# requests

[tench]

Not so sketchy requests! (I ended up making all three of them somehow) Mr L for @istadris Stolitz for @spottable-mouse Draxum for @river-mort Thank you for participating <3

[whisperedmeg]

NAILED IT ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x girlfriend!reader

summary: spencer’s been away too long, your nails are too long, and you’re getting a little desperate. good thing he’s always happy to lend a helping hand.

genre: fluff, smut | w/c: 2.1k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, spencer calls reader sweetheart & sweet girl & angel, hand/finger/nail kink, masturbation (f; only attempted/discussed), fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, spencer cums in his pants lol, no use of y/n

a/n: based on anon’s request! loved this idea so much. couldn’t help making spencer the ultimate super whipped boyfriend lmao. enjoy! 💅🏼😉 p.s. if you zoom in on the far left photo you’ll see my sad photoshop attempt at the manicure I described lmao

You send Spencer the photo just before sunset.

It’s nothing fancy — just your hand resting on your thigh, fresh from the nail salon, skin still warm from the hot towel they wrap your hands in at the end of your appointment. The polish is indigo, with little gold stars forming teeny tiny constellations on each nail. They catch in the light when you move. You know he’ll appreciate that. You type out a quick caption and hit send.

You: new favorite set?

His response is almost instant, a flurry of three successive messages:

Spence: How do your hands keep getting more beautiful?

Spence: Also. Yes. Definitely a new favorite.

Spence: Wish I was there.

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering, debating what to send next. You want to say something clever — something flirty or offhand or designed to make him blush a little in public — but instead you just type:

You: come home soon, please

—

The TV hums low in the background, something forgettable you haven’t really been paying close attention to. You sit in the quiet for a while, curled into the couch like it might hold you tighter if you’re still enough. Outside, the sky is bruised and soft and growing darker by the minute. You keep staring at your hands.

Spencer always pays for your manicures. It wasn’t your idea — the first time you mentioned how expensive a full set was, he’d looked almost offended on your behalf and insisted you let him cover it from now on.

“Let me. You’re not just getting them done for you,” he’d said. “You’re also getting them done for me.”

And it’s kind of true. Spencer loves to watch your hands when you talk, like there’s a whole language he’s learning just from your fingers. He traces your knuckles during movies, plays with your rings when you’re standing in line, thumbs over the backs of your hands while you read, threads your fingers through his and presses them down into the mattress when he’s on top of you. He holds them like they’re precious artifacts. Like they’re rare.

You’d gotten this set done a few days after he left for a case out in Denver, and much to both of your chagrin, it ended up being a bad one that would keep him in Colorado for much longer than expected. You hadn’t realized how much of a problem your new nails would be until later that night, when you were wound tight and lonely and craving something warm and familiar. You’d lit a candle. Touched yourself under the blanket. Tried to make it quick.

But it hadn’t worked. You’d scratched yourself twice and gotten the angle wrong three times, and by the time you gave up, your whole body felt edged and annoyed.

You’ve tried again since. Twice, each attempt more frustrating than the last. You can’t say it out loud — I can’t get myself off because my nails are too long — without feeling ridiculous, so you don’t tell Spencer when he calls you each night from the hotel.

You press your hands between your thighs and exhale slowly, willing the ache to dull.

It doesn’t. You know it won’t.

Not until Spencer’s back, not until his hands are on you again, not until you can tell him in person how frustrated you’ve been — half-ashamed, half-hoping he’ll find it as ridiculous and kind of hot as you suspect he might.

But for now, you just sit with it.

The polish catches the light. The stars on your fingers shimmer. And you wait.

—

After a long ten days without him, Spencer finally calls you from the jet to let you know he was landing and would be at your apartment soon. You barely say anything on the call — just a soft “okay, baby,” because anything more might unravel you with want. The line goes quiet for a moment until he says he misses you, and you say it back, and then the silence stretches again like it always does when neither of you wants to hang up first. Eventually, he does. Reluctantly.

You don’t move until you hear footsteps approaching the door.

He lets himself in with the key you gave him months ago and drops his go-bag to the floor. You rise slowly from the couch and walk to the entryway, taking in how his messy curls framing his forehead, suit jacket slouched and travel-wrinkled, dark circles beneath his eyes like parentheses around something unsaid. You can see how the case wore on him, the heaviness of whatever weight he’s left carrying even after it’s over. But the second he sees you, his posture softens.

You don’t say anything at first. You just meet him where he stands and wind your arms around his waist.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since he left.

“Hi,” you murmur.

He hums it back into your shoulder. “Hi.”

You stay like that for a while, his arms tightening around your back and his lips pressed to the side of your neck, like he needs to confirm you’re really here — still warm and real and his.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to look down at your hands.

“Let me see.”

You raise them instinctively, fingers spread. You watch his expression shift — first curious, then sweet, then something that edges towards arousal before he tamps it down with a swallow.

His thumb grazes over your ring finger. “These are… unreal.”

“You picked the design,” you remind him with a soft smile. “Sort of.”

“I told you I like stars. I didn’t realize you’d get a whole galaxy just for me.”

You shrug. “You pay, I impress.”

He smiles and lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing each fingertip like a habit. You feel those kisses everywhere.

“How was the flight?”

“Fine,” he says as he shrugs his jacket off. “Mostly. There was some turbulence. I didn’t sleep.”

You nod, even though he doesn’t need a response. The closeness is enough.

But when he leans in to press his forehead to yours, when he closes his eyes and exhales like the hard part’s over, you don’t relax the way you normally would. You’re warm, and full, and grateful he’s home, but there’s still something tight in your chest. In your belly. Lower.

He senses it instantly.

His hands still at your waist. His brow furrows just enough. “What is it?”

You hesitate. You could lie, say you’re just tired or overworked or don’t feel well. But the truth is sharp behind your teeth and strangely tender at the same time.

“I’ve just been a little… frustrated,” you say.

He stills. “Frustrated how?”

You glance down at your nails, then back up at him.

“I, um, got them done right after you left. They’re a lot longer and pointier than usual. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but I haven’t…” You gesture vaguely. “Been able to… you know.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. “You haven’t been able to… to touch yourself, this whole time?”

You shrug, embarrassed. “It’s harder with longer nails. Awkward. I gave up. Maybe I should just give in and buy a vibrator.”

His mouth opens, then closes as he processes the words. “You waited?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t mean to,” you say quickly. “This isn’t, like, a guilt trip or something. I don’t want you to feel guilty.”

He blinks. “No, no, I’m not feeling guilty, I’m feeling… lucky.” Then quieter: “And, okay, maybe a little like a negligent boyfriend.”

You smile, a little sheepish. “Not at all. You were out solving murders. That takes precedence.”

“I would’ve solved them faster had I known.”

You laugh, and he wraps you tighter into his chest.

After a pause, his voice comes low, reverent. “Let me fix it,” he murmurs. His fingers tighten at your waist, and his eyes don’t move from yours. “Come on.”

He walks you backward to the bedroom, his palm warm over the back of your neck like he’s trying to keep you grounded. He kisses you once before you sit back against the pillows, and again after — soft, open-mouthed — as he settles between your legs.

“You sure?” you whisper, even though you already know the answer. “You’re probably so tired. It can wait, really. I’m fine.”

He huffs a breath against your collarbone like it’s laughable. “You, my sweet girl, are not fine. You’ve been walking around like this for over a week. Of course I’m sure. Let me do this for you, please.”

You lean back on your elbows as he lifts your shirt and kisses the newly bared skin, slow and thorough. The reverence in his hands makes your stomach tighten. Like he’s not just touching you for the sake of it — he’s reacquainting himself. Like he missed you with his whole being.

As he peels your underwear down, his gaze catches on the shimmer of your nail polish again.

He parts your thighs slowly. Kisses the crease of your hip before shifting again to kiss your jaw. And then, with a careful breath, he drags two fingers between your folds and lets out the softest, most ruined sound you’ve ever heard him make.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re soaked.”

You want to say yeah, no shit, Sherlock, I told you I’ve been frustrated, but then his fingers dip in and curl just right and your mouth goes completely slack.

He watches your face like he’s cataloging it. Each shift of your expression, every twitch of your hips. He keeps his fingers slow, consistent — long strokes that press deep and purposeful, curved just slightly until your thighs start to tremble.

“You’re so tight,” he breathes. “So wet, sweetheart. You needed this.”

You nod, helpless. “Spencer—”

“I know.” His thumb moves to your clit, light and rhythmic. “Let me take care of it. I’ve got you.”

The build is fast — shamefully fast. You’d almost be embarrassed over how fast it is if it wasn’t for how sure you are that Spencer loves it. His fingers never stutter, never pause, and when he leans forward and kisses you again, you whimper his name.

“Come for me,” he says, soft and certain. “That’s it, angel. Want to feel you come around my fingers.”

And you do.

Your hips jerk forward, mouth releasing a sound you barely recognize as your own, and you feel yourself clench. He slows the pressure and rides the rhythm through it, eyes locked on yours until you collapse back against the mattress, gasping.

But Spencer? Spencer doesn’t stop. He simply adjusts, changes his position, presses a few kisses to your stomach. Then lower. Lower.

You jolt when you feel his mouth over your center.

“Spencer—oh, fuck.”

He looks up at you from between your thighs, curls already messy, mouth flushed.

“Put your hands in my hair,” he says, voice low. “I know it’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

You groan. “You’re such a cocky—”

He licks a slow stripe through you before you can finish the statement, and your back arches clean off the bed.

His fingers stay inside you — deep, curling just right — and his mouth covers your clit with obscene dedication. Tongue and lips and hands and pressure so steady it borders on unbearable. Your second orgasm builds sharper, thinner, a frayed wire stretched between nerve endings. Your thighs start to shake again and he presses in deeper, sucks a little harder, moans loudly against you when your nails graze his scalp.

You feel it in your whole body — his hunger. His focus. The way he wants this for you more than anything. You’re not even sure if you’re breathing.

“I’m—” you start, but you can’t get the warning out in time. Besides, he already knows.

You come again with a cry that tears out of your throat, and this time it overwhelms you — your body writhing, hands pulling at Spencer’s hair hard enough to make him groan. You’re too lost in the moment to notice how lost he is alongside you.

And then, as your limbs shake and your head falls back to the pillow, you hear a low, choked sound that didn’t come from you.

You glance down, dazed.

Spencer’s still between your legs, breathing heavy. He looks completely boneless, cheeks red, eyes half-lidded and glazed, limbs trembling a little, a combination of his sweat and your slick glistening on his skin. Then it hits you — you’ve seen that face before.

“Did you just…” You blink at him. “Spence, did you just come in your pants?”

He rests his forehead against your thigh and nods, clearly trying to catch his breath, clearly a little embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to.”

You start to giggle. It bubbles up through your chest, soft and stunned and fond beyond belief. “Oh my god, you totally humped the bed. Does getting me off really turn you on that much?”

He groans again, this time in embarrassment, but he’s smiling. “You were… god, you were just so perfect. And the way you pulled my hair and scratched my head… What was I supposed to do, not lose my mind?”

You smile and comb your fingers through his hair again, gentler now, your nails grazing his scalp. He hums.

“So,” you murmur, “would it be cruel to say I might keep my nails like this a little longer?”

Spencer kisses your inner thigh, still breathless. “Cruel? No. Cruel would be not letting me do this every time you need it.”

—

At some point you end up tangled sideways across the mattress, half under the covers, one of his legs still dangling off the edge.

Spencer’s cheek is pressed to your hip, his eyes fluttering closed every few seconds, hair mussed beyond recognition. You’ve managed to wriggle your underwear back on — barely — but he hasn’t made any attempt to move.

“You good?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over the crown of his head.

“Mmhmm.”

“You sure about that? You came in your pants and then passed out,” you tease.

“I did not pass out,” he mumbles. “I’m resting. You’re comfortable.”

You smile and let your nails trace gently over his scalp again. He hums.

“You really missed this, huh?”

He opens one eye, gaze lazy and warm. “I missed you.”

