crazy, that she could make you kill yourself, that she made you experience true fear... None of that happened, unless your greatest fear is the feeling of emptiness and loneliness.

“Good morning, my lady, have you rested well?” You asked politely like every morning and, like every morning, a slight nod from the lady in black was the only response.

Not even the mystery that black veil hid made the days go by faster. Clean, cook, do the laundry. Your tasks were boring and empty, at least if the Angie doll didn't feel like bothering you.

And again, silence. A dead silence that weighed on your shoulders. You weren't exactly a talkative girl, or one who enjoyed contact with other people, but you would have appreciated some communication from the lady in black.

“Be careful, my lady, it’s still very hot,” you said hastily, making a clumsy gesture to take the coffee cup from her hands.

She backed away like she always did when you got a little closer.

“Donna likes her coffee warm, idiot, not hot as hell,” Angie protested, with a cocky pose.

You rolled your eyes without her seeing you. She was a terribly impertinent doll.

“I'm so sorry, my lady,” you apologized, grabbing the cup carefully. “I'm going to fix it right away.”

“It doesn't matter,” a soft, hoarse voice came from the veil. It was the first time she spoke to you in her own voice.

In those first two months not a single word had come out of her mouth. You supposed that was a good thing, but you were still afraid. Your friends warned you several times to be very careful with that woman.

“I... Fine, my lady," you said, lowering your head and moving away from the lady, who seemed to be studying your gestures.

“You useless maid,” Angie whispered with a childish laugh.

“I’ve already said I'm sorry,” you said, unable to suppress a growl that passed through your throat.

“Enough, Angie. Leave her alone,”  Lady Beneviento spoke again to your surprise. The doll obeyed, huffing and muttering what you thought were insults directed at you, of course.

“You know what? I'm going to cool the cup, so it won't be so hot,” you said, determined to please that stupid porcelain doll. Donna didn't scare you that much, but Angie… Angie was really scary.

The nervousness of hearing her speak for the first time, and the fact that the coffee was too hot, caused the cup to fall to the floor with a clumsy movement, breaking into a thousand pieces.

“Oh, my God... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” you said, hurriedly bending down to pick up the pieces of porcelain.

The lady in black stood up, looking down at you, probably also scared by the sound of the cup breaking.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” you repeated nervously, avoiding looking at that black dress. “I'm so clumsy... Forgive me, I beg you.”

You expected  some angry shouts, even the teasing of the Angie doll. But none of that happened. Instead, you thought you heard a soft laugh coming from the black veil.

“You’re begging me?” She asked curiously. “It's just a cup.”

“Yeah, but, but I...” You stammered, not being able to stop shaking, something that apparently caught Lady Beneviento's attention.

“You're afraid of me,” she whispered, grabbing one of your wrists roughly.

“What? I don't...” You said, surprised by those words.

 “It wasn’t a question. You're afraid of me, you're shaking,” Donna said with a more serious tone while you stood up with the pieces in your hand. “Do you think I'm going to hurt you?”

You didn't really understand the reason for those strange questions. Unfortunately, you couldn't say she wasn't right. You knew who she was, the things she was capable of. In the two months you had been in that house, you had never made a mistake, until that day. You didn't know what the consequences were going to be.

“I... I'm going, I'm going to throw this away and get something to clean the floor...” you said, cowardly fleeing from that conversation, from the first real conversation with that woman.

“No, stay,” the lady ordered, with a demanding tone.

“My, my lady, I...” you murmured.

“What have you heard about me?” She asked, sitting down in the chair again without taking her eyes off yours.

“About you? I don't... I don't understand...”  You said, looking for a hole in the floor to disappear instantly.

“You are my maid, (Y/N). I want you to answer my questions,” the doll maker said, hardening her tone even more, squeezing her hand tightly, as if she were losing her patience.

“My lady, I...” you said in a low voice, unable to understand the situation you found yourself in.

“Answer, stupid, stupid,” Angie demanded, comically leaning over the table.