His sincerity hits you. Your cheeks heat up, and you manage a soft hum in response — your chest is a little too full to find the words to speak properly.

He finally shifts, crawling up beside you and nuzzling into your neck. You wrap your arms around him and let your nails scratch lightly at the base of his skull, just enough to make him shiver.

“Seriously, though,” he says, barely a whisper now. “Keep your nails long like this. Please? I’ll take care of you.”

You kiss his hair.

“Anything you want, Spence.”

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

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[fluentmoviequoter]

No Rules

Part 2 of Break My Rules

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Smitty!reader

Summary: As your relationship with Tim progresses, you both learn that some rules are worth not only breaking, but forgetting.

Warnings: injuries (Tim and Smitty), stress/anxiety, fluff, comfort, teasing/banter, insecurity, discussion of breaking up, softie Tim

Word Count: 3.8k+ words, requested

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

Beneath the desk, Tim’s foot moves to an unheard beat. You’ve been at his house almost every night in the past week, not because either of you needed comfort but because you wanted to spend time together. He’s convinced that breaking your rule is the best thing that has ever happened to him. Lucy has been nagging him since the morning after he kissed you, somehow knowing he had made a major change.

“I’m just going to ask her what happened,” Lucy sighs, pulling her phone from her pocket.

“Where do you think she’d like to go for dinner?” Tim asks.

Lucy’s eyes widen – which makes Tim roll his eyes and grumble that he regrets asking – before she steps forward and slaps Tim’s shoulder.

“What happened?” she demands.

Tim rubs his shoulder and begins to answer before they’re interrupted.

“Another stripper incident, Bradford?” Smitty inquires, smiling as he leans on a nearby desk.

Lucy swallows, observing Tim. Tim is unfazed by the interruption from your dad, though, and shakes his head.

“Grey told me to find something to do,” Smitty continues, nearly slipping from his attempted casual position. “What are you up to?”

Planning a date with your daughter, Tim thinks smugly.

“We’re looking at satellite of my patrol route,” Lucy lies. “I’m looking for-“

Smitty raises his hand to stop her, then groans. “Sounds boring.”

As he walks away, Tim shakes his head and wonders if you’ve taken a paternity test.

“What were you thinking?” Lucy inquires softly. “And who asked who out? Tell me everything.”

“Dinner somewhere nice, doesn’t matter, and no,” Tim answers in order of her questions.

“I’m taking that as she asked you out, and good for her.”

“I asked her first,” Tim grumbles under his breath as Lucy offers her phone, displaying a list of restaurants.

“I hope it goes well, Tim,” Lucy offers. “You both deserve it.”

“Thanks.”

“And I’m going to ask her for all of the details,” she adds before turning on her heel and leaving.

“I have no doubt,” Tim mumbles as he begins typing a text to you.

Tim pulls you under his arm as you exit his truck, laughing and smiling as you lean against him. Your first date went better than expected, and you’d told him as much before your food was delivered to your table. He admitted then that he’d lied awake last night, worried that he might be nervous and say the wrong thing, somehow making you regret breaking your rule for him. You’d taken his hand over the table and assured him that you would never regret it, you’d never been happier, and then you dropped your voice and admitted you feared you’d be so nervous you’d be awkward and ruin his carefully planned night. After that shared admission, you breathed and spoke a little easier, enjoying every single moment in Tim’s presence.

Your phone buzzes in your bag – which is over Tim’s shoulder – while you unlock your front door.

“You need to get that?” Tim asks, his hand spread comfortingly against your back as you walk inside.

“It’s probably Lucy asking how you did,” you say, smiling at Tim.

“Oh, so this was a test?” he questions, nodding along with your joke. “How’d I do?”

You hum, tapping your chin as you lean closer to him. “You couldn’t have done better.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” he points out.

You shake your head before you pull your bag off his shoulder and set it aside. Then, you wrap your arms over Tim’s shoulder, moving into his space as his hands rise to hold your waist.

“We should do this again,” Tim murmurs, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Nodding, you kiss his jaw.

“But you’re busy.”

You hum at that, kissing the other side of his face.

“So maybe I could take you out to dinner after the charity show,” he suggests breathlessly.

“Lucy called dibs on that night,” you reply between kisses.

“Seems like I should have veto rights,” he complains.

“Technically, she was my friend first.”

“Sure. But it’s different.”

Tim catches your jaw, holding your face gently in his palm to direct your eyes to his.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “It’s different. How about the day after?”

Tim smiles, shakes his head, and kisses you.

As your choir team lines up to go on stage, you rise to your tiptoes and do a headcount. You come up two short, so you recount but get the same number.

“Who’s missing?” you ask.

“Peter couldn’t get his tie on,” one of the boys answers. “Derek stayed to help him.”

“Okay, can one of you go get them, please?” you request.

“Sure,” the same boy agrees. “As long as you’re okay with them not wearing ties?”

Your brows draw together, which is enough reason for him to add, “None of us know how to tie a tie. Our parents did ours, but Derek took his off to try to figure it out to help Peter.”

Pinching your eyes closed, you take a ragged breath. “Go get Peter and Derek, please, and I’ll try to find someone who can help them out. We’ve only got five minutes.”

He straightens and salutes you before running toward the bathrooms behind the stage. Shaking your head, you smile at their antics. They’re good kids, a better choir team, and you’re incredibly proud of them for all they’ve done.

“What about your dad?” the girl standing closest to you suggests. “You said he was coming.”

A memory of your dad tying a bow tie like a 5-year-old's last-minute gift wrap flashes in your mind before you draw your lower lip between your teeth and think. The answer comes as quickly as the memory: Tim Bradford. He doesn’t answer his phone, though.

Tim is tuning Lucy out as the crowd of law enforcement officers and their families find seats. The charity show is a highlight for many people, and the department always gets an astounding amount of donations from the live broadcast. As Lucy talks about the prospect of a station-wide talent show – or something like that, Tim thinks – he wonders about you. You were nervous before your kids competed, but he doesn’t know if a charity show is any less nerve-wracking for you or your team. He’s learned how to calm you down during the months you’ve been friends and found a few new methods in the weeks you’ve been more.

When his phone vibrates, your name and picture illuminating the screen, he stands. Lucy stops talking and asks what’s wrong, but Tim steps past her wordlessly and exits the large auditorium. He finds you in less than ninety seconds, relieved to see you smiling at one of your students.

Approaching you, Tim clears his throat to draw your attention. “You called?”

The teenage girls beside you fall silent, their eyes widening and lips parting at the sight of Tim Bradford in a suit. You take him in, dropping your eyes to his shoes before dragging your gaze back up to his face. His hidden smile tells you he appreciates your reaction to the view.

“Did you put on your tie?” you question suddenly, remembering why you called him. “Can you tie one?”

“Yes,” he answers carefully. “Why?”

“Your saviour returns!”

You release a deep sigh as three boys return to the lines, one wearing a tie properly and the others clinching the black fabric between their fingers.

“I got it,” Tim assures you, pressing his hand between your shoulder blades. “Relax.”

Nodding, you do just that. Tim can feel the tension in your back release before he steps away and introduces himself to Peter and Derek. They shake his hand, and you watch as Tim bends slightly at his waist and explains what he’s doing, allowing Peter to watch him tie Derek’s and Derek to watch the process on Peter. They thank him, offering a fist bump that Tim takes in stride. When he’s finished, he returns to your side, his eyes bouncing between yours as he ensures you’re good.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Thank you!” your entire team calls together.

Tim smiles and waves at them, chuckling as they applaud him while he walks back toward the auditorium. Your laughter-filled demand to focus is the last thing he hears before he returns to his seat, and he remembers it rather than indulging Lucy’s questions.

Three hesitant knocks distract you from the sheet music spread before you. Pulling a sticky note from a nearby pad, you mark your place before moving toward the door. As you pull it open, you see Tim leaning against the door jamb with heavy eyelids and a small, close-lipped smile.

You don’t speak as you open the door wider and invite him in. Tim waits until you’ve closed the door to perch on the back of your couch and open his arms to you. Not questioning or hesitating, you step into his hold and wrap your arms firmly around his waist. His heart beats beneath your cheek as his hands wander your back, grounding himself as his breaths slow. When he leans heavier against you, you grunt and tap his back.

“You’re fine,” he says into your hair. “I’ll get up in a second.”

You smile, trusting him. As promised, he stands a few moments later, keeping you close.

“Can I get you anything?” you offer, tipping your chin to look at him.

“No,” he murmurs. “Thank you. I just- I’m just tired. Last time I slept, I had nightmares.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tim shrugs. They’re normal now, but they’ve gotten fewer and farther between over the past few years. Dreaming of losing you, however, might be the worst he’s ever had.

“What are you doing?” Tim asks, dropping his hands to your hips as he surveys the music on your table.

“Prepping for semi-finals and finals,” you answer. “It’s not a guarantee, but we need to be ready either way.”

“Anything I could help with?”

Smiling, you counter, “I think you might be too tired.”

“I’m good,” Tim assures you.

“Then… I could use a distraction, something worth taking a break for,” you whisper.

Tim hums. “Well, I could make dinner.” He lays his hand on your shoulder, then trails it up to hold the back of your neck. “Or we could try something else?”

Your nod isn’t enough. Tim waits until you request, “Kiss me,” to move forward. He has this down to a science, you think as he angles his face to align perfectly with yours, like two puzzle pieces made to fit together and only together. While he holds your jaw, you slide your hands from his waist up to his chest, leaning closer to him with every second.

A sudden knock on your door startles you, but you don’t immediately pull away from Tim. He smiles into the kiss and steps back, prepared to open the door for you.

“I can see your car!” your dad yells from the porch.

Your eyes widen as you look between Tim and the door. He snatches his phone off the couch before tugging your shirt back into its rightful place.

“I have a backdoor, but you’d have to jump the fence,” you say. “He won’t stay long, though.”

“What do you want me to do?” Tim whispers, lifting his arms. “And don’t say meet Smitty as your father, I don’t have the energy for that right now.”

Hiding your smile, you nod in agreement. “Bedroom it is,” you decide, pushing Tim toward the hallway.

“Moving fast aren’t we?” Tim jokes. “When I said we could break some more rules, I didn’t-“

You cut him off by closing the door behind him. As you return to the front door, you glance in the bathroom mirror to ensure your hair looks okay. Your dad knocks again, likely getting worried, so you hurry to the door and pull it open with an easy smile.

“Sorry,” you begin, “I was looking at music.”

“I’m aware of your inability to multi-task when it comes to melodies,” he replies, pulling you into a quick hug.

“I’m actually working on harmonies.”

“Tomato, potato.”

“You alright?” you inquire. “You don’t stop by much these days.”

“I wanted to see you after the show, but you were busy rubbing elbows and then you were gone,” your dad explains.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say as you sit beside him, “a friend wanted to take me out to dinner, and I couldn’t find you in the crowd. It was hectic.”

“Well, you and the kids did a great job.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

 “We haven’t gotten dinner in a few weeks,” he remembers, “what about tonight?”

“I really need to finish this prep,” you answer. “What about tomorrow?”

He checks the date on his watch, then nods. “I- I’m glad you found some people to hang out with. Anyone special?”

“Are you asking if I’m seeing anyone?” you translate.

“Hey, I’m just making conversation, dear, sweet daughter,” he defends, lifting his hands in surrender. “But the offer-“

“I might be,” you interrupt. “I’m not sure where it’s going yet.”

“I’m happy for you,” your dad says. “And I’ll let you get back to work. Meet you at the station tomorrow or pick you up here?”

“I can meet you there. I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too. And tell your new friend your dad is a cop before he can get any ideas.”

“I’ll do that,” you agree.

You wave as your dad pulls away, then close the door and sigh. Walking back to your bedroom, you begin to wonder if you left anything out and fail to remember if you even made your bed this morning. Tim has been quiet, but he had to have heard your dad leave. Without knocking, you push the door open.

“What are you doing?” you ask when you see Tim sitting at the end of your – made, thankfully - bed with something in his hands.

“You’re adorable,” he says, showing you the picture of you and your dad at your last high school choir show.

“Shut up,” you beg, taking the picture and laying it face down on the shelf he took it from.

“Hey, you’re the one that invited me into your bedroom,” he defends.

“That joke isn’t going to stop anytime soon is it?” Tim smiles, so you sigh and remind him, “I’ve broken a lot of rules for you. Don’t push me.”

Tim nods with faux seriousness before he reaches out, grabs your waist, and pulls you down onto the bed with him. Propped up on his elbow, he looks down at you like he never wants to see anything else.

“We were doing something before we were interrupted, right?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He leans forward like he’s going to kiss you, then stands and says, “Dinner.”

“Never should have brought you in here,” you grumble as he pulls you to your feet.

“Guys!” you call. “Focus!”

It works for a second; the team quiets and watches you, then one person laughs, and the room descends into chaos once more. You chuckle then, unable to remember what made everyone laugh in the first place. Regionals are a week away, so you can stand to give them a bit of a break. You would have loved one in high school.

While you scroll through your phone to find a fun song for them to sing as a break in routine, Lucy calls. You swallow the anxiety you always feel when a cop calls you unexpectedly and then answer the phone.

The room silences after Lucy speaks. Her rushed explanation, “Something happened during a call; your dad and Tim are in the hospital,” makes your face drop, and when the kids standing before you see the fear in your expression, they silence.

“How bad?” you whisper, gripping the edge of your desk.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “They were both injured and transported via ambulance. The watch commander and I are waiting for the doctor to come give us an update. I just wanted to let you know.”

“I’m on my way.”

You hang up, trying to remember everything you need to say and do before you leave.

“I texted my mom,” one of the students – Eliza, you think but can’t be sure – says. “She’s here, so she can stay with us until everyone’s parents get here.”

On cue, her mother walks into the room and lays her hand on your shoulder. You nod, then exit the room. Your team calls after you, sending well wishes and promising to keep practicing. Your mind is racing with thoughts of the worst-case scenario.

The drive to the hospital is strange; you’re focused but distant at the same time. It feels like three seconds and three days, but you enter the emergency room and see Lucy and another cop lingering by a door.

Lucy rushes to you, pulls you into a hug, and says, “They’re fine. You can go see them, but…”

“But what?” you press.

“They’re in the same room.”

You release a sigh. If that’s the worst news, then they must really be okay. Tim and your dad are both important to you, and you need to see them. It’s as good a time as any to let your father know about your broken rule, you decide as you knock on their shared door and step inside.

Tim sees you first, his eyes brightening as he inhales deeply. Your dad is on a bed to Tim’s left, looking worse for the wear. One eye is bruised and swollen, a bandage lines his collarbone beneath his hospital gown, and his knuckles are red. Looking back at Tim, you’re unsurprised when he tips his head, telling you to visit your dad rather than worrying about him.

“Hey, Dad,” you greet quietly as you approach his less-bruised side.

“Hi,” he replies. “Looks pretty cool, huh? Bruce Willis couldn’t have come out this unscathed.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but you smile. Your dad can be dim sometimes, but it’s who he is. Right now, you’re glad to hear anything he says, no matter how strange it may be.

“We’re going to have to reschedule dinner,” he adds.

“Yeah, that’s okay,” you reply. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks to Bradford.”

You look across the room then, meeting Tim’s eyes.

“We got a call, standard, nothing out of the ordinary,” Tim explains. “Turns out, it was an ambush. I managed to get the guys off Smitty, but it wasn’t pretty.”

“Thank you,” you tell him. “Are you alright?”

“Bradford is pure steel, I think,” your dad interrupts. “A shot to the vest and he didn’t even go down.”

You freeze at the realization that Tim was shot. Desperate to go to his side, hug him, feel him alive and loving in your arms, you weigh your options.

“Dad,” you begin, “Tim-“

“Isn’t Superman,” Tim interrupts, shaking his head at you. He doesn’t want you to tell your dad yet, but you don’t know why. “I’ve been trying to tell him that.”

Unseen to you, Tim’s mind is overthinking so hard it’s giving him a dull ache behind his eyes. If you told your dad you broke your rule and started dating a cop – one from his station, no less – would it be enough? You were scared to be with a cop because of the risk, the fear, the stress, and everything that loving a cop requires. This will be enough to make you regret it, a voice in his mind says, and you’re going to leave.

For you, however, nothing has changed since you first told him you wanted to try. Losing him is going to hurt regardless of whether he’s taken from you or you leave voluntarily, so you deserve to be happy, to have him by your side when you’re happy, scared, elated, in love, and everything in between.

“Hey,” Lucy says from the doorway. “Smitty, your doctor cleared a trip to the cafeteria, if you’re up for it?”

“Free food?” he questions excitedly. “Best part of the hospital as far as I’m concerned.”

Lucy smiles at you as your dad is helped into a wheelchair. You squeeze his hand and tell him to have fun, which he promises to do.

“Tim,” you sigh after the door closes, walking to the side of his bed.

“It’s okay,” he says, nodding as he avoids your eyes. “I get it.”

Furrowing your brows, you slow and question, “Get what?”

“This is why you didn’t want to be with a cop. I understand that it can be too much, that you don’t deserve it. I won’t blame you for leaving, and I won’t make it awkward with Lucy.”

Your jaw drops as you reach his bed. Despite the shock at what Tim just said, you take his hand. A bandage wrapped tightly around his chest and shoulder is visible, and you drag your finger across the skin of his chest without thinking.

“Are you alright?” you whisper.

“I’m fine,” he answers tightly. “A piece of buckshot grazed my shoulder. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Tim doesn’t reply, opting to stare past your shoulder.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” you say. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Of course not. I just…”

“You assumed I’d leave when it got hard? This isn’t a Hallmark movie, Tim, there is no second act breakup for a grand reconciliation. I meant what I said before: I want you. Losing you is my greatest fear, so why would I walk away from you? After everything it’s taken to get here?”

Tim visibly relaxes, sinking into the pillow behind him as he interlaces his fingers with yours and tugs you closer.

“I love you,” he says, blinking slowly. “You don’t have to say it back yet.”

“I love you,” you promise. “And breaking that rule is the best thing I’ve ever done; don’t ever doubt that or second guess if I mean what I say. You’ve healed so many jagged edges I didn’t even realize I had, Tim, and we’re going to keep growing together, alright?”

“Alright,” Tim agrees, nodding. “Whatever you say, honey.”

You laugh, blinking away the tears clouding your eyes as you lean against the side rail of his bed. “Could I interest you in a song?”

“Do you have to ask?” he counters.

“Tim?”

He blinks his eyes open again and hums.

“If you ever mention me leaving you again, I will punch you, buckshot or not.”

Tim smiles. “Yeah, I’m okay with that.”

He moves over carefully, inviting you to sit on the bed with him. Before your song is over, he’s asleep. You trace your fingers along his knuckles, reiterating your promise.

You barely manage to slide off the bed and take a seat across the room before your dad returns with three trays stacked high with food. As you talk to him, you’re distantly aware of how Tim invited you into his bed. Now, two can play his teasing game, you think, and there are no rules.

[its-avalon-08]

🍯Daniel Riccardo x Y/N Verstappen🍯

themes : angst, emotional, slight smut in a few chapters, overshadowing, loneliness

he was the honey badger with a smile that lit up the paddock and voice that made hearts melt. she was max verstappen’s little sister—sharp, observant, and always quietly watching him from the shadows of the garage.

when daniel first met y/n during his Red Bull days, they bonded over late-night paddock walks, shared jokes, and the unspoken understanding of living in Max’s world. through team changes, podiums, shoes and heartbreaks, their friendship endured—always steady, never crossing the line.

but everything shifts after the 2024 Singapore Grand Prix—the night daniel says his silent tearful goodbye to formula 1. When y/n finds him under the singapore night sky, hoping to comfort him, her words accidentally reopen old wounds. the two break apart as peers and friends. daniel's hurt overwhelms him and his harsh words dig into y/n's soul.

when they meet again after an year of radio silence, will they wind their way back or will some wounds always remain open?

comment to get added to taglist | updates daily | ten part series

[domutkniecie]

requests you say???? perhaps a davesol/soldave?.... :3c

hello anon from dec 1st 2024

and then they made out.

[fairywinds]

Since you asked for requests: perhaps Liko with a mega altaria? No pressure, though!

the mega altaria took all the life force out of me LMFAO

[deztryx]

Buster from you would be so fun

BUSTERRR🗣‼️‼️🤤

Oughehdu I love him i hope he doesnt explode🦄

[aroace-insert-reader]

hey! I've been craving a idea... Could you write a hurt/comfort for Bakugo with a retiredpro!reader who got put out of commission and months/years later she turned from a happy, playful girl to an angry, isolated person? And Bakugo finds her?

Hey! I'm here to ABSOLUTELY BEG FOR YOUR FORGIVENESS 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ I made this blog and then was promptly completely sucked into the chaos that was my senior year of high school and had no time at all to do anything creative. I can't even remember when you sent this in but I know it's been sitting in my drafts since LAST YEAR. So so sorry. I'm finally completely done with high school and will hopefully have a little time to do some other things. I hope this is enjoyable enough to make up for the long wait 🤍

Pro-Hero Bakugou x Retired Pro Hero Reader

**all pairings on this blog are platonic**

(non-detailed spoilers for the manga ending)

Despite everything, UA was everything you could have wanted.

You enjoyed your classes. You loved your friends. You wanted to learn how to save people.

Sure, your first year and a half was a mess. Fighting for your lives and for everyone around you. It was terrifying, but you guys won. Not without losses and injuries and lots of things that needed to be rebuilt. But you did it.

Which is why it hurt so fucking much to be where you are now.

You helped defeat the most infamous villains in recent history at fucking fifteen years old.

And now you can barely leave your apartment.

Injuries aren't anything unfamiliar to heroes. Especially not to you and your classmates. Close calls, hospital beds, and physical therapy, could almost be considered close friends.

But you've always gotten better.

"I'm sorry, (name). It might be more reasonable to consider a career change."

The words echoed in your head.

"...consider a career change."

consider.

Like they gave you a choice.

As soon as your agency heard about the extent of your injuries, they very politely let you know that they couldn't keep a hero that would be out of commission for more than 6 months on payroll and promptly kicked you to the curb.

It was a underground mission gone wrong.

One day you were a hero, the next you weren't.

And aside from some small news outlets and gossip blogs debating the cause of your disappearance, the world moved on.

Sure, you still technically have a license.

But that doesn't do you much good when you can barely hobble to your job as a barista. (You know, the one that you had to get because you now have no income.)

You haven't spoken to anyone since the mission.

Your phone got busted and you got a new number and you couldn't really stomach putting in the numbers of everyone else out there living your dream.

Hell, you're pretty sure Todoroki just made the top three.

You know it isn't fair to your old friends.

But at this point, you're not really sure that you can be friends with them anymore.

You can't laugh or smile or joke around.

You can't be the life of the party.

You didn't die in that mission, but it sure feels like some part of you did.

You're not really sure that their friend still exists...

"--Are you even listening to me?! I swear people these days! The disrespect!" The woman standing in front of you startles you out of your thoughts.

"I apologize ma'am," you plaster on your best professional smile. (The one that used to be for scared kids and victims of terrifying crimes or accidents. The one that used to be for something good.)

(Now all it's good for is keeping face while you're being yelled at.)

"Can I offer you a free dessert to make up for this inconvenience?" You really hope that the offer is enough to placate her. It's almost closing and you just want to get home.

"You think a cheap cookie is enough to keep your job?! Do you know who I am?! I--"

"--I sure as hell don't," a way too familiar gruff voice cut in.

Shit.

"Look, spout all you want about 'people these days and their disrespect' but yelling at some poor underpaid worker definitely isn't the picture of 'loving thy neighbor' or whatever. Besides, I want to get my coffee and go home. I have had a rather long day. You know, chasing villains around Tokyo." Bakugou pulled down his face mask and let the realization of just who was scolding her set in.