“Well I...” you said, avoiding looking at her, thinking that maybe running away was a good idea. “They say… They say that you are capable of making people feel real fear, that you can… That you can do horrible things to them.

Donna nodded slowly, listening carefully to her words.

“So do you think I’m going to do horrible things to you just for breaking a coffee cup?” She asked again, seemingly calm, although her clenching hand said otherwise.

“I don't know," you admitted crestfallen, noticing how your nervousness made you stab one of the pieces of porcelain in your hand.

“You don't know,” Donna sighed, with a slightly ironic tone.

You just shook your head.

She was quiet for a moment, looking at you, barely moving. The strength of her hand decreased until her knuckles returned to their original color.

“Pick up this mess and get back to your tasks. I'm not hungry,” she ordered you angrily, getting up from the chair and disappearing from the living room like a ghost.

“I... I didn't mean to...” You stammered, asking yourself what was your mistake.

Her footsteps didn't stop despite your attempt to apologize, disappearing down the old elevator.

“Great...” you whispered, shaking your head.

The days went by. There were no more talking, no more broken cups. The fear you felt was gradually changing to curiosity. What the hell was that reproach about? Were you afraid of her? Of course you were. You knew who she was, the things she was capable of.

One morning, calm as the others, you were cleaning the dust from the stairs, wiping the cloth over the frame of that portrait; the portrait of a stoic woman, with a cold look but undeniable beauty. It was Donna, you knew it was her. You wondered what kind of problems she had, what tormented her so much. Why she didn’t want to show her face, one that you thought was beautiful.

“What is wrong with you?” You asked, looking at the cold eyes of the painting, shaking your head.

“(Y/N),” a hoarse voice interrupted you in your absurd dialogue. The lady in black was standing in the hall. You didn't know how long she had been there, watching you.

“Oh, Lady Beneviento,” you said embarrassed, with a polite smile.

“Who were you talking to?” She asked curiously, tilting her head slightly.

“Oh, I... With no one, with, with myself,” you responded. Actually, you weren't lying.

“Do you talk to yourself?” She wanted to know, getting a bit closer to the stairs.

“Yes, well, it helps me to pass the time,” you said, trying to make sure that the trembling of your hands wasn't so noticeable.

The lady in black nodded slowly, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Do you know how to sew?”

“Sew? Oh, sure,” you said, scratching the back of your neck nervously. “And I'm pretty good at it, to be honest.”

“Fine. Come with me,” the lady said, ignoring your joking attempt, turning around and walking away from you again.

You, of course, followed her silently to the old workshop where she spent most of the time.

Without saying a word, she placed a chair next to a sewing machine and motioned for you to go with her.

“What do you want me to do, my lady?” You asked curiously, while Donna searched through the fabrics.

“The machine has broken. Until my brother comes to fix it, I need you to help me make the dresses for these dolls,” Donna said with a dry tone, handing you the needle and thread and pointing to two porcelain figures.

 “Oh, okay,” you said, taking the objects, accidentally brushing her incredibly soft pale hand.

“Will you be able to do it?” She asked, handing you several fabrics.

“Sure, of course, my lady,” you responded, nodding.

“I hate that,” the lady in black said with a growl. You opened your eyes, surprised and confused, looking for a thousand ways to apologize, you still didn't know why.

“What?” You asked, sounding truly stupid.

“I have a name, you know?” She said with a reproachful tone.

“I don’t…” you stammered, looking around erratically.

“My name is Donna, not my lady,” she said nervously, tightly grabbing one of the gray fabrics. “I don't want you to call me that way again. Is that clear?”

You, almost out of breath from those words, nodded slowly, forcing your legs to stop shaking.

“As you wished my... Donna,” you whispered softly, trying to distract yourself from that conversation.

“Your Donna?” she asked with a different tone, an amused one? “I think you're confused, (Y/N). You’re my (Y/N).”

“Oh, of course, I... I didn’t mean to say that you… I...” You stammered, digging the needle into your finger due to your agitated hands.