The woman at the counter flushed red and started spluttering before finally giving up and storming out the shop's door.

"Sorry about that, people can be such dicks. Anyways can I have a-" Bakugou cut off when he finally turned to look at you. Eyes wide he exclaimed, "(Name)? The fuck are you doing here?! We all thought you died! You couldn't think to send a text?!"

You don't want to do this right now.

You so don't want to do this right now.

"Can I take your order?"

"No, No! You are not getting out of this that easy. We mourned you, you asshole! Your agency didn't say jack shit about where you were and you never responded to any calls or messages. You fucking moved! What else were we supposed to think!"

With every word that flew out of his mouth you could feel your blood boiling and hear it rushing between your ears.

What gave him the right?

Before you knew it, words were flying out of your mouth too.

"No! No! You don't get to yell at me! My agency didn't say 'jack shit' because they want nothing to do with me anymore! They kicked me to the curb after my last mission! I moved because I couldn't afford my fucking apartment! My phone got busted so I couldn't reply and excuse fucking me for not wanting to hang around my old friends, the friends that are living my fucking dream, while I'm barely getting by as if we didn't save the world when we were fifteen!"

By the time you finished you were out of breath and half the coffee shop was staring at you. The other half were pretending not to.

"(Name), why don't you take the rest of the day off and sort this out outside?" Your manager suggested gently.

"Whatever." You didn't have the energy to argue.

Bakugou stared holes in the back of your head as you pulled off your apron and limped over to put it away.

When you were done he lightly grabbed the crook of your elbow and helped you outside. Tucked away from prying eyes. After that show in your work, you couldn't do anything but let him.

"... (name)? Why didn't you tell us?" He asked softly. He sounded... hurt. "We... we would have helped you. Any of us would have. Did you really not trust us enough to help you with this?"

That wasn't it.

That really wasn't it.

Of course you trusted your friends.

Of course they would have helped you.

Its just...

You were ashamed.

Ashamed of being a fuckup.

Ashamed of being fired.

Ashamed of failing the mission.

And afraid that your friends would see what a wreck you really were underneath that happy bubbly friendly exterior.

And afraid that that happy bubbly friendly person that they all knew might have really died that day.

You can't stop the sobs that crawl up your throat.

And bakugou leans over and holds you tight while you babble through explanations.

A friendly shoulder to cry on.

-----

Later that evening you're tucked tight into a booth with the self-proclaimed bakusquad.

They hold you tight.

And shed a few tears of their own.

Then you share drinks and food and boisterous laughter (even if yours is a little tired and strained).

You head back to your apartment with fresh contacts for old friends in your new phone, an offer for a consulting position with shinsous weird undergrounder association thing, and love for your friends tucked back around your aching heart.

You're still angry at your agency.

And you're still hurt.

But maybe...

Maybe you don't have to be upset alone.

[twstfanblog]

Idia x a reader who's an introverted shut-in nerd loser just like him...

SSR Connection

Idia x Reader (Could be read as platonic)

The prefect isn't entirely sure what any of the NRC teachers were smoking but they fucking wanted some. It wasn't even midterms, yet every class decided they would have massive tests on the same day. And to make matters worse, their gacha game was having its long-awaited event! The SSR of their dreams was finally in their grasp.

Normally, they'd be on their phone the entire day, even during gym if they could swing it. Grinding gems and completing tasks to roll for the new event.

But NO. They had to be 'present and engaged' with clases because every one of their teachers decided to fuck their life with big fat tests. The only glimmer in their mind was the fact Ortho was a dear friend. A dear friend who didn't have to participate in classes and was most likely in his brother's room doing a lot of nothing all day. So, with a barely functioning brain, they had raced to Ignihyde. Throwing open Idia’s bedroom door with a fast-forwarded explanation of what they needed the android to do. Simply use every gem to get the new card, and do their games' refuel battles to earn more.

They said that while throwing their phone at the flaming blue hair, before closing the door, no more than three seconds later.

And they survived! Every test completed and hopefully passed. They stopped at Sam's for a treat, seeing Ortho scanning the shelves, they called out.

"Ortho! Sorry about this morning. I was in such a rush, I must have scared you with how I busted in there."

"Hm? It's no issue, I suppose. But, what are you-"

"Today was wild. The baby midterms every teacher decided to give were brutal. But, I made it! Thank you so much for watching my phone for me."

"Prefect, I don't have your phone."

...

To say that the prefect started wailing was an understatement. Ignihyde was more blue than any other color of the spectrum. There's no telling if they tossed their phone at Idia or simply into an empty room in their panicked and sleepy state. Ortho was nice, guiding their weeping self towards Ignihyde and his brother's room. If lucky, their phone was just sitting on his bed or desk, untouched. If unlucky, Ortho was sure his brother would help locate the device.

But once they got to Idia's room, the housewarden barely acknowledged their entrance. He had his phone in one hand, the other typing on his keyboard as an emulator played on screen. Wires connected to the Prefect's phone.

"Um...Nii-san?"

"Good! Ortho, you're back, I need you to-" Idia turned, curling into himself at seeing another person in the doorway. He only grew more frantic in his typing at seeing who it was, "W-wait! I'm almost finished grinding! You can have your phone back after that!"

The prefect perks up, a small gasp escaping their mouth, "You had my phone all day?"

"Um...yeah." Idia looked between them and the screen before slamming a fist onto the desk, "How long have you been playing 'My Lovely Hero Academia'!?"

"A-a few months? Why-" They flinch as Idia swiped at his monitor, thinking that he was literally throwing it at them, only to see he sent over a holo screen showing the emulator display.

"How did you get Madame Justice!? I've been playing for literal years and I still haven't gotten her drop!"

The Prefect waves the screen away, raising an eyebrow, "Is...Is she rare? She's like the poster girl for the whole series, isn't she? She's got an SSR for every event, even if she isn't in it?"

"Yeah, you can get those, whatever. This is the launch day SSR! THE RAREST DROP IN THE GAME! WHERE DID YOU GET THIS!?"

"I...I got her in the starter pack? I didn't know she was so rare..." The Prefect folds their arms, mumbling under their breath, "They whore her out enough, I wasn't surprised when she showed up..."

"THE STARTER-" Idia just stand from his chair, rolling over and gripping the Prefect by their arm and tugging them back to the table of monitors, "Come here! What do you even do? Your cards are all shit but you've got rare SR AND SSRs out the ass!?"

"I don't know!? I just like the card art man!"

Idia picks up the Prefect's phone, pointing at it in barely contained anger, "You literally have my dream lineup and you've done nothing with them!"

"Well, I don't really like the main story, and the battle system is-"

"ANOTHER THING. You haven't played past the first arc of the main story!?"

"It's boring!"

"BORING!?"

Ortho watched from the doorway, looking between the two before slowly backing away. His eyes crinkled for a moment, though it was an argument, his brother was talking to someone openly. He could barely keep his giggle to himself as the Prefect had fully sat down, snatching their phone from Idia’s hands and pulling up a new app.

"Now, if we're talking interesting, you need to play 'Star-Trail Impact'-"

"By the Seven. Just BURN your money instead."

Ortho closed the door behind him, snickering into his hand, "I'm so glad my brother is making friends~!"

[emeritusemeritus]

ok ok hear me OUT! imagine george secretly dating a slytherin reader and in his dorm she asks him for his “G” sweater (you know the ones they get for Christmas) and he’s like yea ok, he literally doesn’t think about it at all, like he’s thinking she wants to wear it to bed in her dorm BUT THEN the next morning when she comes down to the great hall for breakfast SHE’S WEARING THE SWEATER AND HIS LITTLE HEART GETS SO EXCITED!!! 🥺🥺🥺

ps i love you and your writing so much ❤️

Hi love!! Thank you for your lovely words, I’m so sorry this has taken so long! I hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: none really? Mainly pure fluff. One minor sexual innuendo. Slytherin!Reader. Fred being surprisingly sweet. Background Fred x Angelina implied.

Word count: 1.1k

A Ruby amongst Emeralds.

It's freezing in the dorms this time of year, the warmth radiating from the fireplace never quite heating up the large rooms in the ancient building. It's January, Mid-winter and undoubtedly below freezing, the cold air nipping at every inch of exposed skin even inside the castle.

You'd caught a chill on the way up to the Gryffindor common room, nevermore thankful to be away from the draughty Slytherin dorms, notorious for their cold and frosty atmosphere- and that was just the people.

You'd slipped past the portrait of the fat lady, blending in with a group of Gryffindors with perfect precision, as practiced many times before, slipped along the corridor and into the end dorm where your boyfriend waited for you. It wasn't easy to keep a relationship hidden at Hogwarts, especially when it was two people of opposing houses. But you'd managed it for over a year without a single suspicion from anyone, excluding Fred of course who apparently didn't count.

"Georgie, can I borrow this? I'm freezing," you ask with chattering teeth, reaching for the discarded jumper on his dresser. Handmade and looking somewhat new, you realised it was the jumper that he'd gotten for Christmas two weeks ago from his parents.

"Of course," he says gently, without ever really looking up. You supposed it was a natural consequence of growing up with so many siblings, or more specifically growing up with a twin that shared everything but George was always extremely generous with his things. He'd give you anything you needed without question, knowing that you'd take care of whatever it was.

You double checked that it was definitely George's jumper, confirming there was a large 'G' on the front and not an 'F', Godric forbid.

You smiled as you pulled the jumper into your arms, bringing it up to your nose to give it a good smell. It smelled of him and his home, a scent that radiated warmth and safety. It was almost addictive.

When you were leaving his dorms, the curfew just minutes away, you hesitated taking the jumper off. You were finally warm and so cozy that the very thought of taking off the jumper made you want to cry.

"Keep it," George says, pulling you in for a kiss by the hips, his large hands covering your sides.

"Really?" You ask hopefully. He nods and kisses you again, his nose bumping clumsily into your cheek, your warm hands clinging to him in anyway you can.

"Imagine it's me in bed with you tonight," he says with a smirk, knowing that you wouldn't part with the jumper anytime soon.

"I always do," you reply in a sultry fashion, mentally planning your new route back to the dungeons, knowing full well that you'll have to sneak back after curfew.

"Alright break it up lovebirds, ahh my eyes, my eyes!" Fred bursts into the room in the most dramatic way possible, falling to his knees and rolling onto the floor.

"Idiot."

"Git," George mumbles under his breath at the same time whilst he pulls away from you, his hands leaving your body and landing at his sides.

"See you at breakfast."

You kiss George one last time as you leave still bundled up in your new favourite item of clothing. You give Fred a playful shove on the way out as he puckers up for a kiss too and laugh whilst closing the door, no longer dreading the walk back to the Slytherin common room.

"I just think it would be easier now," George whispers to Fred over breakfast as he scoffs down his fifth slice of toast. "Don't get me wrong I know why we had to keep it quiet but I just wish we could be open about it."

"I know mate," Fred says in an uncharacteristically empathetic tone, knowing how much the topic bothered George, even if he was secretly fed up of having the same conversation again.

Truthfully, George really had been fine with keeping their relationship secret for the first half of the year but as their relationship grew and got stronger, he no longer knew why they were bothering. He loved her, she loved him, and what did it matter what anyone else thought? Perhaps now it had been over a year together he could broach the subject with her again, see if she'd be open to it.

"Doesn't hurt to ask," Fred suggests, catching a single glance of his twin and knowing exactly where his mind was at. George sits and ponders on the thought for a moment whilst Fred looks around the room, no doubt looking for Angelina.

"Do you think she would, be open to telling everyone I mean?" George asks, reaching for another slice of toast but suddenly thinking better of it. He senses Fred is distracted, inevitably trying to get Angelina's attention but George still waits for Fred's reply, even if it does take a few seconds.

He hears Fred snort and feels a sinking feeling in his gut, knowing that it was probably a stupid idea all along, his gaze never leaving his crumb covered plate.

"Never mind," George mumbles, reaching for the toast once again with a sigh.

"Look up you idiot."'

George lifts his head up without question and looks towards his brother, following fred's line of vision to see what he was missing.

When his eyes land on what Fred is looking at he freezes, brain temporarily short circuiting. He blinks twice to make sure he wasn't seeing things, his heart seeming to flutter at the sight before him.

It's his girl. She looks beautiful, just as she always does but this morning she’s glowing. He watches as she takes a seat at the Slytherin table across the room, smiling widely at her friends as she climbs onto the bench, proudly wearing his jumper.

It’s burgundy with a giant ‘G’ stitched in gold thread, the biggest contrast there could be amongst the other Slytherins, a ruby in the middle of emeralds.

They make eye contact across the Great Hall and it’s electric, each of them feeling the sparks and butterflies anew. He’s never been more certain than in that exact moment that he loves her, that he would spend the rest of his life chasing the high he felt right now. He’d remember the way his little Slytherin proudly wore his jumper in front of the whole school, the way she would cheer the loudest at Quidditch games whilst wearing the same jumper, and the way that he would never get the chance to wear it even once in his life because it officially belonged to his girl.

[imaginingmanyfandoms]

quiet as a church mouse - jamie tartt x kent!reader

summary; game night at roy's house, and jamie finds himself invited for the first time.

jamie tartt x kent!reader masterlist

warnings; swearing, making out, illusions to smut, roy is fighting for his life at the end, pheebs' mum is called molly

"STOP BABE!" Jamie shouted, pointing with two open hands as you add another hotel to Boardwalk and Park Place. "You're gunna fuckin' bankrupt me! I'm right there!"

"Swear jar, Uncle Jamie," Pheebs said, adding a tally to her book, which was open beside her on the floor. Monopoly always really upped the debts, and Jamie had been dubbed family, and therefore added to the swear jar.

"Don't call him fuckin' Uncle Jamie," Roy grunted. Phoebe doesn't say anything, just stares at Roy as she adds a tally under his name.

"Baby, it's just the game. Don't hate me, hate late-stage capitalism." You shrugged, putting the pieces on the board. "Besides, you picked monopoly."

"You'd see me dead," Jamie said, "this is fun for you innit? Making sure I lose first?"

You look at him for a second. "You know what, maybe I am. Maybe I think losing would be good for you, team's doing too well lately."

Roy just watched with a smirk on his face, something about monopoly always brought out the worst in you. And serves Jamie right to be on the receiving end of it, Roy hadn't intended on inviting him to Kent family game night. But Phoebe insisted that Jamie was family now, since he'd been a part of the family vacation, Pheebs had taken that as Jamie is a part of the Kent clan now, which Roy wanted to reject so badly. But who could deny Phoebe?

But now, Roy wasn't as against Jamie being invited anymore, because you two just kept bickering at each other. Maybe this would scare one of you away... Roy could only dream.

Jamie's turn is next, and he rolls a double and lands on your space, he's clenching his jaw as he gathers up the rest of his money and hands it to you, he comes up less than a hundred short, and you insist he has to mortgage one of his properties.

"Can't show you favouritism, love. What would that teach Phoebe?" you said, counting the bills in your hand like it wasn't blood money.

"Uhm, compassion? Treating your partner with kindness? You're ju' teachin' her how to be a greedy little landlord." Jamie sighed, and picked up the dice, the double twos forcing him to roll again.

"D'you think you'll roll a two?" Phoebe asked, looking at the board. "You'll land on boardwalk."

Jamie stopped shaking the dice in his hand, looking at Phoebe. "Why would'ya even say tha'?"

"I hope he does," Roy said, thoroughly entertained. Jamie looked like he was going to burst a vein in his neck. Molly thought it was hilarious too, but Roy really thought maybe this would cause a nice little rift in the relationship. Maybe Jamie would stop showing up everywhere.

Jamie rolled snake eyes.

Two spaces and his little iron rests on boardwalk.

And you two are in a yelling match over whether or not he's out.

"You have to accept my properties as payment, babe!" Jamie shouted, "or I'll be out!"

"I don't want your mortgaged properties! Christ sakes Jamie, you don't even have a matching set!" you shout back, "I don't want them!"

Molly laughs into her glass of wine. Roy tries to make a bet with Phoebe. And you just enjoy the fact that you're one step closer to victory.

"So you don't even feel bad about it," Jamie muttered, "wow... woooow, okay babe. I see how it is, I'm out." Jamie crossed his arms and scooted closer to Phoebe, looking at everything she has collected. "I'll help you, Pheebs. You're the nicest one 'ere."

"You can be on my team, Uncle Jamie."

"Stop callin' 'im that," Roy said, "he's not your uncle."

"Not yet," Jamie smirked, but wiped it off his face when he saw the lethal death glare Roy was sending his way. "You guys take stuff so seriously around 'ere, jeez."

"Do you think you'll marry my Auntie?" Pheebs asked, and Roy choked on his drink, while you just smiled down at the properties you have, pretending not to hear what they're talking about.

"Of course mate," Jamie said, "isn't it clear I'm tryna weasel my way into this family?" Jamie and Phoebe giggle together, all of Jamie's competitive faded away now that he was out of the running anyway. "How am I doing so far?"

"You fight right in," Phoebe said, giving him a little thumbs up.

"Excellent."

Looks like monopoly wasn't enough to scare him off. Roy should be happy for you, but instead he's just annoyed. Jamie didn't even stay a little bit annoyed, and if he did, he wasn't showing it.

Later, after you win monopoly and Phoebe is tucked into bed, you and Jamie are leaning close to one another by the counter, enjoying another glass of wine, while your brother and sister sit across from you. Roy has his arms crossed, annoyed that Jamie is here, while your sister just enjoy her wine. She likes when you bring Jamie around, mostly because she sees how happy he makes you, and that is all that matters to her.

"Kind of a mean board game player love," Jamie said, smiling through it, "felt like you were targeting me."

"I was," you shrug, like it was obvious, "Kent family game night isn't for the weak."

"Oh my god," he laughed, "you're evil, woman, supposed to be nice to me." Jamie rested his head on your shoulder, making Roy grunt in disapproval, but you wrap and arm around Jamie and the two of you ignore that grumpy Kent.

"I am nice to you," you said, "I invited you here, didn't I? Let you pick the game, didn't I?"

Jamie mumbled something about you being a dickhead, but you barely hear it, you just laugh at his tone.

"I'm going to bed," Roy said, pushing his empty glass forward. "And you should too," Roy pointed at Jamie. "Trainin' tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah," Jamie muttered, "I know."

You laugh, taking Jamie's hand and leading him down the hall to your room after saying your goodnights. Jamie, being the horny, lovesick little pest he is, has his hands on you the second you're behind a closed door.

At first, you don't stop it, you let his hand drift up your sides, welcome his tongue into your mouth as he guides you back to the bed, pushing you down onto it and crawling above you with his bottom lip sucked into his mouth. You start to protest, but Jamie kisses you again, taking your hands into his and moving them above your head and holding them there, keeping you at his mercy.

"Jamie wait," you moan, body betraying you with an arched back as Jamie sucked your earlobe between his teeth, biting on it just hard enough to make you gasp softly.

"C'mon love," Jamie said, nibbling on the tender spot just below your ear, your hands held captive above your head by his. "I'll be so quiet, Roy'll never know."

"You're never quiet," you sighed, trying not give in, but stretching your neck to give him more space to work in languid, loving kisses against the curve of your neck.

"I can be," he mumbled, hands tightening around your wrists, "but I gotta baby, you gotta let me, need you so bad. Jus' fuckin' hot and bothered and it's your fault. I love when you get all loud and mean," Jamie moaned against your neck, pushing his cock into you, his hips slotted perfectly between yours. "Takin' no prisoners, baby, you're just so sexy."

"This is Roy's house," you reasoned, "he might actually kill you."

"As long as it's after I get in ya, I'll die happy."

"Jamie!"

"Shhh, lovey," Jamie pulled away, winking at you. "Now who's not being quiet."

He rolls his hips against you again, hard cock under his pants hit against you just right, shooting pleasure up your core, and you moaned, resolve fading quickly.

"Alright, fine," you give in, "but we have to be quiet."

"Quiet as a church mouse, love, I promise."

Roy's going to burn his own house down.

And he's gunna start the fire in the guest room that Jamie fucking Tartt is currently defiling Roy's little sister in. He can hear Jamie's greedy little whines through the wall and he feels sick. The two of you spent all night bickering over board games and now Jamie is grunting in Roy's spare room like the sick pervert he is.

Roy thinks he can fall asleep anyway, but all it takes is hearing you moan Jamie's name once and Roy gets up and flees from his own bed. Foul, disgusting little creatures you two were, in his house!? After family monopoly???? Freaks. You guys were fuckin' freaks. And Jamie was a dead man come morning.

"Uncle Roy?" Pheebs asked, half asleep and rubbing her eyes as Roy barges into her room.

"Scooch over," he grunts, "I'm sleeping in here with you."

"Why?"

"Cuz there's..." Monsters. Disgusting, horny little creatures. Difiling. Roy looked at Phoebe and frowned. "I had a nightmare. And I need a knight to make me feel better."

"Awh, c'mon then," she said, opening the blanket for Roy to join. "I'll keep ya safe Uncle Roy."

"Yeah, I know you will kid."

Roy closed his eyes, and Jamie's needy whines filled his imagination. The only solution was the world's thickest rope and paint. Maybe some kind of chain. Jamie's death would not be swift.

He remembers hearing you.

He might have to kill you too.

[ms-paint-gerard-daily]

can you draw him AS a little kitty please?

DAY 13 (BONUS): ittycat part 2 ?

[batsandscopes]

Hi. draw

sniper and scout. eating apples together. Ok

you heard the man! the skin is full of toxins!

[billiegoated]

hellllloooooo!! I hope you're okay 😊 Sooo... I'm a bit embarrassed hahaha, but by the way:

I remember you misread one of your requests once, so now we want to see lee! Billie and ler! Aristotle >:3 Their duo sounds pretty playful. There's no rush at all, have a good day!

HEHE you're so sweet tysm anon 💖

I kinda gave up on this halfway through but I don't care enough to care anyways fatherly love <33

I don't feel like Aristotle would tickle Billie that much . . but when he does he heavily values their comfort :3

[doodl3b3ans]

Awwwwwww

Hello! Can I please request a Maid reader that flirts with Donna through little notes? Like reader will leave a note with breakfast saying "You look beautiful today :)" and Donna gets so flustered but secretly loves it? But doesn't know how to react? These increasingly flirty note giving continues for months until they suddenly stop. Donna asks the reader about it and sees that reader looks upset. Reader tells her that she stopped because the she thinks that Donna doesn't reciprocate. Donna reveals that she has kept every single note and looks forward to each one. They then share their first kiss.

Thank you!

Yesss!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))))

Love notes

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, maid! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, a bit of angst maybe idk...

Word count: 7,542

Summary: You thought you'd find a way to confess your love...

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

Your steps in the snow were slow, but firm.

The cold of that village penetrated under your clothes, causing you to shiver, but even so, a smile decorated your face. The glances of the villagers were fleeting, but they hid a certain relief at seeing you walk through the old houses, as if, from the moment you left, they knew you weren't coming back.

Well, you couldn't blame them for that.

“(Y/N)?” a young voice asked, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Oksana,” you answered, shaking your head to get out of your reverie. “Wow, I'm glad to see you.”

“Me too,” the girl answered, giving you a quick hug and start walking beside you. “It's been a long time since I saw you around here.”

You smiled as you shook your head, too used to those comments.

“Don't be dramatic,” you explained, making your friend nod distrustfully. “I'm not locked up.”

“No, but...” she said, looking away, regretting wanting to say something. “It doesn't matter.”

“Calm down, Oksie, I've come to do some shopping,” you said in a soft tone, avoiding that small pang of offense that ran through your skin. “Everything's fine.”

Your friend nodded distrustfully, but continued on her way with you.