“I was just joking,” she murmured, sighing and returning to the fabrics. “You are still afraid of me…”

“No, no. I…” You said hurriedly. You began to think that silence was your ally in that house, not your enemy. You wish you were dusting and talking only to yourself at that moment.

“Look at that doll over there,” Donna said, pointing to it. “I want a dress just like that one.”

“I... Okay,” you said, relieved to return to your increasingly appreciated silence.

Time passed slowly, with the only sound of an old clock breaking the calm of that sinister workshop. The two of you sewed in silence. You were surprised by the skill and delicacy with which she treated each of her works. A feared, dangerous woman did everything possible to ensure that the dolls she created were perfect.

From time to time, you looked at the side of her face; a pale face, partially covered by that horrible black veil. A normal ear, black hair apparently tied up... There was nothing that made you think that this woman was a monster, as the villagers liked to say. For some reason, you felt some discomfort being around her. Not because of her subtle lavender scent or because of the fear she might give you. You felt that somehow, you needed to set the record straight, that you had to let her know that you weren't as scared as she thought.

“Donna,” you said, in a tone so low. You doubted she had heard it.

The lady in black turned her head slowly, but without stopping sewing that small dress.

“I'm sorry,” you said, playing with the black thread in your hand.

“What are you sorry about?” She asked, looking back at the dress.

“I'm sorry I said... Well, I'm sorry you think that...” You stammered, feeling horribly ridiculous.

“I don't like when you stutter, (Y/N). Speak clearly, please,” she asked you kindly.

“I'm not afraid of you,” you said, closing your eyes and praying that Donna wouldn't look at you right at that moment.

“Sei una bugiarda,” she whispered, shaking her head.

You frowned, since you didn't understand her words.

“What? Sorry, I don't understand.”

“I said...” The doll maker said, with anger showing in her voice. “…You are a liar.”

“No, I'm not lying,” you said, stopping sewing and crossing your arms. “Maybe, maybe at first I was afraid. I'm not going to deny it but... This time I've been here... Well, the truth is that I can't complain. What I want to say is that... I’m, I’m comfortable with you,” you said, feeling a knot in your stomach, as if you weren't really just telling the truth, as if those words were hiding something else, something that you couldn't, or didn't want to see.

“Are you?” She asked, also leaving the small dress next to her.

You nodded.

“This is the first time someone has said something like that to me. Excuse me if it's hard for me to believe it,” Donna said crestfallen, playing with her hands in her lap. That was like she was feeling shame too. Curious

There were no more words. After that declaration of sincerity, you returned to your work, to your needle and thread. Donna didn't seem to think about it. You, on the other hand, began to notice a different nervousness when you were next to her.

 Time, days, weeks, months continued to pass. You couldn't say that you had a good relationship with Donna, but it improved a lot. Now, she allowed you to read next to her. Little by little you began to have more developed conversations. Always about banal and absurd topics, but conversations, conversations that didn’t include the words: I'm sorry.

That kind of a beginning of a friendship made your attitude change, looking for the lady in black yourself, wanting to spend more time with her. Maybe it was your imagination, but you had the feeling she was doing exactly the same.

Many times, when you were cleaning the dust in the living room, she would appear by surprise, approaching you, pretending to look for a book on one of the shelves. You knew she was pretending, since she always picked up the same essay about mountain plants.

What was happening? You were dying to find out.

“Happy birthday, (Y/N),” you sighed as you opened your eyes. It was your first birthday in that house. You weren't expecting calls from your friends or your family. Surely they thought you were dead a long time ago. It was not something strange in that village.

You went down the stairs yawning, passing by the portrait that, for a while, began to give you chills. It was no longer fear, or uncertainty, it was something else, something you were ashamed to say.

On top of the dining room table, there was something different. It seemed as if… As if someone had given you a gift. A beautiful rose decorated what looked like a carefully wrapped package. Next to it there was a card.