“I thought someone like you didn't have to come all the way to the village,” she commented upon entering the old bakery while you were checking things off a small list. “It’s the Duke who serves the Lords.”

“Yes, well,” you said amused, shaking your head. “If by serving you mean cheating the Lords, you’re right,” you joked, paying the baker and checking the merchandise. “Donna prefers that I be the one to buy some things, like these delicious pastries.”

“Donna,” Oksana repeated, with an intriguing look.

Your cheeks suddenly flushed and your throat began to dry.

“Lady Beneviento,” you corrected instantly, with a clumsy voice and a distracted look.

“Sure,” your friend whispered as you left the establishment. “I guess after all this time the formalities are no longer necessary.”

“Um, maybe,” you said with a shaky voice, wishing you hadn't run into Oksana.

The young woman nodded slowly, with a frown and a million questions hidden in her gaze, something that made you sigh and roll your eyes.

“(Y/N), I still find it incredible that… well, that you're still here after a whole year in that house,” she finally commented, sitting on a wall. “Nobody expected that…”

“Oh, come on,” you murmured, shaking your head and looking at your feet, avoiding your friend's curious gaze. “Don't exaggerate. It's not that big of a deal.”

“It's not that big of a deal? You're Donna Beneviento's maid, Donna Beneviento's only maid,” Oksana said, lowering her voice. “You know they say you're the first?”

“Mm,” you murmured without answering directly, looking away from the young woman's inquisitive gaze. “Then it's an honor, I guess.”

“An honor?” the young woman replied, arching her eyebrows and getting a little closer to you, to be more discreet. “(Y/N), they say she killed her gardener and…”

“Okay, stop it, Oksie,” you protested, leaving your purchases on the ground and crossing your arms. “I know what they say. I knew it when I offered to work in that house, would you mind stopping looking at me like I’m stupid?”

“I don't think you're stupid,” she whispered. “But I do think you're reckless, that woman is dangerous.”

“Really? It seems that for being working for a dangerous woman… I'm pretty well, don't you think?” you said in an acid tone, with your breathing gradually becoming altered. “Look, Oksana, you can say whatever you want, but I assure you that Donn… that Lady Beneviento is not like people say.”

“She is a Lord,” said your friend, intensifying her warning tone. “She is mentally ill, everyone knows that.”

“Nonsense,” you answered in an offensive tone, shaking your head. “Donna may be sick, but she is not… She is not like people say.”

“So what is she like?”

“W-Well,” you sighed, playing with your hands and looking at the cloudy sky. “She is a quiet woman, but kind. She is intelligent, attractive…”

“Attractive? How do you know? She always wears that horrible veil,” Oksana interrupted, bringing out her curiosity. “Have you seen her without it?”

“Of course I have,” you said firmly, drawing in your head the image of the lady in black, her regal posture, her melodic voice, her bright eye… “She is… a-a very special woman.”

“Oh, no…” the young woman sighed, scrutinizing you with her gaze. “I know that smile, (Y/N)”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” you murmured, grabbing your purchases and moving away from the wall, ready to flee from that conversation. “I'm in a bit of a hurry and…”

“No, no, no, stop there,” Oksana said, amused. “I know you too well, if I didn't know it was impossible, I would think you have feelings for her.”

“What? Don't talk nonsense,” you said with the red in your face betraying your lies. “I'm her maid, that's all. Do you think I would have feelings for a Lord?”

“You're red,” she commented, giving you a nudge, abruptly cutting off your escape. “Oh, no, no, no, it can't be… are you serious?”

“Will you shut up?” you said annoyed, shaking your head, but finally sighing in surrender. She was your friend after all, she knew you. “W-Well, so what if I have feelings for her?”

“You're worse than her,” she laughed discreetly, stopping you from running away again. “You better pray to the Gods.”

“Oh, shut up,” you scolded, pushing her away with a playful push, with the bags shaking in your hands.

“Does she know?” she asked with that unpleasant tone of a nosy friend. “Does she feel the same? Maybe you're not as stupid as you seem…”

“Ugh, no, she doesn't know, of course she doesn't know. Hey, will you leave me alone? I'm in a hurry,” you protested, looking down, with the heat of your cheeks burning on your skin. “It's stupid, okay?”

“Of course it is… falling in love with Lady Beneviento…” Oksana laughed amused, in a mocking tone. “You're crazy.”

“Yes, I'm crazy,” you repeated annoyed, sighing in defeat again. “Oksie… The truth is… you're right, Donna drives me crazy. I'm in love with a Lord, are you happy now?”

“Wow, you've always chosen the wrong women, (Y/N), but this…” your friend mocked, making you growl. “But hey, I'm not judging you. It's not the first time. Lady Dimitrescu also has a long list of admirers.”

“Mm, I guess,” you murmured, finding in your old friend a refuge for your forbidden feelings. Maybe it hadn't been such a bad idea for her to know. “Anyway, it's silly. She would never feel the same way about me.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, because… because I know it,” you answered, looking at the path that would take you back home, next to her. “Hey, where did that “she’s a dangerous woman” go?”

“Well… if you’ve spent a whole year in that place and you’re still alive… Hey, why don’t you try it?”

“Don't talk nonsense, she would never... would you mind stopping bothering me? I have to go home,” you said, shaking your head and moving away from your friend. “You always do the same.”

“If I didn't, I wouldn't be your friend,” she commented, following you closely with a mocking giggle. “Miss Beneviento...”

“Stop it, will you?”

“Do you remember Simon? The boy from the fabric store,” your friend insisted, making you roll your eyes again and nod. “He was crazy about the hairdresser's daughter. Do you know what he did?”

“No, I don't know, I've been away from the village for a year,” you hissed, tired of the conversation, dying of embarrassment.

“Every time he came to her shop, he left her little love notes inside the fabrics, you know, compliments...” Oksana explained. “In two weeks Lydia fell in love with him. You could try.”

“Ugh, shut up. It wouldn't work, besides, I have to go and… I hate you, you know that?” you said, gesturing exaggeratedly.

“You adore me,” she joked. “Anyway, I hope to hear from you soon, the village is quite boring without you.”

“Yes, yes… see you, Oksie,” you said goodbye, making a vague gesture with your hand as you walked away from her and the embarrassment slowly disappeared from your cheeks.

As your feet sank into the snow, you meditated on that strange conversation. Oksana was your best friend, and she still was, she would never reveal your feelings. That wasn't what really worried you, what tormented you was the truth of your words, the confession that you had been feeling the need to say out loud for months.

You took a big risk by offering yourself as a maid for Donna Beneviento, the youngest and most mysterious Lord, but it paid off. You got a quiet job in a strange house, alongside a strange woman… and a living doll.

At first, the lady in black was distrustful, defensive and solitary, and very close to the rumors. But little by little, that wall she herself put up in front of you began to crumble.

The monster the villagers spoke of didn’t exist, it never did. The black veil the lady always wore fell before your eyes to reveal the true meaning of beauty. Donna was a beautiful woman, truly beautiful, even if she didn't believe it. The scar on her face emanated suffering, a forced isolation she imposed on herself, but for you, it was nothing of the sort.

Her words became softer and her melodic accent became a pleasant breeze in your ears. Her hands, her skin, her gaze, that little smile you sometimes saw... Everything together began to be unbearable for you.

You were always a girl easily impressed, and although at first you refused to admit that she had stolen your heart, you had no choice but to admit it. Yes, she was a sick, unstable and introverted woman, but she was also kind, calm and peaceful, the complete opposite of her adoptive siblings or Mother Miranda.

Despite the horrible things Donna did in the past, things that she let out in her delusions, you saw in her a fragile and delicate spirit, an interesting and beautiful woman, perfect to fall in love with, to dream about what her kisses would be like, if those lips had ever kissed before.

Of course, you never considered confessing your feelings to her. On the one hand, it seemed like something easy, since you felt a certain chemistry between you, a silent bond that tied you to each other. On the other hand, you couldn't forget who she was, the terrible things she could do to you, the consequences that such a confession could have.

You were crazy about her, but… but you were still her maid, she was still a Lord, a dangerous woman with the power to finish you off with a wave of her hands. The tension became uncomfortable and desperation beat strongly inside your chest.

Would you ever dare to do something about it? Or would you continue to contemplate the lady in your dreams?

“It's about time, silly maid!” the squeaky tone of the Angie doll interrupted your thoughts. Without realizing it, you had already arrived at the old mansion.

“Angie…” you sighed, closing the door while the puppet ran towards you in a comical way. “Don't yell”

“Don't yell, don't yell!” the doll repeated, after which she let out a loud laugh. Damn doll, it always got on your nerves. “Do you have everything?”

“Everything,” you said satisfied, leaving your purchases on the table. “Where's Donna?”

“(Y/N),” a dark, hoarse voice answered your question.

The lady in black appeared in front of you, her gaze fixed on your eyes as well as a slow walk made her heels click on the old wood; a sound you secretly adored.

“Donna,” you sighed with a discreet smile as the woman approached to take a look at your purchases. “Um, um… I already have everything.”

“Mm, I see,” Donna murmured, standing very close to you, too close. “You took a while,” she commented distractedly.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you apologized, lowering your head as her fleeting gaze crossed your face. “I've been distracted in the village.”

“Mm,” she murmured with disinterest, looking at you again, making you look away from her beauty. “I don't like that you take so long, (Y/N), I'm worried that something will happen to you.”

Are you worrying her? Oh, Gods.

“I’m fine, I just ran into an old friend,” you explained, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “B-Besides, you know there’s nothing that can scare me.”

“A friend,” the lady repeated, nodding slowly, but with an expressionless face. “You mean a… special friend?” she stammered curiously, with a dark shadow in her gaze.

“What? No, no, no, no,” you denied, too abruptly, gesturing with your hands and head. “My old friend Oksana, I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“You don’t have to give me explanations,” Donna whispered, slowly moving away with a quick gesture, visibly nervous, or upset. “You’re my maid.”

“Yes, I’m your maid,” you sighed, agreeing with her with a melancholic air. “And… and I love being so.” You don't know why you said that nonsense, after which you closed your eyes in regret.

The lady's lips curved slightly in a quick, fast smile, almost imperceptible to a normal look, but not to yours, not to your loving eyes.

“I like you being so,” she murmured in a low, very low tone, moving away from you definitively, leaving a cold draft on your body. “Get some rest, I'll put this away.”

“Uh… yes, okay, thank you, Donna,” you nodded nervously, bowing slightly and biting your lip, giving the lady one last look. Gods, you loved her so, so much…

“Prego,” she whispered back, turning around and grabbing the bags, disappearing down the elevator hallway.

You quickly went up the stairs, calling yourself a fool for your clumsy conversations and dropping onto the bed.

“Idiot,” you insulted yourself, hitting the mattress with your fist. “What are you doing?”

You had free time until lunchtime, but that wasn't a good thing. As always, you tried to read something, to distract your head from Donna's figure, from her voice, from her gaze, from those strange words that sometimes made you believe you really had a chance.

Reality washed over your mind when you began to fantasize, blaming the ventriloquist's clumsiness on her unstable and wounded mind, and not on her possible (impossible) feelings. There was nothing to indicate to you that there was something real between you, that you both felt the same, but still, you liked to imagine it, to interpret her words and gestures the way you liked best, torturing yourself with false hopes.

Sighing, trying to get the lady out of your head, a recent memory came to you: your friend's comment about your feelings and her stupid idea to confess them to Donna.

“Bah,” you said shaking your head, looking at an old notebook. “Notes, what nonsense…” you muttered with your leg shaking, indicating that you should get up and sit at your desk. “It's a terrible idea, but hey, at least I can dream,” you said, opening the notebook and picking up a pen.

You spent a good while writing short notes, flattering words that could reach your lady, but none of them convinced you. You didn't even know why you thought about her reaction when reading them, since you did it just to spend the time.

“No way… this won't serve any purpose,” you said, tearing out one of the pages and crumpling it in desperation, throwing it into a trash can. “You ‘re beautiful? Really, (Y/N)?” you said to yourself, shaking your head. “This is a waste of time.”

“What is a waste of time?” a voice that shouldn't be there asked, a voice accompanied by the Angie doll, who appeared in your room.

“Angie, what did I tell you about entering my room?” you asked annoyed, closing the notebook and crossing your arms. “It's my private area, do you understand?”

“I can go wherever I want, this is my house, silly, you're an intruder,” the doll mocked, climbing onto the desk. “What are you doing?”

“I'm not an intruder,” you growled, taking the wooden hands away from your notebook, too accustomed to Angie's irreverent attitude. “I'm Donna's maid... your maid.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said with disinterest, letting herself fall on the table. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing of your business, Miss Angie,” you said with a dark look.

“Oh,” the puppet said, nodding in an exaggerated manner. “What are you doing?”

“Ugh,” you protested, letting the air out of your lungs abruptly. “Nothing, I'm not doing anything, leave me alone.”

“Silly maid…” the puppet sighed, getting down from the table with a grunt of protest. “What’s this?” she asked in an inquisitive voice, rummaging through your trashcan and taking out the ball of paper you discarded.

“What? Hey,” you said, trying to reach Angie, something impossible; she was too slippery.

“You're beautiful,” she read the note amused, fleeing from your hands. “Oh, so lovely… Is it for your girlfriend?”

“Angie! Give it back to me!” you shouted, getting up and starting a chase with the doll around the room among loud laughter. “Hey!”

“Come and catch me, silly, silly!” Angie sang, running away from all your desperate attempts to catch her.

“Damn it… Angie!” you shrieked on the verge of tears.

Well, the doll had no way of knowing who that note was for, but still… no, she couldn't have it, she could tell Donna and…

“Hey, come back here!” you yelled, leaving the room, guided by that sinister laugh. “Angie!”

“You can't catch me, you can't catch me!” the doll mocked, quickly running down the stairs.

“Damn doll, I got you!” you said, managing to catch her. It was a shame that after that clumsy tackle, you tripped, falling irremediably down the stairs. “Ow, ow, ow! Shit…” you lamented sitting on the floor while the doll laughed shrilly.

At least, you had managed to recover the note.

“(Y/N),” a melodic voice said, Donna, who ran towards your position with a worried look. “Stai bene?” she asked, bending down to help you stand up, touching you gently as she did so, melting you, making your legs fail again.

“Oh, um, yeah, yeah, I'm fine,” you said nervously, moving away from her addictive touch and shaking your uniform with a nervous smile.

“Clumsy maid!” Angie scolded you, leaning over the railing and pointing at you mockingly.

“Angie…” Donna whispered, checking your condition, without letting your arms go. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“What? Oh, no, it was… an accident,” you growled those last words, looking at Angie out of the corner of your eye and discreetly putting the note in your pocket while you got lost in Donna’s gaze. “It's nothing, I'm fine, Donna.”

“Mm,” she murmured, keeping her eye on yours, thus creating a common moment of tension, of awkward silence. “Va bene, um, (Y/N)…”

“Yes?” The word came out of your mouth like a sigh; your feet walked a step closer to her as she held you with a confused look.

“W-Well, then… then you can cook, right?” the lady said, finally moving away with her typical nervous blink, playing with her hands, struggling to look away from you.

Your eyes slowly lowered, disappointed by that sudden change, by those words she never got to say and that you were dying to know. Again, you were fantasizing.

“Yes, of course,” you said in a formal tone, passing by her side elegantly, repressing the pain on your lower back. “Um, Donna…”

“Yes?” she said, with an expectant look, but without moving, without even looking at you.

“Nothing, I… I think, I think I’ll make some pasta, do you fancy it?” you said nervously, with an innocent tone.

“I love the way you make pasta, (Y/N), thank you,” Donna whispered, finally walking away from you again. “I’ll wait here.”

You nodded and made a bow watching as the lady sat down on the couch and that conversation, like all the ones you had, ended.

Once in the kitchen you took the note out of your pocket, leaving it on the counter with a loud thud, your hands shaking as well as your nervous body.

“You… damn doll,” you cursed under your breath, looking at your note over and over again and shaking your head. “It was a bad idea, a very bad idea.”

Forgetting about the whole note thing, you started cooking as usual, humming a sweet melody as the ingredients mixed together. You were never a great cook, but that was before Lady Beneviento herself taught you a few things, how to prepare dishes from her home country the right way.

You sighed remembering those cooking lessons, the glances that went straight to your heart, that bright eye watching yours while you kneaded or boiled something. Sometimes you dreamed of forgetting everything you had learned and being able to have the lady in black behind you, joining her hands with yours, the softness of her skin running over yours.

After a while, with everything ready, you brought the food up to the dining room, where Donna was waiting impatiently, putting a discreet smile when she saw you.

“Here you go, I hope everything is to your liking,” you said kindly, with a radiant and sincere smile, pouring her a glass of wine and joining your hands together.

Your heart stopped when you saw something strange under the plate.

No, it couldn't be possible. That absurd note you wrote was glued to it. The paper had stuck to the porcelain due to the heat, and it was perfectly visible. She would notice, for sure.

You quickly thought of your options, but none of them were valid, you couldn't do anything that wouldn't give you away, just wait for Donna to see it, and the terrible consequences.

Before you could move, flee from that situation, the lady stopped eating, frowning, and noticing the paper under the plate. She slowly took it out, while you walked slowly back to your room. With a strange look, she read the note, over and over, looking for the culprit with her eyes.

You were already far away, about to go up the stairs, but unable to stop looking at her. Her expression relaxed, but her blinking was nervous, confused.

That's it, it's over.

You quickly went up to your room, closing the door with a pale face and leaning your back against it, squeezing your eyes tightly.

“No, no, no, no…” you lamented, pressing your hands against your temples. “I screwed it up, I screwed it up… damn you, Oksana…”

There was no way to blame anyone other than yourself, to blame your friend for giving you the idea of ​​a silent confession through stupid notes. You couldn’t blame the doll for being responsible for your mistake either. It was your note, your handwriting, your words, your feelings. The only one to blame, was you.

With that in mind, you began to ramble about the possible consequences of your impudence. You could be fired, killed, forgotten forever, tortured… A reciprocal confession was the last thing you thought would happen.

The afternoon passed slowly as you debated with yourself about your next move: Should you run away from there before Donna asked? Should you apologize? Should you make up an excuse?

No, neither option was the right one. At the moment, all you could do was take refuge in your room, waiting for the moment when your world would fall apart.

It didn't take long to come.

“(Y/N)?” Donna's voice asked, along with a soft knock on the door. “Are you there?”

You wiped away your tears of despair as your body tensed irremediably. This is the end, (Y/N).

“Um, yes,” you whispered almost without a voice, slowly approaching your cruel and uncertain fate, opening the door. “Donna, I...”

“(Y/N),” she sighed, clasping her hands together as usual, with a slightly strange, but apparently calm look. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yes,” you answered nervously, looking down at the wooden floor. “I wasn't feeling… well.”

“Mm,” Donna murmured, with an indifferent tone, looking away as well. “Uh… you haven't eaten.”

“I wasn't very hungry,” you said without thinking, waiting for the moment of accusation. “Um, um… do you need something?”

“Yes, I…” she said with a broken voice and a nervous smile, nervous, but terribly beautiful. “I wanted… I wanted to tell you that… W-Well, you haven't given me time to talk to you about…”

“Donna, I…” you interrupted, lowering your head in apology. “I know I shouldn't have done it but…”

“Don't be modest, adding a touch of garlic to the pasta was a good decision,” the lady commented, with a slightly more relaxed smile.

You frowned, confused.

“Garlic? Oh, yes,” you said more nervously, starting to get lost. “Did you want to tell me... something?”

“Yes, I... just congratulate you for your dish, (Y/N), it was delicious,” Donna whispered, looking at you with a different sparkle in her eye, with evident nervousness. “I hope that someday you do it that way again.”

“Oh, I... of course,” you said confused, nodding out of inertia and frowning. “T-Thank you, Donna.”

“No, I... thank you, (Y/N),” she sighed, generating a moment of silence again, more tense and uncomfortable than usual. “Um… Have you… seen what time it is?”

“What? I-I… no,” you said, scratching the back of your neck.

“It’s tea time, (Y/N), I-I’d like you to make me some, if you’re feeling better,” the lady asked, returning to her formal and elegant tone, losing that strange nervousness.

“Sure, r-right away, Donna,” you said nodding, a gesture she returned, turning her back to you with an elegant twist.

You breathed a sigh of relief, but you couldn’t stop following her with your gaze. There was certainly something strange about her, something different, but there was no way you thought it had anything to do with that stupid note, right? Right?

The lady in black stopped before walking down the stairs, turning her head towards you and doing something that made you freeze again. A smile, a sincere and nervous smile formed on her lips as her gaze held yours. Something inside you stirred at that moment, as your face emulated that tender smile.

She quickly looked away again, as if she was going to say something, but changed her mind at the last moment.

It was all strange, of course. Well, it was always strange at the Beneviento House, but a new feeling began to confuse your thoughts.

That smile… could it be because of the note? Did she like it? Was it really a good idea? Was Oksana right?

It seemed crazy, but your head repeated the word success over and over again, the feeling of having succeeded in something you didn't really want to do. Her smile… it was different, tender, nervous, sincere…

Dazzled by the memory of that innocent gesture, you frowned, glancing sideways at your old notebook, gaining a confidence that pushed you to… well… to think that you should continue with those notes, that maybe you could reach her with your clumsy flattery.

“What could I lose by trying?” you asked yourself as you sat down, coming to the conclusion that… if Donna was upset by your written comment, something would have happened but… on the contrary, she seemed… pleased, happy… There had been no consequences beyond that beautiful smile and you… you were dying to see it again.

I love when you smile

You wrote, letting your heart speak, with a more elegant handwriting, cutting the paper until it became a real note, an intentional one that, hesitantly, but at the same time sure of yourself, you placed under her cup of tea.

“Here,” you said, leaving the tray on the work table, earning a brief glance from your lady.

“Grazie, (Y/N),” Donna whispered, focused on making her porcelain dolls.

With a bow, you withdrew, leaving her alone, but you didn’t walk down the basement hallway. Instead, you stayed to one side of the doors of the old workshop, watching as the lady drank her tea.

Of course she found the note, and, looking around, she read it, over and over again.

A sound came from her lips, a laugh that you had never been lucky enough to hear. It made her happy; your words made her emit that heavenly sound. Even from your hidden position, you thought you saw a slight blush on her cheeks.

Something cheered you for your bravery, and the little hope you had became intense, almost overwhelming. That reaction from the lady in black told you that she definitely like your words, so… Well, you would lose nothing by continuing to try.

Little by little it became a routine. Every lunch, breakfast or tea was accompanied by a note from you. You loved to see her nervous reaction, her tender smile when she thought you weren't looking.

You started a little game, a flirting strategy that was unconventional, but spoke better of your feelings than your cowardly voice. The days passed slowly and her reaction grew colder, but her smile never disappeared.

“I hope the coffee is to your liking, Donna,” you said one morning, leaving in front of her a cup with a new note, one that said:

You look beautiful today

“Sure it is, grazie,” the lady replied, taking a sip and discreetly grabbing the note that was under the cup while you avoided looking at her.

But, even from a distance, you could see the smile on her face again. There was something that began to intrigue you. The day of the accident, you feared her reaction, but that fear slowly turned into indifference and then… into another kind of fear.

Donna never mentioned the notes, she didn't say anything, she didn't tell you anything about it, she didn't even ask. It might have seemed like a relief at first, but little by little it became a new concern. If she didn't do anything, if she didn't say anything... What did it mean to her? Was she scared like you? Did she just not care?

Questions began to haunt you when you were alone and a new desire surfaced in your chest. The desire to know what she thought of those compliments, those notes, those discreet confessions you sent her every day.

The impatience was already evident in your feelings, and when you got nervous, you often made mistakes, like the one that morning.