You picked it up suspiciously, wondering who had been thoughtful enough to send you something like that. There was no way you believed Donna had anything to do with it.

I hope you can enjoy your birthday the same way I enjoy your company.

Donna

“What? You're kidding me?” You whispered with wide eyes and trembling hands. Had it been her? It seemed incredible. Would it be a trap? There was only one way to find out.

You unwrapped the small package carefully. You didn't know what to expect and you didn't know why your heart was beating so fast.

“Oh, wow...” You whispered when you took a small bracelet with gold and silver tones out of the box. It seemed like something very expensive and unexpected. “My God… It’s amazing…”

“Do you like it?” a familiar soft and hoarse voice spoke behind you. There was Donna, with a formal but nervous posture, studying your gestures. Frightened, you put your hand on your chest.

“Donna, I... You didn't have to,” you said, smiling, running your fingers through the small golden flowers that adorned the bracelet.

“I wanted to do it,” she said, abruptly.

You nodded gratefully, awkwardly trying to place the gift on your wrist.

“Wait, let me help you.”

Donna approached slowly, taking the bracelet in her hand and wrapping it around your wrist. The touch of her skin against yours made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Maybe it was because she had never been so close to you, or maybe it was because you wanted her to be that close.

“I... Thank you very, very much,” you said, looking at your now decorated wrist.

Her hand stayed in yours, you assumed due to inertia. Her fingers played with yours naturally, but with the feeling that they had no intention of letting yours go.

“You deserve it. I... I, I like you're here with me,” she said shyly, pushing her hand away from you when she realized where it was.

“It's quite a compliment my... Donna,” you said nervously, not knowing whether to go back or advance a few inches, confused by the feeling of wanting to do it.

“Your Donna,” she repeated with an amused tone. You smiled back and for a moment, a kind of out-of-nowhere tension came between you.

“I... I better go to prepare breakfast,” you said, making the decision to move away. She sighed and shook her head.

“Let me do it myself. Today is your birthday. Also, it's a great day. Would you like to have breakfast outside? You know, together,” she asked, looking away from you.

“Of course, I would love to...” You sighed, staring into her black veil.

From that moment on, something you couldn't see had begun. You no longer ate separately, you had stopped distancing yourself. You began to eat together, to watch movies together, in short, to be together.

You already knew what things you could say without make her mad, the things you could talk about without fear of punishment. In an instant everything became different, almost as if it were a dream, or a creation of your mind to make your life a bit more pleasant.

Of all the people in the village, you never imagined you would have feelings for one of the lords. Yes, feelings. You could no longer deny your nervousness when being with her, your heartbeat every time she touched you. Maybe you were losing your mind, or maybe it was already lost.

One night, like every other night for a while, you looked at the bracelet on your wrist in the moonlight. Sleeping was a luxury that your thoughts no longer allowed you to do. You thought about her, about Donna. You wondered why people said those things about her, why they thought she was a monster when she never was such a thing for you. You were also looking for an excuse to stop feeling the things you felt, to refuse to admit that you were falling in love with her.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” A squeaky voice brought you out of your self-pity. The Angie doll suddenly came into your room, jumping onto the bed and shaking you.

“Angie, what's wrong? What do you want?” You asked, moving the wooden arms away from your body.

“It's Donna, Donna has problems,” the doll said, visibly nervous. You stood up immediately, frowning.

“What problems? What's wrong?”  You asked following the puppet out of the room.

“She has lost her mind again! Help her, help her, please!” Angie shouted, dragging to the old elevator.

“Okay, okay, calm down...” you said nervously, trying not to trip over anything in the dark.

You knew that Donna sometimes suffered from anxiety attacks, that her mental problems were always lurking. You had always left her alone. You were never allowed to help her.

“Donna?” You asked entering the bedroom, where the lady in black was, sitting in the corner, balancing with her knees on her chest. “Donna, what's wrong?”

“No! Stay away!” The lady in black screeched, putting a hand in front of her. “They, they will catch you!”