“Um, Donna,” you said, turning on your heels and returning to the dining room table, your hands beginning to sweat.

“Mm?” she murmured, looking at you briefly, but not paying real attention to you.

“I wanted to… I wanted to ask you something,” you murmured with a broken voice, weak due to the pain in your throat.

“Va bene,” she whispered, while reading a book about plants, her secondary hobby, after dolls. “What's worrying you?”

“Oh, nothing's worrying me, I'm just… I was just wondering if…” you said nervously, running your hand over the chair, brushing the black fabric of her dress without her realizing it.

“Something's worrying you,” Donna said, raising her gaze from the book and directing it towards you, crossing your chest.

“Yes, no…” you said nervously, shaking your head, trying to keep your composure. “I was wondering if… well, if I'm doing my job as a maid right,” you finished, closing your eyes and cursing your clumsiness.

“Cosa? (Y/N), you don’t have to worry about that, you’re… you’re an excellent maid, the best,” she whispered, looking away, with a discreet smile.

“Oh, come on, you say that because you haven’t had other maids,” you joked erratically, rolling your eyes. “But I was wondering if… if there’s something in my behavior that… bothers you.”

“No,” she answered dryly, focusing again on her book after a sip of coffee. “Everything’s fine, (Y/N), you don’t have to worry.”

“Oh, um, okay,” you said defeated, unable to ask exactly what you wanted to ask. “I’ll… I’ll go clean the upstairs. If you want something… just tell me,” you muttered, fleeing the scene in a cowardly manner.

“Mm”

You had a terrible morning. While you were cleaning, you couldn't stop thinking about her reaction, her indifference. Obviously she read the notes, you made sure of it, but... there was something you didn't like, something that tormented you. She didn't seem to give it any importance and that only meant... Well, you didn't know exactly what it meant.

Maybe she ignored it? Did she think it was part of your job? That was terrible, that only indicated that... that she didn't feel anything for you.

A ball of wool hit your face while the truth of what was happening did the same in your heart.

“Angie!” you shrieked, protesting another of the doll's pranks. “I've told you a thousand times to stop pranking me while I clean.”

“Silly maid!” the doll laughed, amused by her action.

You were going to growl again, pretending to strangle her wooden neck, when a new idea appeared in your mind. Maybe Donna had no intention of speaking, but the sinister doll was the complete opposite of its owner…

“Angie, come here,” you said in a serious tone, pointing at the floor. “Obey.”

“Stupid…” the doll hissed, unable to refuse, since Donna had warned it long ago to stop bothering you, and to listen to you. “What do you want?”

You rolled your eyes, and, as if it were a bribe, you returned the ball of wool to the doll, although Donna didn’t like it at all when Angie played with them.

“Oh, you give me my toy back…” the puppet murmured, studying its precious and forbidden treasure. “Spit it out, silly maid, what do you want?”

“Nothing, I just want to talk,” you said, putting aside the apron and bending down to be at the doll's height.

“Talk, then,”

“Hey, Angie… Donna… Hasn't she said anything to you? I mean… Has she told you anything strange lately? Something that bothers or worries her?” you asked quietly, watching your surroundings.

“What are you talking about? Silly…” she answered listlessly.

“You know, if there's something new in her life or… if you notice that she's happier or…” you insisted, being unaware of your dangerous questions.

“Donna is Donna, she's the same as always,” Angie answered, playing with her ball. “Is there any reason why she shouldn't be?”

“Um…” you murmured, disappointed, sad. “No, there isn't,” you whispered, getting up and shaking your head. “Now let me work, will you?”

Angie was Donna's only company, a creation of hers so she wouldn't feel terribly alone. She was her confidant, she was much more than that; she was part of her, part of her mind. If Angie didn't know anything, it was because Donna hadn't changed, everything was the same, and that wasn't a good thing.

Her lack of interest, her indifference to your notes, to your increasingly less discreet flattery seemed to be little more than an anecdote for the lady in black, something she didn't give any importance to.

That night you cried, you cried because your cowardly and at the same time shameless attempt had been useless. You loved Donna, you loved her and, although you knew it was unlikely that she felt the same, you had hope.

The Italian woman's soft and kind words, her mysterious glances, those smiles that appeared on her face when you did something for her... That all of it was simple kindness was hard for you to believe. You came to think that her shyness prevented her, just like you, from saying what she thought or what she felt.

But no, she didn't feel anything for you. If it were otherwise, she wouldn't have ignored your notes; she wouldn't have let the chance to even ask you go. She was your mistress, you were her maid and... as much as it sometimes seemed like there was something more between you, something deeper, it was all an illusion that your mind created.

Disappointed, but with your wounded heart still begging for her love, you made a drastic decision at the same time that, in the darkness of the night, you vented your failure with tears.

There would be no more notes or flattery. Donna would only be Donna, your lady and you, her maid, a maid in love, but a maid after all.

Your spite made you grow cold, maintain a much drier relationship with her, nod, say “yes, my lady,” and not seek an informal conversation that went beyond your work. It hurt you, it hurt you terribly to act that way, but if you didn't, you would still be madly in love, forever.

“Donna?” you asked one afternoon, as you approached to clear the table, a table that, after a few weeks, you stopped sharing with her as you sometimes did.

The lady in black wasn't sitting, but comically crouched under the table, her doll next to her, moving the chairs around in an odd way.

The lady looked at you and her head hit the wood comically, startled by your silent appearance.

“Oh, cavolo...” she complained, getting up clumsily and rubbing the hit area with a nervous smile. “You scared me, (Y/N).”

“I'm sorry,” you apologized with a bow, approaching the table to pick up the plates. “You're done, I guess.”

“Yes,” she replied, nodding effusively, but still looking at the floor in confusion.

You made a cold gesture as you picked up, glancing at her, unable to avoid the strong beating of your heart in her presence. Stopping loving her was impossible.

“What were you doing crouching there, Donna?” you asked in a dry, indifferent tone.

“Um, well, I…” she murmured, with a slight reddish glow on her cheeks. “I-I was looking for something.”

“Mm,” you murmured with disinterest. “Have you lost something?”

“Yes, no, I don't know,” Donna stammered, looking away quickly, she seemed nervous. “Have you lost something?”

“Me? Of course I haven’t,” you said coldly, shaking your head.

“Oh, um… okay,” the lady whispered, with a sad tone that reached the depths of your soul. “Are you sure? Haven't you forgotten anything?”

“I haven’t,” you denied, as you finished collecting the plates. “Have you taken your medication? Did you lose a pill?”

“Cosa? No,” she said, frowning, offended by your attitude.

“Mm, okay,” you sighed, moving away from her, holding back your tears, ready to leave the room. “I'll serve you tea in a couple of hours.”

A tug on your wrist stopped you from moving away. The lady in black stood up from her chair, unconsciously digging her nails into your skin.

“Un attimo, (Y/N),” she whispered, taking the plates from your hands, leaving them back on the table.

“What do you want?” you asked, feeling the heat of her skin through your clothes, that addictive and burning touch. “I have a lot of work to do, Donna.”

“Why are you so cold to me?” she asked, putting on a hurt look, her one eye wet. “You're very cold lately.”

“It's nothing, it'll just be the weather,” you said, holding back a sob. “Donna, you’re hurting me.”

“I'm sorry,” she apologized, letting you go, bringing her hand to her mouth, nervous as you picked up the plates and walked away again. “I-I miss them, you know?”

You stopped, opening your eyes wide before turning the corner.

“Y-Your notes, I miss them,” the lady repeated, coming closer and turning your body with a hand on your shoulder.

“My notes?” you asked in a small voice.

“Y-Yes… Io…” the brunette murmured, lowering her gaze, her hands beginning to shake. “I loved reading them.”

“Really?” you asked suspiciously, breathing heavily and with a hopeful glint in your eyes. “I thought you didn't care about them.”

Donna opened her mouth to say something, but it seemed like something was stopping her, her cheeks were blood red and her body was shaking nervously.

“I cared about them,” she finally said, looking at the floor, blinking erratically.

“You never told me anything,” you whispered, leaving the plates on the table again and passing by her, confused. “You… never mentioned them.”

“It's just that I… I didn't know what to do… you said such nice things to me…” the ventriloquist stammered, playing with her hands, approaching little by little from behind. “But they're not there anymore… I've been looking for them but… they're not there.”

“No, they're not there anymore,” you said, passing a finger over your wet eye, wiping away a tear that timidly appeared. “I stopped writing them.”

“Perché?”

“Because… Donna, I…” you hesitated, looking at the ceiling, anywhere but at her beauty. “It doesn't matter, I have to pick this up.”

“Per favore… don't go,” Donna asked you, grabbing your arm again, this time with less force. “Why were you doing it?”

“It doesn't matter, Donna, forget it,” you insisted, fighting with your own feelings. “There was no point in continuing to do so, not when you read them, and acted as if nothing had happened. Donna, I…” you began, regretting it instantly. “It doesn't matter, really.”

“You're wrong,” the lady said in a serious, dark tone. “I-I've kept all of them, each and every one of them, (Y/N),” she explained, grabbing your hands, not wanting to let them go, staring at you with her hypnotic gaze.

“What?” You sighed, feeling relief in her soft hands, in her unconscious caresses. “Have you… have you kept them? You haven’t thrown them away?”

“I would never do that,” she said, taking a step closer, being terribly close, unbearably close to you. “Every night I read them, one by one and… I couldn’t, I couldn’t stop smiling. I smiled because… because you wrote them, for me.”

“Yes,” you said with a tender smile, daring to place a hand on her cheek, something that made her close her eye with a nervous gasp. “I wrote them for you because…because… It doesn’t matter.”

“(Y/N) I…” Donna said, interrupting your last attempt to get away, to go up to your room and cry inconsolably. “M-Many times I didn’t feel like having tea… I just… I just wanted it to… to see what you had written to me, to read your beautiful words until I fell asleep and… and I still look forward for it…”

“You look forward for it…” you sighed, looking down at her tempting lips, your nerves and the pounding in your chest making it difficult for you to say anything. “Donna, I was hoping that… that you would tell me something because…”

“I-I think I'm in love with you, (Y/N),” the lady said unexpectedly, making your eyes widen, stopping your breathing. “I… I'm stupid… What I feel for you is so strong that when… when I read that first note I didn't… I didn't know what to do. It seemed unthinkable to me that you would do it for other reason than… you know, being my maid.”

“If I did it, it was because…” you began, unsure of what you were going to say. “Because I love you, Donna,” you finally confessed, looking down, but continuing to caress her hands. “I love you and… I didn't know how… how to tell you. You know, I'm your maid and I never thought that...”

The lady in black smiled excitedly, reaching out one of her hands to your face, caressing it as if it were something precious, something fragile and beautiful.

“I don't want you to be my maid, (Y/N),” she said in a serious tone, as if she was too nervous to control her emotions. “I-I want, I want you to be... my girlfriend.”

“Gods, Donna,” you sighed, taking one last step closer, unable to believe her words, her feelings. “Donna, I... I don't want to be your maid. Please, let me kiss you.”

She nodded slowly as your eyes closed. Your body acted on its own, laughing at yourself, at your clumsy approaches, at the ignorance about what those silly notes caused in the lady in black.

The contact was wet. Your lips collided, exploring, kissing slowly, recording in your memory every sensation, every sound, every caress. It was a clumsy, inexperienced kiss, but it said much more than any of your absurd notes.

 “Y-You know? I-I’ve never kissed anyone,” Donna confessed embarrassed, slowly moving away from your lips, with a sincere smile, the most beautiful you had ever seen.

“Mm,” you murmured, slowly lifting her chin, still unable to believe that it wasn’t a dream. “I’m glad I was the first.”

“Yes…” the lady sighed, letting herself fall into your arms, hugging you, scratching your back as if she wanted to keep you close, as close to you as possible. “Promise me one thing, (Y/N)”

“Whatever you want, my love”

“Promise me that you will continue writing me those notes every day…”