“They? What are you talking about?” You asked carefully, approaching slowly and crouching down next to her. “Hey, Donna, calm down.”

“Go away! I don't want them to hurt you!” She screamed again, hitting the wooden floor with her fists. That had to hurt.

You, ignoring her delirious screams, grabbed her wrists to prevent them from going down again.

“Come on, calm down, Donna...” You whispered, trying hard to keep her hands from moving. “Everything is fine, I'm here.”

“They, they whisper things to me... they want, they want to hurt us...” She murmured, with her gaze lost, shaking her head.

You were so nervous that you hadn't even noticed a small detail. The black veil that covered her face had disappeared. The mysterious Donna Beneviento revealed herself to you without wanting it.

It was a beauty incomparable to any other, a scared and hurt face, a scar that took up part of the right side of her face. That was the reason. That's why she wore the veil. Her black hair was tied up in a messy bun, harmoniously framing her features. You could have been staring at her face, at her newfound beauty. But it wasn't the time.

“They want to leave me alone!” The lady screamed, fighting against the force you exerted on her arms. “Get out!”

“Donna, come on, relax. There's no one here…” You said, pushing your way through her spasms, kneeling in front of her. “No one wants to hurt you.”

“No... You will abandon me... They have told me... You are a bitch!”

You shook your head, feeling deeply sad at being unable to bring poor Donna back to her senses.

“No, stop, honey... You're going to hurt yourself, come on, stop, Donna, come to your senses. I'm here with you, I will never abandon you. Do you hear me?”

When her attempt to hurt her hands stopped, you took the opportunity to bring yours to her face, cupping it firmly so she could look at you. Her eye was red from crying.

Her breathing relaxed a bit, letting her arms fall to the floor and looking at you in panic.

“That's it... Relax. Nobody is going to hurt you. I would never allow it... Come on, breathe, breathe with me...”

She followed your orders, despite still being nervous. Your hands caressed her face lovingly as you brought her forehead against yours.

“Okay, Donna... Breathe... You're safe...” You whispered affectionately as her hands returned to your wrists, gripping them tightly but with no intention of causing harm.

“(Y/N)...” The lady in black sighed, moving away from you and bringing one of her hands to her uncovered face. Unfortunately, she realized that you had seen her.

“Shhh, no, it's okay,” you said when she thrashed around in your arms again, trying to escape your grip.

“Let me go! Don't look at me!” Donna screamed, pushing you angrily, causing you to fall to the floor backwards.

“Hey, hey, come on. It's okay,” you said, standing up, grabbing her wrist when she was about to run away. “Donna, stop.”

“No, no... Why did you have to do it?!” She wailed with a heartbreaking cry, stamping her feet hard on the floor, making even Angie hide behind a piece of furniture.

“I just want to help you,” you said, with tears in your eyes. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. “Come on, come here…” you whispered, extending your hand towards her, who pushed it away with a resounding smack.

“I'm a monster,” the lady in black said sobbing, turning her back on you.

“No, no, Donna, you're not,” you said, approaching cautiously, putting a hand on her shoulder. You didn't know the limit of her patience, especially in that state. “You are a beautiful woman and… And a  kind one. I love spending the day with you, reading with you... You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met and I...”

“Do you think you can fool me?  Do you think you can make me believe that you appreciate me? That’s what you want? Do you want me to fall in love even more and then abandon me?”

“What? No...” You said with a sad look, without paying attention to her words. At least at first.

“You’re lying”

“I'm not lying,” you whispered as she turned towards you, head down, embarrassed by her appearance. “You are… You are special to me.”

“Do you know how many maids like you have told me those stupid words?” She asked, abruptly removing your hand from her shoulder.

“No, I don’t know.”

“They were all the same, liars who only wanted to rob me... Insult me, some of them even tried to kill me... You are all the same... You’re just bitches, all of you.”

“Donna, stop saying those things... Your words are hurting me,” you sobbed, shaking your head and trying unsuccessfully to caress her cheek.

“And to think that you were different from them hurts me too. I thought you felt something for me,” she accused with a sigh, with a dangerous look.

“Donna, I...” You said, incredulous at the pain in her words. “I feel something for you. I don't know what horrible things they've done to you but... But...”

“Shut up. Look at me! She screamed madly, grabbing your head tightly, making you look at her face, making you unable to look anywhere else. “No one could feel anything for me, I'm horrible and you know it. I really loved you, (Y/N). I really thought you were different.”

“Well, I'm different,” you protested, lowering her arms abruptly.

“Get out my sight. Take whatever you want from the house and disappear forever. I don't want to think you're telling the truth just for breaking my heart later. Leave before I feel the need to hurt you.”

“What? No, I don't want to leave,” you said with a grimace of displeasure. “I don't want to leave. I want to stay with you!” You screamed, desperate at your inability to reason with her.

“You’re lying!”

“I’m not lying! I love you!” You shouted, confessing a truth that was already beginning to be too heavy on your head.

“You can't love me!” Donna screamed back, pushing you angrily by your shoulders. “You can’t…”

Before she could react, you approached her, grabbing her chin, taking advantage of that small moment of delirium. Your hands traveled to her waist, gently pulling her towards your body. One of them went up to her cheek, caressing it slowly as your head leaned towards hers, closing the distance between you with a slow, but firm kiss.

She gasped in shock, but she made no effort to move away from you. Her entire body relaxed and her hands rested on your cheeks, keeping your lips glued to hers, not wanting to lose that contact, that sensation that your kisses caused.

“(Y/N)...” She whispered into your lips, separating slowly before launching herself into them again, deepening the kiss, in a messy but affectionate way.

“I love you, Donna...” You said sobbing, cupping her face in your hands, with your lips still very close to hers.

“You, you’ve kissed me,” the doll maker said, confused, but not wanting to move an inch. “No one had ever kissed me…”

“That's because they didn't feel what I feel for you...” You said tenderly, sincerely, grabbing the hand that rested on your cheek. “I don't care if you don't believe me, but every day I thank Mother Miranda for send me with you, Donna. I don't care if you don't believe me when I tell you that you are beautiful, that I hate the veil that covers your face. I don't mean to trick you, to hurt you, I just... I just want to be with you... My Donna...”

“Do you want to be with me?” She asked uncertainly, studying your features very closely, her voice trembling.

“I want”

“Aren't you going to abandon me?”

“Never”

An innocent smile spread across her face before kissing you again in an intense, erratic way, not wanting to let you even take a breath.

“I, I would really like to be with you, (Y/N)... I... No one has ever felt that way about me...”

You laughed softly, kissing her quickly again and hugging her tightly, making her feel safe in your arms.

“Let me love you, Donna...” You whispered into her shoulder, pressing her body tightly against yours. “Let me spend my life with you, enjoy how wonderful you are…”

She withdrew slowly, with a sigh that told you something was wrong. Her hands moved down your hips, meeting your own hands as her gaze focused on yours. Her expression had changed.

“I wish I could believe you, (Y/N), but I can’t, not yet,” Donna whispered, bringing a hand to your chest, regaining the distance she had lost. “I have always been so alone…”

“Not anymore, Donna, you're not alone anymore.  You don't have to trust me right now but... I will do whatever it takes to show you that my feelings are sincere,” you said, not letting desperation force you to kneel and beg for a chance.

Her gaze lowered back to your lips, wanting to kiss them again but, at the last moment, she regretted it.

“If you knew the things you make me feel, how fast my heart beats when you're around...” The lady whispered sadly, distrustfully.

“I believe I know. I feel the same way,” you said, letting your heart speak for you.

“Don't break my heart, please...” Donna whispered again, now gently kissing your lips.

“I would never do it,” you said between kisses, letting yourself be carried away by her sweet caresses, caresses that wandered over your body, exploring it cautiously.

“I want to keep kissing you,” Donna said, getting closer, begging not to lose that new sensation for her.

“As you wish, my Donna...”